shine in their eyes when they looked eastward. A sweet little wind blew

on their left side, and comforted the mother without letting her know

what it was that comforted her. Away before them stretched the sparkling

waters of the ocean, every wave of which flashed out its own delight

back in the face of the great sun, which looked down from the stillness

of its blue house with glorious silent face upon its flashing children.

On each hand the shore rounded outwards, forming a little bay. There

were no white cliffs here, as further north and south, and the place was

rather dreary, but the sky got at them so much the better. Not a house,

not a creature was within sight. Dry sand was about their feet, and

under them thin wiry grass, that just managed to grow out of the

poverty-stricken shore.

“Oh dear!” said Diamond's mother, with a deep sigh, “it's a sad world!”

“Is it?” said Diamond. “I didn't know.”

“How should you know, child? You've been too well taken care of, I

trust.”

“Oh yes, I have,” returned Diamond. “I'm sorry! I thought you were taken

care of too. I thought my father took care of you. I will ask him about

it. I think he must have forgotten.”

“Dear boy!” said his mother, “your father's the best man in the world.”

“So I thought!” returned Diamond with triumph. “I was sure of it!--Well,

doesn't he take very good care of you?”

“Yes, yes, he does,” answered his mother, bursting into tears. “But

who's to take care of him? And how is he to take care of us if he's got

nothing to eat himself?”

“Oh dear!” said Diamond with a gasp; “hasn't he got anything to eat? Oh!

I must go home to him.”

“No, no, child. He's not come to that yet. But what's to become of us, I

don't know.”

“Are you very hungry, mother? There's the basket. I thought you put

something to eat in it.”

“O you darling stupid! I didn't say I was hungry,” returned his mother,

smiling through her tears.

“Then I don't understand you at all,” said Diamond. “Do tell me what's

the matter.”

“There are people in the world who have nothing to eat, Diamond.”

“Then I suppose they don't stop in it any longer. They--they--what you

call--die--don't they?”

“Yes, they do. How would you like that?”

“I don't know. I never tried. But I suppose they go where they get

something to eat.”

“Like enough they don't want it,” said his mother, petulantly.

“That's all right then,” said Diamond, thinking I daresay more than he

chose to put in words.

“Is it though? Poor boy! how little you know about things! Mr. Coleman's

lost all his money, and your father has nothing to do, and we shall have

nothing to eat by and by.”

“Are you sure, mother?”

“Sure of what?”

“Sure that we shall have nothing to eat.”

“No, thank Heaven! I'm not sure of it. I hope not.”

“Then I can't understand it, mother. There's a piece of gingerbread in

the basket, I know.”

“O you little bird! You have no more sense than a sparrow that picks

what it wants, and never thinks of the winter and the frost and, the

snow.”

“Ah--yes--I see. But the birds get through the winter, don't they?”

“Some of them fall dead on the ground.”

“They must die some time. They wouldn't like to be birds always. Would

you, mother?”

“What a child it is!” thought his mother, but she said nothing.

“Oh! now I remember,” Diamond went on. “Father told me that day I went

to Epping Forest with him, that the rose-bushes, and the may-bushes, and

the holly-bushes were the bird's barns, for there were the hips, and the

haws, and the holly-berries, all ready for the winter.”

“Yes; that's all very true. So you see the birds are provided for. But

there are no such barns for you and me, Diamond.”

“Ain't there?”

“No. We've got to work for our bread.”

“Then let's go and work,” said Diamond, getting up.

“It's no use. We've not got anything to do.”

“Then let's wait.”

“Then we shall starve.”

“No. There's the basket. Do you know, mother, I think I shall call that

basket the barn.”

“It's not a very big one. And when it's empty--where are we then?”

“At auntie's cupboard,” returned Diamond promptly.

“But we can't eat auntie's things all up and leave her to starve.”

“No, no. We'll go back to father before that. He'll have found a

cupboard somewhere by that time.”

“How do you know that?”

“I don't know it. But I haven't got even a cupboard, and I've always had

plenty to eat. I've heard you say I had too much, sometimes.”

“But I tell you that's because I've had a cupboard for you, child.”

“And when yours was empty, auntie opened hers.”

“But that can't go on.”

“How do you know? I think there must be a big cupboard somewhere, out of

which the little cupboards are filled, you know, mother.”

“Well, I wish I could find the door of that cupboard,” said his mother.

But the same moment she stopped, and was silent for a good while. I

cannot tell whether Diamond knew what she was thinking, but I think I

know. She had heard something at church the day before, which came back

upon her--something like this, that she hadn't to eat for tomorrow as

well as for to-day; and that what was not wanted couldn't be missed.

So, instead of saying anything more, she stretched out her hand for the

basket, and she and Diamond had their dinner.

And Diamond did enjoy it. For the drive and the fresh air had made him

quite hungry; and he did not, like his mother, trouble himself about

what they should dine off that day week. The fact was he had lived so

long without any food at all at the back of the north wind, that he knew

quite well that food was not essential to existence; that in fact, under

certain circumstances, people could live without it well enough.

His mother did not speak much during their dinner. After it was over she

helped him to walk about a little, but he was not able for much and soon

got tired. He did not get fretful, though. He was too glad of having the

sun and the wind again, to fret because he could not run about. He lay

down on the dry sand, and his mother covered him with a shawl. She then

sat by his side, and took a bit of work from her pocket. But Diamond

felt rather sleepy, and turned on his side and gazed sleepily over the

sand. A few yards off he saw something fluttering.

“What is that, mother?” he said.

“Only a bit of paper,” she answered.

“It flutters more than a bit of paper would, I think,” said Diamond.

“I'll go and see if you like,” said his mother. “My eyes are none of the

best.”

So she rose and went and found that they were both right, for it was a

little book, partly buried in the sand. But several of its leaves were

clear of the sand, and these the wind kept blowing about in a very

flutterful manner. She took it up and brought it to Diamond.

“What is it, mother?” he asked.

“Some nursery rhymes, I think,” she answered.

“I'm too sleepy,” said Diamond. “Do read some of them to me.”

“Yes, I will,” she said, and began one.--“But this is such nonsense!”

 she said again. “I will try to find a better one.”

She turned the leaves searching, but three times, with sudden puffs, the

wind blew the leaves rustling back to the same verses.

“Do read that one,” said Diamond, who seemed to be of the same mind as

the wind. “It sounded very nice. I am sure it is a good one.”

So his mother thought it might amuse him, though she couldn't find any