the very horse. He'd carry a small house any day. I bought him cheap,

and I'll sell him cheap.”

“Oh, I don't want him,” said Diamond's father. “A body must have time

to think over an affair of so much importance. And there's the cab too.

That would come to a deal of money.”

“I could fit you there, I daresay,” said his friend. “But come and look

at the animal, anyhow.”

“Since I lost my own old pair, as was Mr. Coleman's,” said Diamond's

father, turning to accompany the cab-master, “I ain't almost got the

heart to look a horse in the face. It's a thousand pities to part man

and horse.”

“So it is,” returned his friend sympathetically.

But what was the ex-coachman's delight, when, on going into the stable

where his friend led him, he found the horse he wanted him to buy was

no other than his own old Diamond, grown very thin and bony and

long-legged, as if they, had been doing what they could to fit him for

Hansom work!

“He ain't a Hansom horse,” said Diamond's father indignantly.

“Well, you're right. He ain't handsome, but he's a good un” said his

owner.

“Who says he ain't handsome? He's one of the handsomest horses a

gentleman's coachman ever druv,” said Diamond's father; remarking to

himself under his breath--“though I says it as shouldn't”--for he did

not feel inclined all at once to confess that his own old horse could

have sunk so low.

“Well,” said his friend, “all I say is--There's a animal for you, as

strong as a church; an'll go like a train, leastways a parly,” he added,

correcting himself.

But the coachman had a lump in his throat and tears in his eyes. For the

old horse, hearing his voice, had turned his long neck, and when his

old friend went up to him and laid his hand on his side, he whinnied

for joy, and laid his big head on his master's breast. This settled the

matter. The coachman's arms were round the horse's neck in a moment, and

he fairly broke down and cried. The cab-master had never been so fond of

a horse himself as to hug him like that, but he saw in a moment how it

was. And he must have been a good-hearted fellow, for I never heard of

such an idea coming into the head of any other man with a horse to sell:

instead of putting something on to the price because he was now pretty

sure of selling him, he actually took a pound off what he had meant to

ask for him, saying to himself it was a shame to part old friends.

Diamond's father, as soon as he came to himself, turned and asked how

much he wanted for the horse.

“I see you're old friends,” said the owner.

“It's my own old Diamond. I liked him far the best of the pair, though

the other was good. You ain't got him too, have you?”

“No; nothing in the stable to match him there.”

“I believe you,” said the coachman. “But you'll be wanting a long price

for him, I know.”

“No, not so much. I bought him cheap, and as I say, he ain't for my

work.”

The end of it was that Diamond's father bought old Diamond again, along

with a four-wheeled cab. And as there were some rooms to be had over the

stable, he took them, wrote to his wife to come home, and set up as a

cabman.

IT WAS late in the afternoon when Diamond and his mother and the baby

reached London. I was so full of Diamond that I forgot to tell you a

baby had arrived in the meantime. His father was waiting for them with

his own cab, but they had not told Diamond who the horse was; for his

father wanted to enjoy the pleasure of his surprise when he found it

out. He got in with his mother without looking at the horse, and his

father having put up Diamond's carpet-bag and his mother's little trunk,

got upon the box himself and drove off; and Diamond was quite proud of

riding home in his father's own carriage. But when he got to the mews,

he could not help being a little dismayed at first; and if he had never

been to the back of the north wind, I am afraid he would have cried a

little. But instead of that, he said to himself it was a fine thing all

the old furniture was there. And instead of helping his mother to be

miserable at the change, he began to find out all the advantages of the

place; for every place has some advantages, and they are always

better worth knowing than the disadvantages. Certainly the weather was

depressing, for a thick, dull, persistent rain was falling by the time

they reached home. But happily the weather is very changeable; and

besides, there was a good fire burning in the room, which their

neighbour with the drunken husband had attended to for them; and the

tea-things were put out, and the kettle was boiling on the fire. And

with a good fire, and tea and bread and butter, things cannot be said to

be miserable.

Diamond's father and mother were, notwithstanding, rather miserable, and

Diamond began to feel a kind of darkness beginning to spread over his

own mind. But the same moment he said to himself, “This will never do.

I can't give in to this. I've been to the back of the north wind. Things

go right there, and so I must try to get things to go right here. I've

got to fight the miserable things. They shan't make me miserable if I

can help it.” I do not mean that he thought these very words. They are

perhaps too grown-up for him to have thought, but they represent the

kind of thing that was in his heart and his head. And when heart and

head go together, nothing can stand before them.

“What nice bread and butter this is!” said Diamond.

“I'm glad you like it, my dear” said his father. “I bought the butter

myself at the little shop round the corner.”

“It's very nice, thank you, father. Oh, there's baby waking! I'll take

him.”

“Sit still, Diamond,” said his mother. “Go on with your bread and

butter. You're not strong enough to lift him yet.”

So she took the baby herself, and set him on her knee. Then Diamond

began to amuse him, and went on till the little fellow was shrieking

with laughter. For the baby's world was his mother's arms; and the

drizzling rain, and the dreary mews, and even his father's troubled

face could not touch him. What cared baby for the loss of a hundred

situations? Yet neither father nor mother thought him hard-hearted

because he crowed and laughed in the middle of their troubles. On the

contrary, his crowing and laughing were infectious. His little heart was

so full of merriment that it could not hold it all, and it ran over into

theirs. Father and mother began to laugh too, and Diamond laughed till

he had a fit of coughing which frightened his mother, and made them all

stop. His father took the baby, and his mother put him to bed.

But it was indeed a change to them all, not only from Sandwich, but from

their old place, instead of the great river where the huge barges with

their mighty brown and yellow sails went tacking from side to side like

little pleasure-skiffs, and where the long thin boats shot past with

eight and sometimes twelve rowers, their windows now looked out upon a

dirty paved yard. And there was no garden more for Diamond to run into

when he pleased, with gay flowers about his feet, and solemn sun-filled

trees over his head. Neither was there a wooden wall at the back of

his bed with a hole in it for North Wind to come in at when she liked.