out is to give him plenty of cold water and tea and coffee, and nothing

at all that comes from the public-house; for the devil can't abide that

kind of stuff, and creeps out pretty soon, for fear of being drowned

in it. But your daddy will drink the nasty stuff, poor man! I wish he

wouldn't, for it makes mammy cross with him, and no wonder! and then

when mammy's cross, he's crosser, and there's nobody in the house to

take care of them but baby; and you do take care of them, baby--don't

you, baby? I know you do. Babies always take care of their fathers and

mothers--don't they, baby? That's what they come for--isn't it, baby?

And when daddy stops drinking beer and nasty gin with turpentine in it,

father says, then mammy will be so happy, and look so pretty! and daddy

will be so good to baby! and baby will be as happy as a swallow, which

is the merriest fellow! And Diamond will be so happy too! And when

Diamond's a man, he'll take baby out with him on the box, and teach him

to drive a cab.”

He went on with chatter like this till baby was asleep, by which time

he was tired, and father and mother were both wide awake--only rather

confused--the one from the beer, the other from the blow--and staring,

the one from his chair, the other from her bed, at Diamond. But he was

quite unaware of their notice, for he sat half-asleep, with his eyes

wide open, staring in his turn, though without knowing it, at the

cabman, while the cabman could not withdraw his gaze from Diamond's

white face and big eyes. For Diamond's face was always rather pale, and

now it was paler than usual with sleeplessness, and the light of the

street-lamp upon it. At length he found himself nodding, and he knew

then it was time to put the baby down, lest he should let him fall. So

he rose from the little three-legged stool, and laid the baby in the

cradle, and covered him up--it was well it was a warm night, and he did

not want much covering--and then he all but staggered out of the door,

he was so tipsy himself with sleep.

“Wife,” said the cabman, turning towards the bed, “I do somehow believe

that wur a angel just gone. Did you see him, wife? He warn't wery big,

and he hadn't got none o' them wingses, you know. It wur one o' them

baby-angels you sees on the gravestones, you know.”

“Nonsense, hubby!” said his wife; “but it's just as good. I might say

better, for you can ketch hold of him when you like. That's little

Diamond as everybody knows, and a duck o' diamonds he is! No woman could

wish for a better child than he be.”

“I ha' heerd on him in the stable, but I never see the brat afore. Come,

old girl, let bygones be bygones, and gie us a kiss, and we'll go to

bed.”

The cabman kept his cab in another yard, although he had his room in

this. He was often late in coming home, and was not one to take notice

of children, especially when he was tipsy, which was oftener than not.

Hence, if he had ever seen Diamond, he did not know him. But his wife

knew him well enough, as did every one else who lived all day in the

yard. She was a good-natured woman. It was she who had got the fire

lighted and the tea ready for them when Diamond and his mother came home

from Sandwich. And her husband was not an ill-natured man either, and

when in the morning he recalled not only Diamond's visit, but how he

himself had behaved to his wife, he was very vexed with himself, and

gladdened his poor wife's heart by telling her how sorry he was. And for

a whole week after, he did not go near the public-house, hard as it was

to avoid it, seeing a certain rich brewer had built one, like a trap to

catch souls and bodies in, at almost every corner he had to pass on his

way home. Indeed, he was never quite so bad after that, though it was

some time before he began really to reform.

ONE day when old Diamond was standing with his nose in his bag between

Pall Mall and Cockspur Street, and his master was reading the newspaper

on the box of his cab, which was the last of a good many in the row,

little Diamond got down for a run, for his legs were getting cramped

with sitting. And first of all he strolled with his hands in his pockets

up to the crossing, where the girl and her broom were to be found in all

weathers. Just as he was going to speak to her, a tall gentleman stepped

upon the crossing. He was pleased to find it so clean, for the streets

were muddy, and he had nice boots on; so he put his hand in his pocket,

and gave the girl a penny. But when she gave him a sweet smile in

return, and made him a pretty courtesy, he looked at her again, and

said:

“Where do you live, my child?”

“Paradise Row,” she answered; “next door to the Adam and Eve--down the

area.”

“Whom do you live with?” he asked.

“My wicked old grannie,” she replied.

“You shouldn't call your grannie wicked,” said the gentleman.

“But she is,” said the girl, looking up confidently in his face. “If you

don't believe me, you can come and take a look at her.”

The words sounded rude, but the girl's face looked so simple that

the gentleman saw she did not mean to be rude, and became still more

interested in her.

“Still you shouldn't say so,” he insisted.

“Shouldn't I? Everybody calls her wicked old grannie--even them that's

as wicked as her. You should hear her swear. There's nothing like it in

the Row. Indeed, I assure you, sir, there's ne'er a one of them can shut

my grannie up once she begins and gets right a-going. You must put her

in a passion first, you know. It's no good till you do that--she's so

old now. How she do make them laugh, to be sure!”

Although she called her wicked, the child spoke so as plainly to

indicate pride in her grannie's pre-eminence in swearing.

The gentleman looked very grave to hear her, for he was sorry that such

a nice little girl should be in such bad keeping. But he did not know

what to say next, and stood for a moment with his eyes on the ground.

When he lifted them, he saw the face of Diamond looking up in his.

“Please, sir,” said Diamond, “her grannie's very cruel to her sometimes,

and shuts her out in the streets at night, if she happens to be late.”

“Is this your brother?” asked the gentleman of the girl.

“No, sir.”

“How does he know your grandmother, then? He does not look like one of

her sort.”

“Oh no, sir! He's a good boy--quite.”

Here she tapped her forehead with her finger in a significant manner.

“What do you mean by that?” asked the gentleman, while Diamond looked on

smiling.

“The cabbies call him God's baby,” she whispered. “He's not right in the

head, you know. A tile loose.”

Still Diamond, though he heard every word, and understood it too, kept

on smiling. What could it matter what people called him, so long as he

did nothing he ought not to do? And, besides, God's baby was surely the

best of names!

“Well, my little man, and what can you do?” asked the gentleman, turning

towards him--just for the sake of saying something.

“Drive a cab,” said Diamond.

“Good; and what else?” he continued; for, accepting what the girl had

said, he regarded the still sweetness of Diamond's face as a sign of

silliness, and wished to be kind to the poor little fellow.

“Nurse a baby,” said Diamond.