“Well--and what else?”

“Clean father's boots, and make him a bit of toast for his tea.”

“You're a useful little man,” said the gentleman. “What else can you

do?”

“Not much that I know of,” said Diamond. “I can't curry a horse, except

somebody puts me on his back. So I don't count that.”

“Can you read?”

“No. But mother can and father can, and they're going to teach me some

day soon.”

“Well, here's a penny for you.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“And when you have learned to read, come to me, and I'll give you

sixpence and a book with fine pictures in it.”

“Please, sir, where am I to come?” asked Diamond, who was too much a

man of the world not to know that he must have the gentleman's address

before he could go and see him.

“You're no such silly!” thought he, as he put his hand in his pocket,

and brought out a card. “There,” he said, “your father will be able to

read that, and tell you where to go.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir,” said Diamond, and put the card in his

pocket.

The gentleman walked away, but turning round a few paces off, saw

Diamond give his penny to the girl, and, walking slower heard him say:

“I've got a father, and mother, and little brother, and you've got

nothing but a wicked old grannie. You may have my penny.”

The girl put it beside the other in her pocket, the only trustworthy

article of dress she wore. Her grandmother always took care that she had

a stout pocket.

“Is she as cruel as ever?” asked Diamond.

“Much the same. But I gets more coppers now than I used to, and I can

get summats to eat, and take browns enough home besides to keep her from

grumbling. It's a good thing she's so blind, though.”

“Why?” asked Diamond.

“'Cause if she was as sharp in the eyes as she used to be, she would

find out I never eats her broken wittles, and then she'd know as I must

get something somewheres.”

“Doesn't she watch you, then?”

“O' course she do. Don't she just! But I make believe and drop it in my

lap, and then hitch it into my pocket.”

“What would she do if she found you out?”

“She never give me no more.”

“But you don't want it!”

“Yes, I do want it.”

“What do you do with it, then?”

“Give it to cripple Jim.”

“Who's cripple Jim?”

“A boy in the Row. His mother broke his leg when he wur a kid, so he's

never come to much; but he's a good boy, is Jim, and I love Jim dearly.

I always keeps off a penny for Jim--leastways as often as I can.--But

there I must sweep again, for them busses makes no end o' dirt.”

“Diamond! Diamond!” cried his father, who was afraid he might get no

good by talking to the girl; and Diamond obeyed, and got up again

upon the box. He told his father about the gentleman, and what he had

promised him if he would learn to read, and showed him the gentleman's

card.

“Why, it's not many doors from the Mews!” said his father, giving him

back the card. “Take care of it, my boy, for it may lead to something.

God knows, in these hard times a man wants as many friends as he's ever

likely to get.”

“Haven't you got friends enough, father?” asked Diamond.

“Well, I have no right to complain; but the more the better, you know.”

“Just let me count,” said Diamond.

And he took his hands from his pockets, and spreading out the fingers of

his left hand, began to count, beginning at the thumb.

“There's mother, first, and then baby, and then me. Next there's old

Diamond--and the cab--no, I won't count the cab, for it never looks at

you, and when Diamond's out of the shafts, it's nobody. Then there's the

man that drinks next door, and his wife, and his baby.”

“They're no friends of mine,” said his father.

“Well, they're friends of mine,” said Diamond.

His father laughed.

“Much good they'll do you!” he said.

“How do you know they won't?” returned Diamond.

“Well, go on,” said his father.

“Then there's Jack and Mr. Stonecrop, and, deary me! not to have

mentioned Mr. Coleman and Mrs. Coleman, and Miss Coleman, and Mrs.

Crump. And then there's the clergyman that spoke to me in the garden

that day the tree was blown down.”

“What's his name!”

“I don't know his name.”

“Where does he live?”

“I don't know.”

“How can you count him, then?”

“He did talk to me, and very kindlike too.”

His father laughed again.

“Why, child, you're just counting everybody you know. That don't make

'em friends.”

“Don't it? I thought it did. Well, but they shall be my friends. I shall

make 'em.”

“How will you do that?”

“They can't help themselves then, if they would. If I choose to be their

friend, you know, they can't prevent me. Then there's that girl at the

crossing.”

“A fine set of friends you do have, to be sure, Diamond!”

“Surely she's a friend anyhow, father. If it hadn't been for her, you

would never have got Mrs. Coleman and Miss Coleman to carry home.”

His father was silent, for he saw that Diamond was right, and was

ashamed to find himself more ungrateful than he had thought.

“Then there's the new gentleman,” Diamond went on.

“If he do as he say,” interposed his father.

“And why shouldn't he? I daresay sixpence ain't too much for him to

spare. But I don't quite understand, father: is nobody your friend but

the one that does something for you?”

“No, I won't say that, my boy. You would have to leave out baby then.”

“Oh no, I shouldn't. Baby can laugh in your face, and crow in your ears,

and make you feel so happy. Call you that nothing, father?”

The father's heart was fairly touched now. He made no answer to this

last appeal, and Diamond ended off with saying:

“And there's the best of mine to come yet--and that's you, daddy--except

it be mother, you know. You're my friend, daddy, ain't you? And I'm your

friend, ain't I?”

“And God for us all,” said his father, and then they were both silent

for that was very solemn.

THE question of the tall gentleman as to whether Diamond could read or

not set his father thinking it was high time he could; and as soon as

old Diamond was suppered and bedded, he began the task that very night.

But it was not much of a task to Diamond, for his father took for his

lesson-book those very rhymes his mother had picked up on the sea-shore;

and as Diamond was not beginning too soon, he learned very fast indeed.

Within a month he was able to spell out most of the verses for himself.

But he had never come upon the poem he thought he had heard his mother

read from it that day. He had looked through and through the book

several times after he knew the letters and a few words, fancying he

could tell the look of it, but had always failed to find one more like

it than another. So he wisely gave up the search till he could really

read. Then he resolved to begin at the beginning, and read them all

straight through. This took him nearly a fortnight. When he had almost

reached the end, he came upon the following verses, which took his fancy

much, although they were certainly not very like those he was in search

of.

LITTLE BOY BLUE

            Little Boy Blue lost his way in a wood.

               Sing apples and cherries, roses and honey;

            He said, “I would not go back if I could,