pieces.”

Happily then for Diamond, old Sal had gone out to get some gin. When

he came to her door at the bottom of the area-stair and knocked, he

received no answer. He laid his ear to the door, and thought he heard

a moaning within. So he tried the door, and found it was not locked! It

was a dreary place indeed,--and very dark, for the window was below the

level of the street, and covered with mud, while over the grating which

kept people from falling into the area, stood a chest of drawers, placed

there by a dealer in second-hand furniture, which shut out almost all

the light. And the smell in the place was dreadful. Diamond stood still

for a while, for he could see next to nothing, but he heard the moaning

plainly enough now, When he got used to the darkness, he discovered his

friend lying with closed eyes and a white suffering face on a heap of

little better than rags in a corner of the den. He went up to her and

spoke; but she made him no answer. Indeed, she was not in the least

aware of his presence, and Diamond saw that he could do nothing for her

without help. So taking a lump of barley-sugar from his pocket, which he

had bought for her as he came along, and laying it beside her, he

left the place, having already made up his mind to go and see the tall

gentleman, Mr. Raymond, and ask him to do something for Sal's Nanny, as

the girl was called.

By the time he got up the area-steps, three or four women who had seen

him go down were standing together at the top waiting for him. They

wanted his clothes for their children; but they did not follow him down

lest Sal should find them there. The moment he appeared, they laid their

hands on him, and all began talking at once, for each wanted to get some

advantage over her neighbours. He told them quite quietly, for he was

not frightened, that he had come to see what was the matter with Nanny.

“What do you know about Nanny?” said one of them fiercely. “Wait till

old Sal comes home, and you'll catch it, for going prying into her house

when she's out. If you don't give me your jacket directly, I'll go and

fetch her.”

“I can't give you my jacket,” said Diamond. “It belongs to my father and

mother, you know. It's not mine to give. Is it now? You would not think

it right to give away what wasn't yours--would you now?”

“Give it away! No, that I wouldn't; I'd keep it,” she said, with a rough

laugh. “But if the jacket ain't yours, what right have you to keep it?

Here, Cherry, make haste. It'll be one go apiece.”

They all began to tug at the jacket, while Diamond stooped and kept his

arms bent to resist them. Before they had done him or the jacket any

harm, however, suddenly they all scampered away; and Diamond, looking in

the opposite direction, saw the tall policeman coming towards him.

“You had better have let me come with you, little man,” he said, looking

down in Diamond's face, which was flushed with his resistance.

“You came just in the right time, thank you,” returned Diamond. “They've

done me no harm.”

“They would have if I hadn't been at hand, though.”

“Yes; but you were at hand, you know, so they couldn't.”

Perhaps the answer was deeper in purport than either Diamond or the

policeman knew. They walked away together, Diamond telling his new

friend how ill poor Nanny was, and that he was going to let the tall

gentleman know. The policeman put him in the nearest way for Bloomsbury,

and stepping out in good earnest, Diamond reached Mr. Raymond's door

in less than an hour. When he asked if he was at home, the servant, in

return, asked what he wanted.

“I want to tell him something.”

“But I can't go and trouble him with such a message as that.”

“He told me to come to him--that is, when I could read--and I can.”

“How am I to know that?”

Diamond stared with astonishment for one moment, then answered:

“Why, I've just told you. That's how you know it.”

But this man was made of coarser grain than the policeman, and, instead

of seeing that Diamond could not tell a lie, he put his answer down as

impudence, and saying, “Do you think I'm going to take your word for

it?” shut the door in his face.

Diamond turned and sat down on the doorstep, thinking with himself that

the tall gentleman must either come in or come out, and he was therefore

in the best possible position for finding him. He had not waited long

before the door opened again; but when he looked round, it was only the

servant once more.

“Get, away” he said. “What are you doing on the doorstep?”

“Waiting for Mr. Raymond,” answered Diamond, getting up.

“He's not at home.”

“Then I'll wait till he comes,” returned Diamond, sitting down again

with a smile.

What the man would have done next I do not know, but a step sounded from

the hall, and when Diamond looked round yet again, there was the tall

gentleman.

“Who's this, John?” he asked.

“I don't know, sir. An imperent little boy as will sit on the doorstep.”

“Please sir” said Diamond, “he told me you weren't at home, and I sat

down to wait for you.”

“Eh, what!” said Mr. Raymond. “John! John! This won't do. Is it a habit

of yours to turn away my visitors? There'll be some one else to turn

away, I'm afraid, if I find any more of this kind of thing. Come in, my

little man. I suppose you've come to claim your sixpence?”

“No, sir, not that.”

“What! can't you read yet?”

“Yes, I can now, a little. But I'll come for that next time. I came to

tell you about Sal's Nanny.”

“Who's Sal's Nanny?”

“The girl at the crossing you talked to the same day.”

“Oh, yes; I remember. What's the matter? Has she got run over?”

Then Diamond told him all.

Now Mr. Raymond was one of the kindest men in London. He sent at once to

have the horse put to the brougham, took Diamond with him, and drove to

the Children's Hospital. There he was well known to everybody, for he

was not only a large subscriber, but he used to go and tell the children

stories of an afternoon. One of the doctors promised to go and find

Nanny, and do what could be done--have her brought to the hospital, if

possible.

That same night they sent a litter for her, and as she could be of no

use to old Sal until she was better, she did not object to having her

removed. So she was soon lying in the fever ward--for the first time in

her life in a nice clean bed. But she knew nothing of the whole affair.

She was too ill to know anything.

MR. RAYMOND took Diamond home with him, stopping at the Mews to tell his

mother that he would send him back soon. Diamond ran in with the message

himself, and when he reappeared he had in his hand the torn and crumpled

book which North Wind had given him.

“Ah! I see,” said Mr. Raymond: “you are going to claim your sixpence

now.”

“I wasn't thinking of that so much as of another thing,” said Diamond.

“There's a rhyme in this book I can't quite understand. I want you to

tell me what it means, if you please.”

“I will if I can,” answered Mr. Raymond. “You shall read it to me when

we get home, and then I shall see.”

Still with a good many blunders, Diamond did read it after a fashion.

Mr. Raymond took the little book and read it over again.

Now Mr. Raymond was a poet himself, and so, although he had never been