he told her.

What passed in the little parlour when Miss Coleman came down does not

belong to my story, which is all about Diamond. If he had known that

Miss Coleman thought Mr. Evans was dead, perhaps he would have managed

differently. There was a cry and a running to and fro in the house, and

then all was quiet again.

Almost as soon as Mr. Evans went in, the wind began to cease, and was

now still. Diamond found that by making the breeching just a little

tighter than was quite comfortable for the old horse he could do very

well for the present; and, thinking it better to let him have his bag in

this quiet place, he sat on the box till the old horse should have eaten

his dinner. In a little while Mr. Evans came out, and asked him to come

in. Diamond obeyed, and to his delight Miss Coleman put her arms round

him and kissed him, and there was payment for him! Not to mention the

five precious shillings she gave him, which he could not refuse because

his mother wanted them so much at home for his father. He left them

nearly as happy as they were themselves.

The rest of the day he did better, and, although he had not so much

to take home as the day before, yet on the whole the result was

satisfactory. And what a story he had to tell his father and mother

about his adventures, and how he had done, and what was the result! They

asked him such a multitude of questions! some of which he could answer,

and some of which he could not answer; and his father seemed ever so

much better from finding that his boy was already not only useful to his

family but useful to other people, and quite taking his place as a man

who judged what was wise, and did work worth doing.

For a fortnight Diamond went on driving his cab, and keeping his family.

He had begun to be known about some parts of London, and people would

prefer taking his cab because they liked what they heard of him. One

gentleman who lived near the mews engaged him to carry him to the

City every morning at a certain hour; and Diamond was punctual as

clockwork--though to effect that required a good deal of care, for his

father's watch was not much to be depended on, and had to be watched

itself by the clock of St. George's church. Between the two, however, he

did make a success of it.

After that fortnight, his father was able to go out again. Then Diamond

went to make inquiries about Nanny, and this led to something else.

THE first day his father resumed his work, Diamond went with him as

usual. In the afternoon, however, his father, having taken a fare to the

neighbourhood, went home, and Diamond drove the cab the rest of the

day. It was hard for old Diamond to do all the work, but they could

not afford to have another horse. They contrived to save him as much as

possible, and fed him well, and he did bravely.

The next morning his father was so much stronger that Diamond thought he

might go and ask Mr. Raymond to take him to see Nanny. He found him at

home. His servant had grown friendly by this time, and showed him in

without any cross-questioning. Mr. Raymond received him with his usual

kindness, consented at once, and walked with him to the Hospital, which

was close at hand. It was a comfortable old-fashioned house, built in

the reign of Queen Anne, and in her day, no doubt, inhabited by rich and

fashionable people: now it was a home for poor sick children, who were

carefully tended for love's sake. There are regions in London where a

hospital in every other street might be full of such children, whose

fathers and mothers are dead, or unable to take care of them.

When Diamond followed Mr. Raymond into the room where those children who

had got over the worst of their illness and were growing better lay, he

saw a number of little iron bedsteads, with their heads to the walls,

and in every one of them a child, whose face was a story in itself.

In some, health had begun to appear in a tinge upon the cheeks, and a

doubtful brightness in the eyes, just as out of the cold dreary winter

the spring comes in blushing buds and bright crocuses. In others there

were more of the signs of winter left. Their faces reminded you of

snow and keen cutting winds, more than of sunshine and soft breezes

and butterflies; but even in them the signs of suffering told that the

suffering was less, and that if the spring-time had but arrived, it had

yet arrived.

Diamond looked all round, but could see no Nanny. He turned to Mr.

Raymond with a question in his eyes.

“Well?” said Mr. Raymond.

“Nanny's not here,” said Diamond.

“Oh, yes, she is.”

“I don't see her.”

“I do, though. There she is.”

He pointed to a bed right in front of where Diamond was standing.

“That's not Nanny,” he said.

“It is Nanny. I have seen her many times since you have. Illness makes a

great difference.”

“Why, that girl must have been to the back of the north wind!” thought

Diamond, but he said nothing, only stared; and as he stared, something

of the old Nanny began to dawn through the face of the new Nanny. The

old Nanny, though a good girl, and a friendly girl, had been rough,

blunt in her speech, and dirty in her person. Her face would always

have reminded one who had already been to the back of the north wind

of something he had seen in the best of company, but it had been coarse

notwithstanding, partly from the weather, partly from her living amongst

low people, and partly from having to defend herself: now it was so

sweet, and gentle, and refined, that she might have had a lady and

gentleman for a father and mother. And Diamond could not help thinking

of words which he had heard in the church the day before: “Surely it is

good to be afflicted;” or something like that. North Wind, somehow or

other, must have had to do with her! She had grown from a rough girl

into a gentle maiden.

Mr. Raymond, however, was not surprised, for he was used to see

such lovely changes--something like the change which passes upon the

crawling, many-footed creature, when it turns sick and ill, and revives

a butterfly, with two wings instead of many feet. Instead of her having

to take care of herself, kind hands ministered to her, making her

comfortable and sweet and clean, soothing her aching head, and giving

her cooling drink when she was thirsty; and kind eyes, the stars of the

kingdom of heaven, had shone upon her; so that, what with the fire of

the fever and the dew of tenderness, that which was coarse in her had

melted away, and her whole face had grown so refined and sweet that

Diamond did not know her. But as he gazed, the best of the old face, all

the true and good part of it, that which was Nanny herself, dawned upon

him, like the moon coming out of a cloud, until at length, instead of

only believing Mr. Raymond that this was she, he saw for himself that it

was Nanny indeed--very worn but grown beautiful.

He went up to her. She smiled. He had heard her laugh, but had never

seen her smile before.

“Nanny, do you know me?” said Diamond.

She only smiled again, as if the question was amusing.

She was not likely to forget him; for although she did not yet know

it was he who had got her there, she had dreamed of him often, and had