At the Back of the North Wind (Illustrated Edition). George MacDonald

round, and push her under. You have no right to address me in such a fashion."

      But as she spoke, the tiny face wore the smile of a great, grand woman. She was only having her own beautiful fun out of Diamond, and true woman's fun never hurts.

      "But look there!" she resumed. "Do you see a boat with one man in it—a green and white boat?"

      "Yes; quite well."

      "That's a poet."

      "I thought you said it was a bo-at."

      "Stupid pet! Don't you know what a poet is?"

      "Why, a thing to sail on the water in."

      "Well, perhaps you're not so far wrong. Some poets do carry people over the sea. But I have no business to talk so much. The man is a poet."

      "The boat is a boat," said Diamond.

      "Can't you spell?" asked North Wind.

      "Not very well."

      "So I see. A poet is not a bo-at, as you call it. A poet is a man who is glad of something, and tries to make other people glad of it too."

      "Ah! now I know. Like the man in the sweety-shop."

      "Not very. But I see it is no use. I wasn't sent to tell you, and so I can't tell you. I must be off. Only first just look at the man."

      "He's not much of a rower" said Diamond—"paddling first with one fin and then with the other."

      "Now look here!" said North Wind.

      And she flashed like a dragon-fly across the water, whose surface rippled and puckered as she passed. The next moment the man in the boat glanced about him, and bent to his oars. The boat flew over the rippling water. Man and boat and river were awake. The same instant almost, North Wind perched again upon the river wall.

      "How did you do that?" asked Diamond.

      "I blew in his face," answered North Wind. "I don't see how that could do it," said Diamond. "I daresay not. And therefore you will say you don't believe it could."

      "No, no, dear North Wind. I know you too well not to believe you."

      "Well, I blew in his face, and that woke him up."

      "But what was the good of it?"

      "Why! don't you see? Look at him—how he is pulling. I blew the mist out of him."

      "How was that?"

      "That is just what I cannot tell you."

      "But you did it."

      "Yes. I have to do ten thousand things without being able to tell how."

      "I don't like that," said Diamond.

      He was staring after the boat. Hearing no answer, he looked down to the wall.

      North Wind was gone. Away across the river went a long ripple—what sailors call a cat's paw. The man in the boat was putting up a sail. The moon was coming to herself on the edge of a great cloud, and the sail began to shine white. Diamond rubbed his eyes, and wondered what it was all about. Things seemed going on around him, and all to understand each other, but he could make nothing of it. So he put his hands in his pockets, and went in to have his tea. The night was very hot, for the wind had fallen again.

      "You don't seem very well to-night, Diamond," said his mother.

      "I am quite well, mother," returned Diamond, who was only puzzled.

      "I think you had better go to bed," she added.

      "Very well, mother," he answered.

      He stopped for one moment to look out of the window. Above the moon the clouds were going different ways. Somehow or other this troubled him, but, notwithstanding, he was soon fast asleep.

      He woke in the middle of the night and the darkness. A terrible noise was rumbling overhead, like the rolling beat of great drums echoing through a brazen vault. The roof of the loft in which he lay had no ceiling; only the tiles were between him and the sky. For a while he could not come quite awake, for the noise kept beating him down, so that his heart was troubled and fluttered painfully. A second peal of thunder burst over his head, and almost choked him with fear. Nor did he recover until the great blast that followed, having torn some tiles off the roof, sent a spout of wind down into his bed and over his face, which brought him wide awake, and gave him back his courage. The same moment he heard a mighty yet musical voice calling him.

      "Come up, Diamond," it said. "It's all ready. I'm waiting for you."

      He looked out of the bed, and saw a gigantic, powerful, but most lovely arm—with a hand whose fingers were nothing the less ladylike that they could have strangled a boa-constrictor, or choked a tigress off its prey—stretched down through a big hole in the roof. Without a moment's hesitation he reached out his tiny one, and laid it in the grand palm before him.

      CHAPTER VI.

       OUT IN THE STORM

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      THE hand felt its way up his arm, and, grasping it gently and strongly above the elbow, lifted Diamond from the bed. The moment he was through the hole in the roof, all the winds of heaven seemed to lay hold upon him, and buffet him hither and thither. His hair blew one way, his night-gown another, his legs threatened to float from under him, and his head to grow dizzy with the swiftness of the invisible assailant. Cowering, he clung with the other hand to the huge hand which held his arm, and fear invaded his heart.

      "Oh, North Wind!" he murmured, but the words vanished from his lips as he had seen the soap-bubbles that burst too soon vanish from the mouth of his pipe. The wind caught them, and they were nowhere. They couldn't get out at all, but were torn away and strangled. And yet North Wind heard them, and in her answer it seemed to Diamond that just because she was so big and could not help it, and just because her ear and her mouth must seem to him so dreadfully far away, she spoke to him more tenderly and graciously than ever before. Her voice was like the bass of a deep organ, without the groan in it; like the most delicate of violin tones without the wail in it; like the most glorious of trumpet-ejaculations without the defiance in it; like the sound of falling water without the clatter and clash in it: it was like all of them and neither of them—all of them without their faults, each of them without its peculiarity: after all, it was more like his mother's voice than anything else in the world.

      "Diamond, dear," she said, "be a man. What is fearful to you is not the least fearful to me."

      "But it can't hurt you," murmured Diamond, "for you're it."

      "Then if I'm it, and have you in my arms, how can it hurt you?"

      "Oh yes! I see," whispered Diamond. "But it looks so dreadful, and it pushes me about so."

      "Yes, it does, my dear. That is what it was sent for."

      At the same moment, a peal of thunder which shook Diamond's heart against the sides of his bosom hurtled out of the heavens: I cannot say out of the sky, for there was no sky. Diamond had not seen the lightning, for he had been intent on finding the face of North Wind. Every moment the folds of her garment would sweep across his eyes and blind him, but between, he could just persuade himself that he saw great glories of woman's eyes looking down through rifts in the mountainous clouds over his head.

      He trembled so at the thunder, that his knees failed him, and he sunk down at North Wind's feet, and clasped her round the column of her ankle. She instantly stooped, lifted him from the roof—up—up into her bosom, and held him there, saying, as if to an inconsolable child—

      "Diamond, dear, this will never do."

      "Oh yes, it will," answered Diamond. "I am all right now—quite comfortable, I assure you, dear North Wind. If you will only let me stay here, I shall be all right indeed."

      "But you will feel the wind here, Diamond."