CHAPTER XXXVI. DIAMOND QUESTIONS NORTH WIND
Project Gutenberg EPUB3 edition
MacDonald, George
MY READERS will not wonder that, after this, I did my very best to gain the friendship of Diamond. Nor did I find this at all difficult, the child was so ready to trust. Upon one subject alone was he reticent—the story of his relations with North Wind. I fancy he could not quite make up his mind what to think of them. At all events it was some little time before he trusted me with this, only then he told me everything. If I could not regard it all in exactly the same light as he did, I was, while guiltless of the least pretence, fully sympathetic, and he was satisfied without demanding of me any theory of difficult points involved. I let him see plainly enough, that whatever might be the explanation of the marvellous experience, I would have given much for a similar one myself.
On an evening soon after the thunderstorm, in a late twilight, with a half-moon high in the heavens, I came upon Diamond in the act of climbing by his little ladder into the beech-tree.
“What are you always going up there for, Diamond?” I heard Nanny ask, rather rudely, I thought.
“Sometimes for one thing, sometimes for another, Nanny,” answered Diamond, looking skywards as he climbed.
“You'll break your neck some day,” she said.
“I'm going up to look at the moon to-night,” he added, without heeding her remark.
“You'll see the moon just as well down here,” she returned.
“I don't think so.”
“You'll be no nearer to her up there.”
“Oh, yes! I shall. I must be nearer her, you know. I wish I could dream as pretty dreams about her as you can, Nanny.”
“You silly! you never have done about that dream. I never dreamed but that one, and it was nonsense enough, I'm sure.”
“It wasn't nonsense. It was a beautiful dream—and a funny one too, both in one.”
“But what's the good of talking about it that way, when you know it was only a dream? Dreams ain't true.”
“That one was true, Nanny. You know it was. Didn't you come to grief for doing what you were told not to do? And isn't that true?”
“I can't get any sense into him,” exclaimed Nanny, with an expression of mild despair. “Do you really believe, Diamond, that there's a house in the moon, with a beautiful lady and a crooked old man and dusters in it?”
“If there isn't, there's something better,” he answered, and vanished in the leaves over our heads.
I went into the house, where I visited often in the evenings. When I came out, there was a little wind blowing, very pleasant after the heat of the day, for although it was late summer now, it was still hot. The tree-tops were swinging about in it. I took my way past the beech, and called up to see if Diamond were still in his nest in its rocking head.
“Are you there, Diamond?” I said.
“Yes, sir,” came his clear voice in reply.
“Isn't it growing too dark for you to get down safely?”
“Oh, no, sir—if I take time to it. I know my way so well, and never let go with one hand till I've a good hold with the other.”
“Do be careful,” I insisted—foolishly, seeing the boy was as careful as he could be already.
“I'm coming,” he returned. “I've got all the moon I want to-night.”
I heard a rustling and a rustling drawing nearer and nearer. Three or four minutes elapsed, and he appeared at length creeping down his little ladder. I took him in my arms, and set him on the ground.
“Thank you, sir,” he said. “That's the north wind blowing, isn't it, sir?”
“I can't tell,” I answered. “It feels cool and kind, and I think it may be. But I couldn't be sure except it were stronger, for a gentle wind might turn any way amongst the trunks of the trees.”
“I shall know when I get up to my own room,” said Diamond. “I think I hear my mistress's bell. Good-night, sir.”
He ran to the house, and I went home.
His mistress had rung for him only to send him to bed, for she was very careful over him and I daresay thought he was not looking well. When he reached his own room, he opened both his windows, one of which looked to the north and the other to the east, to find how the wind blew. It blew right in at the northern window. Diamond was very glad, for he thought perhaps North Wind herself would come now: a real north wind had never blown all the time since he left London. But, as she always came of herself, and never when he was looking for her, and indeed almost never when he was thinking of her, he shut the east window, and went to bed. Perhaps some of my readers may wonder that he could go to sleep with such an expectation; and, indeed, if I had not known him, I should have wondered at it myself; but it was one of his peculiarities, and seemed nothing strange in him. He was so full of quietness that he could go to sleep almost any time, if he only composed himself and let the sleep come. This time he went fast asleep as usual.
But he woke in the dim blue night. The moon had vanished. He thought he heard a knocking at his door. “Somebody wants me,” he said to himself, and jumping out of bed, ran to open it.
But there was no one there. He closed it again, and, the noise still continuing, found that another door in the room was rattling. It belonged to a closet, he thought, but he had never been able to open it. The wind blowing in at the window must be shaking it. He would go and see if it was so.
The door now opened quite easily, but to his surprise, instead of a closet he found a long narrow room. The moon, which was sinking in the west, shone in at an open window at the further end. The room was low with a coved ceiling, and occupied the whole top of the house, immediately under the roof. It was quite empty. The yellow light of the half-moon streamed over the dark floor. He was so delighted at the discovery of the strange, desolate, moonlit place close to his own snug little room, that he began to dance and skip about the floor. The wind came in through the door he had left open, and blew about him as he danced, and he kept turning towards it that it might blow in his face. He kept picturing to himself the many places, lovely and desolate, the hill-sides and farm-yards and tree-tops and meadows, over which it had blown on its way to The Mound. And as he danced, he grew more and more delighted with the motion and the wind; his feet grew stronger, and his body lighter, until at length it seemed as if he were borne up on the air, and could almost fly. So strong did his feeling become, that at last he began to doubt whether he was not in one of those precious dreams he had so often had, in which he floated about on the air at will.
But something made him look up, and to his unspeakable delight, he found his uplifted hands lying in those of North Wind, who was dancing with him, round and round the long bare room, her hair now falling to the floor, now filling the arched ceiling, her eyes shining on him like thinking stars, and the sweetest of grand smiles playing breezily about her beautiful mouth. She was, as so often before, of the height of a rather tall lady. She did not stoop in order to dance with him, but held his hands high in hers. When he saw her, he gave one spring, and his arms were about her neck, and her arms holding him to her bosom. The same moment she swept with him through the open window in at which the moon was shining, made a circuit like a bird about to alight, and settled with him in his nest on the top of the great beech-tree. There she placed him on her lap and began to hush him as if he were her own baby, and Diamond was so entirely happy that he did not care to speak a word. At length, however, he found that he was going to sleep, and that would be to lose so much, that, pleasant as it was, he could not consent.
“Please, dear North Wind,” he said, “I am so happy that I'm afraid it's a dream. How am I to know that it's not a dream?”
“What does it matter?” returned North Wind.
“I should cry,” said Diamond.
“But why should you cry? The dream, if it is a dream, is a pleasant one—is it not?”
“That's just why I want it to be true.”
“Have you forgotten what you said to Nanny about her dream?”
“It's not for the dream itself—I mean, it's not for the pleasure of it,” answered Diamond, “for I have that, whether it be a dream or not; it's for you, North Wind; I can't bear to find it a dream, because then I should lose you. You would be nobody then, and I could not bear that. You ain't a dream, are you, dear North Wind? Do say No, else I shall cry, and come awake, and you'll be gone for ever. I daren't dream about you once again if you ain't anybody.”