“It’s not the bed I care about: it’s what is in it.—But you just open that window.”
“Well, mother says I shouldn’t be disobliging; but it’s rather hard. You see the north wind will blow right in my face if I do.”
“I am the North Wind.”
“O-o-oh!” said Diamond, thoughtfully. “Then will you promise not to blow on my face if I open your window?”
“I can’t promise that.”
“But you’ll give me the toothache. Mother’s got it already.”
“But what’s to become of me without a window?”
“I’m sure I don’t know. All I say is, it will be worse for me than for you.”
“No; it will not. You shall not be the worse for it—I promise you that. You will be much the better for it. Just you believe what I say, and do as I tell you.”
“Well, I can pull the clothes over my head,” said Diamond, and feeling with his little sharp nails, he got hold of the open edge of the paper and tore it off at once.
In came a long whistling spear of cold, and struck his little naked chest. He scrambled and tumbled in under the bedclothes, and covered himself up: there was no paper now between him and the voice, and he felt a little—not frightened exactly—I told you he had not learned that yet—but rather queer; for what a strange person this North Wind must be that lived in the great house—“called Out-of-Doors, I suppose,” thought Diamond—and made windows into people’s beds! But the voice began again; and he could hear it quite plainly, even with his head under the bedclothes. It was a still more gentle voice now, although six times as large and loud as it had been, and he thought it sounded a little like his mother’s.
“What is your name, little boy?” it asked.
“Diamond,” answered Diamond, under the bedclothes.
“What a funny name!”
“It’s a very nice name,” returned its owner.
“I don’t know that,” said the voice.
“Well, I do,” retorted Diamond, a little rudely.
“Do you know to whom you are speaking!”
“No,” said Diamond.
And indeed he did not. For to know a person’s name is not always to know the person’s self.
“Then I must not be angry with you.—You had better look and see, though.”
“Diamond is a very pretty name,” persisted the boy, vexed that it should not give satisfaction.
“Diamond is a useless thing rather,” said the voice.
“That’s not true. Diamond is very nice—as big as two—and so quiet all night! And doesn’t he make a jolly row in the morning, getting upon his four great legs! It’s like thunder.”
“You don’t seem to know what a diamond is.”
“Oh, don’t I just! Diamond is a great and good horse; and he sleeps right under me. He is old Diamond, and I am young Diamond; or, if you like it better, for you’re very particular, Mr. North Wind, he’s big Diamond, and I’m little Diamond; and I don’t know which of us my father likes best.”
A beautiful laugh, large but very soft and musical, sounded somewhere beside him, but Diamond kept his head under the clothes.
“I’m not Mr. North Wind,” said the voice.
“You told me that you were the North Wind,” insisted Diamond.
“I did not say Mister North Wind,” said the voice.
“Well, then, I do; for mother tells me I ought to be polite.”
“Then let me tell you I don’t think it at all polite of you to say Mister to me.”
“Well, I didn’t know better. I’m very sorry.”
“But you ought to know better.”
“I don’t know that.”
“I do. You can’t say it’s polite to lie there talking—with your head under the bedclothes, and never look up to see what kind of person you are talking to.—I want you to come out with me.”
“I want to go to sleep,” said Diamond, very nearly crying, for he did not like to be scolded, even when he deserved it.
“You shall sleep all the better tomorrow night.”
“Besides,” said Diamond, “you are out in Mr. Dyves’s garden, and I can’t get there. I can only get into our own yard.”
“Will you take your head out of the bedclothes?” said the voice, just a little angrily.
“No!” answered Diamond, half peevish, half frightened.
The instant he said the word, a tremendous blast of wind crashed in a board of the wall, and swept the clothes off Diamond. He started up in terror. Leaning over him was the large, beautiful, pale face of a woman. Her dark eyes looked a little angry, for they had just begun to flash; but a quivering in her sweet upper lip made her look as if she were going to cry. What was the most strange was that away from her head streamed out her black hair in every direction, so that the darkness in the hayloft looked as if it were made of her hair but as Diamond gazed at her in speechless amazement, mingled with confidence—for the boy was entranced with her mighty beauty—her hair began to gather itself out of the darkness, and fell down all about her again, till her face looked out of the midst of it like a moon out of a cloud. From her eyes came all the light by which Diamond saw her face and her hair; and that was all he did see of her yet. The wind was over and gone.
“Will you go with me now, you little Diamond? I am sorry I was forced to be so rough with you,” said the lady.
“I will; yes, I will,” answered Diamond, holding out both his arms. “But,” he added, dropping them, “how shall I get my clothes? They are in mother’s room, and the door is locked.”
“Oh, never mind your clothes. You will not be cold. I shall take care of that. Nobody is cold with the north wind.”
“I thought everybody was,” said Diamond.
“That is a great mistake. Most people make it, however. They are cold because they are not with the north wind,
