“Yes; that’s all very true. So you see the birds are provided for. But there are no such barns for you and me, Diamond.”
“Ain’t there?”
“No. We’ve got to work for our bread.”
“Then let’s go and work,” said Diamond, getting up.
“It’s no use. We’ve not got anything to do.”
“Then let’s wait.”
“Then we shall starve.”
“No. There’s the basket. Do you know, mother, I think I shall call that basket the barn.”
“It’s not a very big one. And when it’s empty—where are we then?”
“At auntie’s cupboard,” returned Diamond promptly.
“But we can’t eat auntie’s things all up and leave her to starve.”
“No, no. We’ll go back to father before that. He’ll have found a cupboard somewhere by that time.”
“How do you know that?”
“I don’t know it. But I haven’t got even a cupboard, and I’ve always had plenty to eat. I’ve heard you say I had too much, sometimes.”
“But I tell you that’s because I’ve had a cupboard for you, child.”
“And when yours was empty, auntie opened hers.”
“But that can’t go on.”
“How do you know? I think there must be a big cupboard somewhere, out of which the little cupboards are filled, you know, mother.”
“Well, I wish I could find the door of that cupboard,” said his mother. But the same moment she stopped, and was silent for a good while. I cannot tell whether Diamond knew what she was thinking, but I think I know. She had heard something at church the day before, which came back upon her—something like this, that she hadn’t to eat for tomorrow as well as for today; and that what was not wanted couldn’t be missed. So, instead of saying anything more, she stretched out her hand for the basket, and she and Diamond had their dinner.
And Diamond did enjoy it. For the drive and the fresh air had made him quite hungry; and he did not, like his mother, trouble himself about what they should dine off that day week. The fact was he had lived so long without any food at all at the back of the north wind, that he knew quite well that food was not essential to existence; that in fact, under certain circumstances, people could live without it well enough.
His mother did not speak much during their dinner. After it was over she helped him to walk about a little, but he was not able for much and soon got tired. He did not get fretful, though. He was too glad of having the sun and the wind again, to fret because he could not run about. He lay down on the dry sand, and his mother covered him with a shawl. She then sat by his side, and took a bit of work from her pocket. But Diamond felt rather sleepy, and turned on his side and gazed sleepily over the sand. A few yards off he saw something fluttering.
“What is that, mother?” he said.
“Only a bit of paper,” she answered.
“It flutters more than a bit of paper would, I think,” said Diamond.
“I’ll go and see if you like,” said his mother. “My eyes are none of the best.”
So she rose and went and found that they were both right, for it was a little book, partly buried in the sand. But several of its leaves were clear of the sand, and these the wind kept blowing about in a very flutterful manner. She took it up and brought it to Diamond.
“What is it, mother?” he asked.
“Some nursery rhymes, I think,” she answered.
“I’m too sleepy,” said Diamond. “Do read some of them to me.”
“Yes, I will,” she said, and began one.—“But this is such nonsense!” she said again. “I will try to find a better one.”
She turned the leaves searching, but three times, with sudden puffs, the wind blew the leaves rustling back to the same verses.
“Do read that one,” said Diamond, who seemed to be of the same mind as the wind. “It sounded very nice. I am sure it is a good one.”
So his mother thought it might amuse him, though she couldn’t find any sense in it. She never thought he might understand it, although she could not.
Now I do not exactly know what the mother read, but this is what Diamond heard, or thought afterwards that he had heard. He was, however, as I have said, very sleepy. And when he thought he understood the verses he may have been only dreaming better ones. This is how they went—
I know a river
whose waters run asleep
run run ever
singing in the shallows
dumb in the hollows
sleeping so deep
and all the swallows
that dip their feathers
in the hollows
or in the shallows
are the merriest swallows of all
for the nests they bake
with the clay they cake
with the water they shake
from their wings that rake
the water out of the shallows
or the hollows
will hold together
in any weather
and so the swallows
are the merriest fellows
and have the merriest children
and are built so narrow
like the head of an arrow
to cut the air
and go just where
the nicest water is flowing
and the nicest dust is blowing
for each so narrow
like head of an arrow
is only a barrow
to carry the mud he makes
from the nicest water flowing
and the nicest dust that is blowing
to build his nest
for her he loves best
with the nicest cakes
which the sunshine bakes
all for their merry children
all so callow
with beaks that follow
gaping and hollow
wider and wider
after their father
or after their mother
the food-provider
who brings them a spider
or a worm the poor hider
down in the earth
so there’s no dearth
for their beaks as yellow
as the buttercups growing
beside the flowing
of the singing river
always and ever
growing and blowing
for fast as the sheep
awake or asleep
crop them and crop them
they cannot stop them
but up they creep
and on they go blowing
and so with the daisies
the little white praises
they grow and they blow
and they spread
