“Why, Diamond, child!” said his mother at last, “you’re as good to your mother as if you were a girl—nursing the baby, and toasting the bread, and sweeping up the hearth! I declare a body would think you had been among the fairies.”
Could Diamond have had greater praise or greater pleasure? You see when he forgot his Self his mother took care of his Self, and loved and praised his Self. Our own praises poison our Selves, and puff and swell them up, till they lose all shape and beauty, and become like great toadstools. But the praises of father or mother do our Selves good, and comfort them and make them beautiful. They never do them any harm. If they do any harm, it comes of our mixing some of our own praises with them, and that turns them nasty and slimy and poisonous.
When his father had finished his breakfast, which he did rather in a hurry, he got up and went down into the yard to get out his horse and put him to the cab.
“Won’t you come and see the cab, Diamond?” he said.
“Yes, please, father—if mother can spare me a minute,” answered Diamond.
“Bless the child! I don’t want him,” said his mother cheerfully.
But as he was following his father out of the door, she called him back.
“Diamond, just hold the baby one minute. I have something to say to your father.”
So Diamond sat down again, took the baby in his lap, and began poking his face into its little body, laughing and singing all the while, so that the baby crowed like a little bantam. And what he sang was something like this—such nonsense to those that couldn’t understand it! but not to the baby, who got all the good in the world out of it:—
baby’s a-sleeping
wake up baby
for all the swallows
are the merriest fellows
and have the yellowest children
who would go sleeping
and snore like a gaby
disturbing his mother
and father and brother
and all a-boring
their ears with his snoring
snoring snoring
for himself and no other
for himself in particular
wake up baby
sit up perpendicular
hark to the gushing
hark to the rushing
where the sheep are the woolliest
and the lambs the unruliest
and their tails the whitest
and their eyes the brightest
and baby’s the bonniest
and baby’s the funniest
and baby’s the shiniest
and baby’s the tiniest
and baby’s the merriest
and baby’s the worriest
of all the lambs
that plague their dams
and mother’s the whitest
of all the dams
that feed the lambs
that go crop-cropping
without stop-stopping
and father’s the best
of all the swallows
that build their
nest out of the shining shallows
and he has the merriest children
that’s baby and Diamond
and Diamond and baby
and baby and Diamond
and Diamond and baby
Here Diamond’s knees went off in a wild dance which tossed the baby about and shook the laughter out of him in immoderate peals. His mother had been listening at the door to the last few lines of his song, and came in with the tears in her eyes. She took the baby from him, gave him a kiss, and told him to run to his father.
By the time Diamond got into the yard, the horse was between the shafts, and his father was looping the traces on. Diamond went round to look at the horse. The sight of him made him feel very queer. He did not know much about different horses, and all other horses than their own were very much the same to him. But he could not make it out. This was Diamond and it wasn’t Diamond. Diamond didn’t hang his head like that; yet the head that was hanging was very like the one that Diamond used to hold so high. Diamond’s bones didn’t show through his skin like that; but the skin they pushed out of shape so was very like Diamond’s skin; and the bones might be Diamond’s bones, for he had never seen the shape of them. But when he came round in front of the old horse, and he put out his long neck, and began sniffing at him and rubbing his upper lip and his nose on him, then Diamond saw it could be no other than old Diamond, and he did just as his father had done before—put his arms round his neck and cried—but not much.
“Ain’t it jolly, father?” he said. “Was there ever anybody so lucky as me? Dear old Diamond!”
And he hugged the horse again, and kissed both his big hairy cheeks. He could only manage one at a time, however—the other cheek was so far off on the other side of his big head.
His father mounted the box with just the same air, as Diamond thought, with which he had used to get upon the coach-box, and Diamond said to himself, “Father’s as grand as ever anyhow.” He had kept his brown livery-coat, only his wife had taken the silver buttons off and put brass ones instead, because they did not think it polite to Mr. Coleman in his fallen fortunes to let his crest be seen upon the box of a cab. Old Diamond had kept just his collar; and that had the silver crest upon it still, for his master thought nobody would notice that, and so let it remain for a memorial of the better days of which it reminded him—not unpleasantly, seeing it had been by no fault either of his or of the old horse’s that they had come down in the world together.
“Oh, father, do let me drive a bit,” said Diamond, jumping up on the box beside him.
His father changed places with him at once, putting the reins into his hands. Diamond gathered them up eagerly.
“Don’t pull at his mouth,” said his father, “just feel, at it gently to let him know you’re there and attending to him.
