Fairy Tales & Fantasy: George MacDonald Collection (With Complete Original Illustrations). George MacDonaldЧитать онлайн книгу.
enough to wake him up quite, and let him hear the wind whistling shrill in the hole. He searched for his hay-cork, found it, stuck it in harder, and was just dropping off once more, when, pop! with an angry whistle behind it, the cork struck him again, this time on the cheek. Up he rose once more, made a fresh stopple of hay, and corked the hole severely. But he was hardly down again before—pop! it came on his forehead. He gave it up, drew the clothes above his head, and was soon fast asleep.
Although the next day was very stormy, Diamond forgot all about the hole, for he was busy making a cave by the side of his mother's fire with a broken chair, a three-legged stool, and a blanket, and then sitting in it. His mother, however, discovered it, and pasted a bit of brown paper over it, so that, when Diamond had snuggled down the next night, he had no occasion to think of it.
Presently, however, he lifted his head and listened. Who could that be talking to him? The wind was rising again, and getting very loud, and full of rushes and whistles. He was sure some one was talking—and very near him, too, it was. But he was not frightened, for he had not yet learned how to be; so he sat up and hearkened. At last the voice, which, though quite gentle, sounded a little angry, appeared to come from the back of the bed. He crept nearer to it, and laid his ear against the wall. Then he heard nothing but the wind, which sounded very loud indeed. The moment, however, that he moved his head from the wall, he heard the voice again, close to his ear. He felt about with his hand, and came upon the piece of paper his mother had pasted over the hole. Against this he laid his ear, and then he heard the voice quite distinctly. There was, in fact, a little corner of the paper loose, and through that, as from a mouth in the wall, the voice came.
"What do you mean, little boy—closing up my window?"
"What window?" asked Diamond.
"You stuffed hay into it three times last night. I had to blow it out again three times."
"You can't mean this little hole! It isn't a window; it's a hole in my bed."
"I did not say it was a window: I said it was my window."
"But it can't be a window, because windows are holes to see out of."
"Well, that's just what I made this window for."
"But you are outside: you can't want a window."
"You are quite mistaken. Windows are to see out of, you say. Well, I'm in my house, and I want windows to see out of it."
"But you've made a window into my bed."
"Well, your mother has got three windows into my dancing room, and you have three into my garret."
"But I heard father say, when my mother wanted him to make a window through the wall, that it was against the law, for it would look into Mr. Dyves's garden."
The voice laughed.
"The law would have some trouble to catch me!" it said.
"But if it's not right, you know," said Diamond, "that's no matter. You shouldn't do it."
"I am so tall I am above that law," said the voice.
"You must have a tall house, then," said Diamond.
"Yes; a tall house: the clouds are inside it."
"Dear me!" said Diamond, and thought a minute. "I think, then, you can hardly expect me to keep a window in my bed for you. Why don't you make a window into Mr. Dyves's bed?"
"Nobody makes a window into an ash-pit," said the voice, rather sadly. "I like to see nice things out of my windows."
"But he must have a nicer bed than I have, though mine is very nice—so nice that I couldn't wish a better."
"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 bed-clothes. 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 bed-clothes.
"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 bed-clothes, 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