At the Back of the North Wind | Page 2

the outside, yet in many places they were more like tinder than timber. Hence it happened that the soft part having worn away from about it, little Diamond found one night, after he lay down, that a knot had come out of one of them, and that the wind was blowing in upon him in a cold and rather imperious fashion. Now he had no fancy for leaving things wrong that might be set right; so he jumped out of bed again, got a little strike of hay, twisted it up, folded it in the middle, and, having thus made it into a cork, stuck it into the hole in the wall. But the wind began to blow loud and angrily, and, as Diamond was falling asleep, out blew his cork and hit him on the nose, just hard 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