t of sight.

After a little while, I heard his voice coming down out of the tree.

"I am in my nest now," said the voice.

"I can't see you," I returned.

"I can't see you either, but I can see the first star peeping out of the
sky. I should like to get up into the sky. Don't you think I shall, some
day?"

"Yes, I do. Tell me what more you see up there."

"I don't see anything more, except a few leaves, and the big sky over
me. It goes swinging about. The earth is all behind my back. There comes
another star! The wind is like kisses from a big lady. When I get up
here I feel as if I were in North Wind's arms."

This was the first I heard of North Wind.

The whole ways and look of the child, so full of quiet wisdom, yet so
ready to accept the judgment of others in his own dispraise, took hold
of my heart, and I felt myself wonderfully drawn towards him. It seemed
to me, somehow, as if little Diamond possessed the secret of life, and
was himself what he was so ready to think the lowest living thing--an
angel of God with something special to say or do. A gush of reverence
came over me, and with a single goodnight, I turned and left him in his
nest.

I saw him often after this, and gained so much of his confidence that he
told me all I have told you. I cannot pretend to account for it. I leave
that for each philosophical reader to do after his own fashion. The
easiest way is that of Nanny and Jim, who said often to each other
that Diamond had a tile loose. But Mr. Raymond was much of my opinion
concerning the boy; while Mrs. Raymond confessed that she often rang her
bell just to have once more the pleasure of seeing the lovely stillness
of the boy's face, with those blue eyes which seemed rather made for
other people to look into than for himself to look out of.

It was plainer to others than to himself that he felt the desertion of
Nanny and Jim. They appeared to regard him as a mere toy, except when
they found he could minister to the scruple of using him--generally with
success. They were, however, well-behaved to a wonderful degree; while
I have little doubt that much of their good behaviour was owing to the
unconscious influence of the boy they called God's baby.

One very strange thing is that I could never find out where he got some
of his many songs. At times they would be but bubbles blown out of a
nursery rhyme, as was the following, which I heard him sing one evening
to his little Dulcimer. There wer