which made the little girl laugh in the midst of her crying.
“Where are you going?” asked Diamond, rubbing the elbow that had stuck farthest out. The arm it belonged to was twined round a lamp-post as he stood between the little girl and the wind.
“Home,” she said, gasping for breath.
“Then I will go with you,” said Diamond.
And then they were silent for a while, for the wind blew worse than ever, and they had both to hold on to the lamp-post.
“Where is your crossing?” asked the girl at length.
“I don’t sweep,” answered Diamond.
“What do you do, then?” asked she. “You ain’t big enough for most things.”
“I don’t know what I do do,” answered he, feeling rather ashamed. “Nothing, I suppose. My father’s Mr. Coleman’s coachman.”
“Have you a father?” she said, staring at him as if a boy with a father was a natural curiosity.
“Yes. Haven’t you?” returned Diamond.
“No; nor mother neither. Old Sal’s all I’ve got.” And she began to cry again.
“I wouldn’t go to her if she wasn’t good to me,” said Diamond.
“But you must go somewheres.”
“Move on,” said the voice of a policeman behind them.
“I told you so,” said the girl. “You must go somewheres. They’re always at it.”
“But old Sal doesn’t beat you, does she?”
“I wish she would.”
“What do you mean?” asked Diamond, quite bewildered.
“She would if she was my mother. But she wouldn’t lie abed a-cuddlin’ of her ugly old bones, and laugh to hear me crying at the door.”
“You don’t mean she won’t let you in to-night?”
“It’ll be a good chance if she does.”
“Why are you out so late, then?” asked Diamond.
“My crossing’s a long way off at the West End, and I had been indulgin’ in door-steps and mewses.”
“We’d better have a try anyhow,” said Diamond. “Come along.”
As he spoke Diamond thought he caught a glimpse of North Wind turning a corner in front of them; and when they turned the corner too, they found it quiet there, but he saw nothing of the lady.
“Now you lead me,” he said, taking her hand, “and I’ll take care of you.”
The girl withdrew her hand, but only to dry her eyes with her frock, for the other had enough to do with her broom. She put it in his again, and led him, turning after turning, until they stopped at a cellar-door in a very dirty lane. There she knocked.
“I shouldn’t like to live here,” said Diamond.
“Oh, yes, you would, if you had nowhere else to go to,” answered the girl. “I only wish we may get in.”
“I don’t want to go in,” said Diamond.
“Where do you mean to go, then?”
“Home to my home.”
“Where’s that?”
“I don’t exactly know.”
“Then you’re worse off than I am.”
“Oh no, for North Wind—” began Diamond, and stopped, he hardly knew why.
“What?” said the girl, as she held her ear to the door listening.
But Diamond did not reply. Neither did old Sal.
“I told you so,” said the girl. “She is wide awake hearkening. But we don’t get in.”
“What will you do, then?” asked Diamond.
“Move on,” she answered.
“Where?”
“Oh, anywheres. Bless you, I’m used to it.”
“Hadn’t you better come home with me, then?”
“That’s a good joke, when you don’t know where it is. Come on.”
“But where?”
“Oh, nowheres in particular. Come on.”
Diamond obeyed. The wind had now fallen considerably. They wandered on and on, turning in this direction and that, without any reason for one way more than another, until they had got out of the thick of the houses into a waste kind of place. By this time they were both very tired. Diamond felt a good deal inclined to cry, and thought he had been very silly to get down from the back of North Wind; not that he would have minded it if he had done the girl any good; but he thought he had been of no use to her. He was mistaken there, for she was far happier for having Diamond with her than if she had been wandering about alone. She did not seem so tired as he was.
“Do let us rest a bit,” said Diamond.
“Let’s see,” she answered. “There’s something like a railway there. Perhaps there’s an open arch.”
They went towards it and found one, and, better still, there was an empty barrel lying under the arch.
“Hallo! here we are!” said the girl. “A barrel’s the jolliest bed going—on the tramp, I mean. We’ll have forty winks, and then go on again.”
She crept in, and Diamond crept in beside her. They put their arms round each other, and when he began to grow warm, Diamond’s courage began to come back.
“This is jolly!” he said. “I’m so glad!”
“I don’t think so much of it,” said the girl. “I’m used to it, I suppose. But I can’t think how a kid like you comes to be out all alone this time o’ night.”
She called him a kid, but she was not really a month older than he was; only she had had to work for her bread, and that so soon makes people older.
“But I shouldn’t have been out so late if I hadn’t got down to help you,” said Diamond. “North Wind is gone home long ago.”
“I think you must ha’ got out o’ one o’ them Hidget Asylms,” said the girl. “You said something about the north wind afore that I couldn’t get the rights of.”
So now, for the sake of his character, Diamond had to tell her the whole story.
She did not believe a word of it. She said he wasn’t such a flat as to believe all that bosh. But as she spoke there came a great blast of wind through the arch, and set the barrel rolling. So they made haste to get out of it, for they had no
