"That's all right then," said Diamond, thinking I daresay more than he chose to put in words.
"Is it though? Poor boy! how little you know about things! Mr. Coleman's lost all his money, and your father has nothing to do, and we shall have nothing to eat by and by."
"Are you sure, mother?"
"Sure of what?"
"Sure that we shall have nothing to eat."
"No, thank Heaven! I'm not sure of it. I hope not."
"Then I can't understand it, mother. There's a piece of gingerbread in the basket, I know."
"O you little bird! You have no more sense than a sparrow that picks what it wants, and never thinks of the winter and the frost and, the snow."
"Ah—yes—I see. But the birds get through the winter, don't they?"
"Some of them fall dead on the ground."
"They must die some time. They wouldn't like to be birds always. Would you, mother?"
"What a child it is!" thought his mother, but she said nothing.
"Oh! now I remember," Diamond went on. "Father told me that day I went to Epping Forest with him, that the rose-bushes, and the may-bushes, and the holly-bushes were the bird's barns, for there were the hips, and the haws, and the holly-berries, all ready for the winter."
"Yes; that's all very true. So you see the birds are provided for. But there are no such barns for you and me, Diamond."
"Ain't there?"
"No. We've got to work for our bread."
"Then let's go and work," said Diamond, getting up.
"It's no use. We've not got anything to do."
"Then let's wait."
"Then we shall starve."
"No. There's the basket. Do you know, mother, I think I shall call that basket the barn."
"It's not a very big one. And when it's empty—where are we then?"
"At auntie's cupboard," returned Diamond promptly.
"But we can't eat auntie's things all up and leave her to starve."
"No, no. We'll go back to father before that. He'll have found a cupboard somewhere by that time."
"How do you know that?"
"I don't know it. But I haven't got even a cupboard, and I've always had plenty to eat. I've heard you say I had too much, sometimes."
"But I tell you that's because I've had a cupboard for you, child."
"And when yours was empty, auntie opened hers."
"But that can't go on."
"How do you know? I think there must be a big cupboard somewhere, out of which the little cupboards are filled, you know, mother."
"Well, I wish I could find the door of that cupboard," said his mother. But the same moment she stopped, and was silent for a good while. I cannot tell whether Diamond knew what she was thinking, but I think I know. She had heard something at church the day before, which came back upon her—something like this, that she hadn't to eat for tomorrow as well as for to-day; and that what was not wanted couldn't be missed. So, instead of saying anything more, she stretched out her hand for the basket, and she and Diamond had their dinner.
And Diamond did enjoy it. For the drive and the fresh air had made him quite hungry; and he did not, like his mother, trouble himself about what they should dine off that day week. The fact was he had lived so long without any food at all at the back of the north wind, that he knew quite well that food was not essential to existence; that in fact, under certain circumstances, people could live without it well enough.
His mother did not speak much during their dinner. After it was over she helped him to walk about a little, but he was not able for much and soon got tired. He did not get fretful, though. He was too glad of having the sun and the wind again, to fret because he could not run about. He lay down on the dry sand, and his mother covered him with a shawl. She then sat by his side, and took a bit of work from her pocket. But Diamond felt rather sleepy, and turned on his side and gazed sleepily over the sand. A few yards off he saw something fluttering.
"What is that, mother?" he said.
"Only a bit of paper," she answered.
"It flutters more than a bit of paper would, I think," said Diamond.
"I'll go and see if you like," said his mother. "My eyes are none of the best."
So she rose and went and found that they were both right, for it was a little book, partly buried in the sand. But several of its leaves were clear of the sand, and these the wind kept blowing about in a very flutterful manner. She took it up and brought it to Diamond.
"What is it, mother?" he asked.
"Some nursery rhymes, I think," she answered.
"I'm too sleepy," said Diamond. "Do read some of them to me."
"Yes, I will," she said, and began one.—"But this is such nonsense!" she said again. "I will try to find a better one."
She turned the leaves searching, but three times, with sudden puffs, the wind blew the leaves rustling back to the same verses.
"Do read that one," said Diamond, who seemed to be of the same mind as the wind. "It sounded very nice. I am sure it is a good one."
So his mother thought it might amuse him, though she couldn't find any sense in it. She never thought he might understand it, although she could not.
Now I do not exactly know what the mother read, but this is what Diamond heard, or thought afterwards that he had heard. He was, however, as I have said, very sleepy. And when he thought he understood the verses he may have been only dreaming better ones. This is how they went—
I know a river whose waters run asleep run run ever singing in the shallows dumb in the hollows sleeping so deep and all the swallows that dip their feathers in the hollows or in the shallows are the merriest swallows of all for the nests they bake with the clay they cake with the water they shake from their wings that rake the water out of the shallows or the hollows will hold together in any weather and so the swallows are the merriest fellows and have the merriest children and are built so narrow like the head of an arrow to cut the air and go just where the nicest water is flowing and the nicest dust is blowing for each so narrow like head of an arrow is only a barrow to carry the mud he makes from the nicest water flowing and the nicest dust that is blowing to build his nest for her he loves best with the nicest cakes which the sunshine bakes all for their merry children all so callow with beaks that follow gaping and hollow wider and wider after their father or after their mother the food-provider who brings them a spider or a worm the poor hider down in the earth so there's no dearth for their beaks as yellow as the buttercups growing beside the flowing of the singing river always and ever growing and blowing for fast as the sheep awake or asleep crop them and crop them they cannot stop them but up
