“Oh, North Wind!” he murmured, but the words vanished from his lips as he had seen the soap-bubbles that burst too soon vanish from the mouth of his pipe. The wind caught them, and they were nowhere. They couldn't get out at all, but were torn away and strangled. And yet North Wind heard them, and in her answer it seemed to Diamond that just because she was so big and could not help it, and just because her ear and her mouth must seem to him so dreadfully far away, she spoke to him more tenderly and graciously than ever before. Her voice was like the bass of a deep organ, without the groan in it; like the most delicate of violin tones without the wail in it; like the most glorious of trumpet-ejaculations without the defiance in it; like the sound of falling water without the clatter and clash in it: it was like all of them and neither of them--all of them without their faults, each of them without its peculiarity: after all, it was more like his mother's voice than anything else in the world. “Diamond, dear,” she said, “be a man. What is fearful to you is not the least fearful to me.” “But it can't hurt you,” murmured Diamond, “for you're it.” “Then if I'm it, and have you in my arms, how can it hurt you?” “Oh yes! I see,” whispered Diamond. “But it looks so dreadful, and it pushes me about so.” “Yes, it does, my dear. That is what it was sent for.” At the same moment, a peal of thunder which shook Diamond's heart against the sides of his bosom hurtled out of the heavens: I cannot say out of the sky, for there was no sky. Diamond had not seen the lightning, for he had been intent on finding the face of North Wind. Every moment the folds of her garment would sweep across his eyes and blind him, but between, he could just persuade himself that he saw great glories of woman's eyes looking down through rifts in the mountainous clouds over his head. He trembled so at the thunder, that his knees failed him, and he sunk down at North Wind's feet, and clasped her round the column of her ankle. She instantly stooped, lifted him from the roof--up--up into her bosom, and held him there, saying, as if to an inconsolable child-- “Diamond, dear, this will never do.” “Oh yes, it will,” answered Diamond. “I am all right now--quite comfortable, I assure you, dear North Wind. If you will only let me stay here, I shall be all right indeed.” “But you will feel the wind here, Diamond.” “I don't mind that a bit, so long as I feel your arms through it,” answered Diamond, nestling closer to her grand bosom. “Brave boy!” returned North Wind, pressing him closer. “No,” said Diamond, “I don't see that. It's not courage at all, so long as I feel you there.” “But hadn't you better get into my hair? Then you would not feel the wind; you will here.”