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Diamond having neither pickaxe nor spade, had the more time to think.
"I don't see any little girls," he said at last.

The captain stopped his shovelling, leaned on his spade, rubbed his
forehead thoughtfully with his left hand--the little angels were

all left-handed--repeated the words "little girls," and then,
as if a thought had struck him, resumed his work, saying--

"I think I know what you mean. I've never seen any of them, of course;
but I suppose that's the sort you mean. I'm told--but mind I don't

say it is so, for I don't know--that when we fall asleep, a troop
of angels very like ourselves, only quite different, goes round

to all the stars we have discovered, and discovers them after us.
I suppose with our shovelling and handling we spoil them a bit;

and I daresay the clouds that come up from below make them smoky
and dull sometimes. They say--mind, I say they say--these other

angels take them out one by one, and pass each round as we do,
and breathe over it, and rub it with their white hands, which are

softer than ours, because they don't do any pick-and-spade work,
and smile at it, and put it in again: and that is what keeps them from

growing dark."
"How jolly!" thought Diamond. "I should like to see them at their

work too.--When do you go to sleep?" he asked the captain.
"When we grow sleepy," answered the captain. "They do say--but mind

I say they say--that it is when those others--what do you call them?
I don't know if that is their name; I am only guessing that may be

the sort you mean--when they are on their rounds and come near any
troop of us we fall asleep. They live on the west side of the hill.

None of us have ever been to the top of it yet."
Even as he spoke, he dropped his spade. He tumbled down beside it,

and lay fast asleep. One after the other each of the troop dropped
his pickaxe or shovel from his listless hands, and lay fast asleep

by his work.
"Ah!" thought Diamond to himself, with delight, "now the girl-angels

are coming, and I, not being an angel, shall not fall asleep
like the rest, and I shall see the girl-angels."

But the same moment he felt himself growing sleepy. He struggled
hard with the invading power. He put up his fingers to his eyelids

and pulled them open. But it was of no use. He thought he saw
a glimmer of pale rosy light far up the green hill, and ceased

to know.
When he awoke, all the angels were starting up wide awake too.

He expected to see them lift their tools, but no, the time for play
had come. They looked happier than ever, and each began to sing

where he stood. He had not heard them sing before.
"Now," he thought, "I shall know what kind of nonsense the angels

sing when they are merry. They don't drive cabs, I see, but they
dig for stars, and they work hard enough to be merry after it."

And he did hear some of the angels' nonsense; for if it was all
sense to them, it had only just as much sense to Diamond as made

good nonsense of it. He tried hard to set it down in his mind,
listening as closely as he could, now to one, now to another,

and now to all together. But while they were yet singing he began,
to his dismay, to find that he was coming awake--faster and faster.

And as he came awake, he found that, for all the goodness of his memory,
verse after verse of the angels' nonsense vanished from it.

He always thought he could keep the last, but as the next began he
lost the one before it, and at length awoke, struggling to keep hold

of the last verse of all. He felt as if the effort to keep from
forgetting that one verse of the vanishing song nearly killed him.

And yet by the time he was wide awake he could not be sure of that even.
It was something like this:

White hands of whiteness
Wash the stars' faces,

Till glitter, glitter, glit, goes their brightness
Down to poor places.

This, however, was so near sense that he thought it could not be
really what they did sing.

CHAPTER XXVI
DIAMOND TAKES A FARE THE WRONG WAY RIGHT

THE next morning Diamond was up almost as early as before. He had nothing
to fear from his mother now, and made no secret of what he was about.

By the time he reached the stable, several of the men were there.
They asked him a good many questions as to his luck the day before,

and he told them all they wanted to know. But when he proceeded
to harness the old horse, they pushed him aside with rough kindness,

called him a baby, and began to do it all for him. So Diamond
ran in and had another mouthful of tea and bread and butter;

and although he had never been so tired as he was the night before,
he started quite fresh this morning. It was a cloudy day,

and the wind blew hard from the north--so hard sometimes that,
perched on the box with just his toes touching the ground,

Diamond wished that he had some kind of strap to fasten himself
down with lest he should be blown away. But he did not really

mind it.
His head was full of the dream he had dreamed; but it did not make

him neglect his work, for his work was not to dig stars but to drive
old Diamond and pick up fares. There are not many people who can

think about beautiful things and do common work at the same time.
But then there are not many people who have been to the back of the

north wind.
There was not much business doing. And Diamond felt rather cold,

notwithstanding his mother had herself put on his comforter
and helped him with his greatcoat. But he was too well aware

of his dignity to get inside his cab as some do. A cabman ought
to be above minding the weather--at least so Diamond thought.

At length he was called to a neighbouring house, where a young woman
with a heavy box had to be taken to Wapping for a coast-steamer.

He did not find it at all pleasant, so far east and so near the river;
for the roughs were in great force. However, there being no block,

not even in Nightingale Lane, he reached the entrance of the wharf,
and set down his passenger without annoyance. But as he turned

to go back, some idlers, not content with chaffing him, showed a
mind to the fare the young woman had given him. They were just

pulling him off the box, and Diamond was shouting for the police,
when a pale-faced man, in very shabby clothes, but with the look

of a gentleman somewhere about him, came up, and making good use of
his stick, drove them off.

"Now, my little man," he said, "get on while you can. Don't lose
any time. This is not a place for you."

But Diamond was not in the habit of thinking only of himself.
He saw that his new friend looked weary, if not ill, and very poor.

"Won't you jump in, sir?" he said. "I will take you wherever
you like."

"Thank you, my man; but I have no money; so I can't."
"Oh! I don't want any money. I shall be much happier if you will

get in. You have saved me all I had. I owe you a lift, sir."
"Which way are you going?"

"To Charing Cross; but I don't mind where I go."
"Well, I am very tired. If you will take me to Charing Cross,

I shall be greatly obliged to you. I have walked from Gravesend,
and had hardly a penny left to get through the tunnel."

So saying, he opened the door and got in, and Diamond drove away.
But as he drove, he could not help fancying he had seen the gentleman--

for Diamond knew he was a gentleman--before. Do all he could,
however, he could not recall where or when. Meantime his fare,

if we may call him such, seeing he was to pay nothing, whom the relief
of being carried had made less and less inclined to carry himself,

had been turning over things in his mind, and, as they passed
the Mint, called to Diamond, who stopped the horse, got down

and went to the window.
"If you didn't mind taking me to Chiswick, I should be able

to pay you when we got there. It's a long way, but you shall
have the whole fare from the Docks--and something over."

"Very well, sir" said Diamond. "I shall be most happy."
He was just clambering up again, when the gentleman put his head

out of the window and said--
"It's The Wilderness--Mr. Coleman's place; but I'll direct you

when we come into the neighbourhood."
It flashed upon Diamond who he was. But he got upon his box

to arrange his thoughts before making any reply.
The gentleman was Mr. Evans, to whom Miss Coleman was to have been

married, and Diamond had seen him several times with her in the garden.
I have said that he had not behaved very well to Miss Coleman.

He had put off their marriage more than once in a cowardly fashion,
merely because he was ashamed to marry upon a small income,

and live in a humble way. When a man thinks of what people will say
in such a case, he may love, but his love is but a poor affair.

Mr. Coleman took him into the firm as a juniorpartner, and it
was in a measure through his influence that he entered upon those

speculations which ruined him. So his love had not been a blessing.
The ship which North Wind had sunk was their last venture,

and Mr. Evans had gone out with it in the hope of turning its
cargo to the best advantage. He was one of the single boat-load

which managed to reach a desert island, and he had gone through
a great many hardships and sufferings since then. But he was not

past being taught, and his troubles had done him no end of good,
for they had made him doubt himself, and begin to think, so that

he had come to see that he had been foolish as well as wicked.
For, if he had had Miss Coleman with him in the desert island,

to build her a hut, and hunt for her food, and make clothes for her,
he would have thought himself the most fortunate of men; and when he

was at home, he would not marry till he could afford a man-servant.
Before he got home again, he had even begun to understand that no man

can make haste to be rich without going against the will of God,
in which case it is the one frightful thing to be successful.

So he had come back a more humble man, and longing to ask Miss Coleman
to forgive him. But he had no idea what ruin had fallen upon them,

for he had never made himself thoroughly acquainted with the
firm's affairs. Few speculative people do know their own affairs.

Hence he never doubted he should find matters much as he left them,
and expected to see them all at The Wilderness as before. But if he

had not fallen in with Diamond, he would not have thought of going
there first.

What was Diamond to do? He had heard his father and mother drop
some remarks concerning Mr. Evans which made him doubtful of him.

He understood that he had not been so considerate as he might have been.
So he went rather slowly till he should make up his mind. It was,

of course, of no use to drive Mr. Evans to Chiswick. But if he
should tell him what had befallen them, and where they lived now,

he might put off going to see them, and he was certain that Miss Coleman,
at least, must want very much to see Mr. Evans. He was pretty sure

also that the best thing in any case was to bring them together,
and let them set matters right for themselves.

The moment he came to this conclusion, he changed his course from
westward to northward, and went straight for Mr. Coleman's poor

little house in Hoxton. Mr. Evans was too tired and too much
occupied with his thoughts to take the least notice of the streets

they passed through, and had no suspicion, therefore, of the change
of direction.

By this time the wind had increased almost to a hurricane, and as they
had often to head it, it was no joke for either of the Diamonds.

The distance, however, was not great. Before they reached the street
where Mr. Coleman lived it blew so tremendously, that when Miss Coleman,

who was going out a little way, opened the door, it dashed against
the wall with such a bang, that she was afraid to venture, and went

in again. In five minutes after, Diamond drew up at the door.
As soon as he had entered the street, however, the wind blew

right behind them, and when he pulled up, old Diamond had so much
ado to stop the cab against it, that the breeching broke.

Young Diamond jumped off his box, knocked loudly at the door,
then turned to the cab and said--before Mr. Evans had quite begun

to think something must be amiss:


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