setops. She put her hands
to her back, took Diamond, and set him down in the street. The same
moment he was caught in the fierce coils of the blast, and all but blown
away. North Wind stepped back a step, and at once towered in stature to
the height of the houses. A chimney-pot clashed at Diamond's feet. He
turned in terror, but it was to look for the little girl, and when he
turned again the lady had vanished, and the wind was roaring along the
street as if it had been the bed of an invisible torrent. The little
girl was scudding before the blast, her hair flying too, and behind her
she dragged her broom. Her little legs were going as fast as ever they
could to keep her from falling. Diamond crept into the shelter of a
doorway, thinking to stop her; but she passed him like a bird, crying
gently and pitifully.

"Stop! stop! little girl," shouted Diamond, starting in pursuit.

"I can't," wailed the girl, "the wind won't leave go of me."

Diamond could run faster than she, and he had no broom. In a few moments
he had caught her by the frock, but it tore in his hand, and away went
the little girl. So he had to run again, and this time he ran so fast
that he got before her, and turning round caught her in his arms, when
down they went both together, 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