"Only a picture of it—a sort of vision of it—and only while you seemed to be asleep. The real country at my real back is ever so much more beautiful than that. You shall see it one day—perhaps before very long."
"Do they sing songs there?" asked Diamond.
"Yes," replied North Wind. "You have not forgotten the lovely river as clear as glass that ran over and through the grass and flowers, have you? Nor the soft sweet songs it was always singing?"
"No," said Diamond. "I remember that best of all. But I could not keep the words of any one of its songs in mind, do what I would. And I did try."
"That was my fault," said North Wind.
"How was that?" asked the little boy.
"Because I could not hear it plainly enough myself to teach it to you. But you will hear the very song itself when you get to the back of——"
"My own dear North Wind," said Diamond, finishing the sentence for her, and stroking the arm that held him leaning against her.
"And now, I will take you home again," said North Wind. "It won't do to tire you too much."
"Oh, no, no!" pleaded Diamond. "I am not in the least tired."