"O-o-oh!" said Diamond. "Then will you promise not to blow in my face if I open your window?"
"I cannot promise that," said the North Wind.
"But you will give me the tooth-ache. Mother has it already."
"But what is to become of me without a window!" cried the voice.
"I am sure I don't know. All I say is that it will be worse for me than for you."
"No, it will not," replied the voice. "You shall not be the worse for it—I promise you that. You will be much the better for it. Just believe what I say, and do as I tell you."
"Well, I can pull the clothes over my head," said Diamond. So he felt around with his little sharp nails, got hold of one edge of the paper and tore it off. In came a long whistling stream of cold that struck his little naked chest. He scrambled and tumbled in under the bed-clothes and covered himself up. There was no paper between him and the voice now, and he felt—not frightened exactly—but a little queer.
"What a strange person this North Wind must be," thought Diamond, "to live in what they call 'Out-of-Doors,' I suppose, and make windows into people's beds."
Now the voice began again. He could hear it quite plainly, even with his head under the bed-clothes. It was still more gentle now, though it was six times as large and loud as before. And he thought it sounded a little like his mother's.