“His wings can't be much use,” said Diamond, concerned and fearful, yet comforted by the calm looks of the rest.
“That's true,” said the captain. “He's lost them by this time. They all do that go that way. You haven't got any, you see.”
“No,” said Diamond. “I never did have any.”
“Oh! didn't you?” said the captain.
“Some people say,” he added, after a pause, “that they come again. I don't know. I've never found the colour I care about myself. I suppose I shall some day.”
Then they looked again at the star, put it carefully into its hole, danced around it and over it—but solemnly, and called it by the name of the finder.
“Will you know it again?” asked Diamond.
“Oh, yes. We never forget a star that's been made a door of.”
Then they went on with their searching and digging.
Diamond having neither pickaxe nor spade, had the more time to think.