“You darling!” said Diamond, seeing what a lovely little toy-woman she was.
“Don't be impertinent, Master Diamond,” said North Wind. “If there's one thing makes me more angry than another, it is the way you humans judge things by their size. I am quite as respectable now as I shall be six hours after this, when I take an East Indiaman by the royals, twist her round, and push her under. You have no right to address me in such a fashion.”
But as she spoke, the tiny face wore the smile of a great, grand woman. She was only having her own beautiful fun out of Diamond, and true woman's fun never hurts.
“But look there!” she resumed. “Do you see a boat with one man in it—a green and white boat?”
“Yes; quite well.”
“That's a poet.”
“I thought you said it was a bo-at.”
“Stupid pet! Don't you know what a poet is?”
“Why, a thing to sail on the water in.”
“Well, perhaps you're not so far wrong. Some poets do carry people over the sea. But I have no business to talk so much. The man is a poet.”