“What can it mean?” said Diamond, aloud.
“It means me,” said the tiniest voice he had ever heard.
“Who are you, please?” asked Diamond.
“Well, really, I begin to be ashamed of you,” said the voice. “I wonder how long it will be before you know me; or how often I might take you in before you got sharp enough to suspect me. You are as bad as a baby that doesn't know his mother in a new bonnet.”
“Not quite so bad as that, dear North Wind,” said Diamond, “for I didn't see you at all, and indeed I don't see you yet, although I recognise your voice. Do grow a little, please.”
“Not a hair's-breadth,” said the voice, and it was the smallest voice that ever spoke. “What are you doing here?”
“I am come to see my aunt. But, please, North Wind, why didn't you come back for me in the church that night?”
“I did. I carried you safe home. All the time you were dreaming about the glass Apostles, you were lying in my arms.”
“I'm so glad,” said Diamond. “I thought that must be it, only I wanted to hear you say so. Did you sink the ship, then?”
“Yes.”