Dusty Diamonds Cut and Polished | Page 5

"Be so good as to call a cab," said Sir Richard in a general way to any
one who chose to obey.
"Here you are, sir!" cried a peculiarly sharp cabby, who, correctly
judging from the state of affairs that his services would be required, had
drawn near to bide his time.
Sir Richard and his little daughter got in and were driven home, leaving
Number 666 to look after the pony and the remains.
Thus curiously were introduced to each other some of the characters in
our tale.
CHAPTER TWO.
THE IRRESISTIBLE POWER OF LOVE.
Need we remark that there was a great deal of embracing on the part of
Di and her nurse when the former returned home? The child was an
affectionate creature as well as passionate. The nurse, Mrs Screwbury,
was also affectionate without being passionate. Poor Diana had never
known a mother's love or care; but good, steady, stout Mrs Screwbury
did what in her lay to fill the place of mother.
Sir Richard filled the place of father pretty much as a lamp-post might
have done had it owned a child. He illuminated her to some extent--
explained things in general, stiffly, and shed a feeble ray around

himself; but his light did not extend far. He was proud of her, however,
and very fond of her--when good. When not good, he was--or rather
had been--in the habit of dismissing her to the nursery.
Nevertheless, the child exercised very considerable and ever-increasing
influence over her father; for, although stiff, the knight was by no
means destitute of natural affection, and sometimes observed, with
moist eyes, strong traces of resemblance to his lost wife in the beautiful
child. Indeed, as years advanced, he became a more and more obedient
father, and was obviously on the high road to abject slavery.
"Papa," said Di, while they were at luncheon that day, not long after the
accident, "I am so sorry for that poor policeman. It seems such a
dreadful thing to have actually jumped upon him! and oh! you should
have heard his poor head hit the pavement, and seen his pretty helmet
go spinning along like a boy's top, ever so far. I wonder it didn't kill
him. I'm so sorry."
Di emphasised her sorrow by laughing, for she had a keen sense of the
ludicrous, and the memory of the spinning helmet was strong upon her
just then.
"It must indeed have been an unpleasant blow," replied Sir Richard,
gravely, "but then, dear, you couldn't help it, you know--and I dare say
he is none the worse for it now. Men like him are not easily injured. I
fear we cannot say as much for the boy who was holding the pony."
"Oh! I quite forgot about him," exclaimed Di; "the naughty boy! he
wouldn't let go the pony's reins when I bid him, but I saw he tumbled
down when we set off."
"Yes, he has been somewhat severely punished, I fear, for his
disobedience. His leg had been broken. Is it not so, Balls?"
"Yes, sir," replied the butler, "'e 'as 'ad 'is--"
Balls got no farther, for Diana, who had been struck dumb for the
moment by the news, recovered herself.

"His leg broken!" she exclaimed with a look of consternation; "Oh! the
poor, poor boy!--the dear boy! and it was me did that too, as well as
knocking down the poor policeman!"
There is no saying to what lengths the remorseful child would have
gone in the way of self-condemnation if her father had not turned her
thoughts from herself by asking what had been done for the boy.
"We sent 'im 'ome, sir, in a cab."
"I'm afraid that was a little too prompt," returned the knight
thoughtfully. "A broken leg requires careful treatment, I suppose. You
should have had him into the house, and sent for a doctor."
Balls coughed. He was slightly chagrined to find that the violation of
his own humane feelings had been needless, and that his attempt to do
as he thought his master would have wished was in vain.
"I thought, Sir Richard, that you didn't like the lower orders to go about
the 'ouse more--"
Again little Di interrupted the butler by asking excitedly where the
boy's home was.
"In the neighbour'ood of W'itechapel, Miss Di."
"Then, papa, we will go straight off to see him," said the child, in the
tone of one whose mind is fully made up. "You and I shall go
together-- won't we? good papa!"
"That will do, Balls, you may go. No, my dear Di, I think we had better
not. I will write to one of the city missionaries whom I know, and ask
him to--"
"No, but, papa--dear papa, we must go. The city missionary could