Sometimes he thought it came out of the flowers, which were very bright, but had no strong colour.
He said the river--for all agree that there is a river there--flowed not only through, but over grass: its channel, instead of being rock, stones, pebbles, sand, or anything else, was of pure meadow grass, not over long.

He insisted that if it did not sing tunes in people's ears, it sung tunes in their heads, in proof of which I may mention that, in the troubles which followed, Diamond was often heard singing; and when asked what he was singing, would answer, "One of the tunes the river at the back of the north wind sung." And I may as well say at once that Diamond never told these things to any one but--no, I had better not say who it was; but whoever it was told me, and I thought it would be well to write them for my child-readers.
He could not say he was very happy there, for he had neither his father nor mother with him, but he felt so still and quiet and patient and contented, that, as far as the mere feeling went, it was something better than mere happiness.

Nothing went wrong at the back of the north wind.

Neither was anything quite right, he thought.

Only everything was going to be right some day.