A Little Mother to the Others | Page 2

were particularly fond of this arbor, for their father had made it for them with his own hands, and their mother had watched its growth. Mrs. Delaney was very delicate at the time, and as she looked on and saw the pretty arbor growing into shape, she used to lean on Iris' arm and talk to her now and then in her soft, low voice about the flowers and the animals, and the happy life which the little people were leading. At these moments a look would often come into her mother's gentle eyes which caused Iris' heart to beat fast, and made her tighten her clasp on the slender arm. Then, when the arbor was quite finished, Mr. Delaney put little seats into it, a rustic chair for each child, which he or she could take in or out at pleasure. The chairs were carved in commemoration of each child's name. Iris had the deep purple flowers which go by that name twined round and round the back of hers. Apollo's chair was made memorable with his well-known lyre and bow, and these words were carved round it: "The golden lyre shall be my friend, the bent bow my delight, and in oracles will I foretell the dark future."
Diana's chair had a bow and quiver engraved on the back, while little Orion's represented a giant with a girdle and a sword. The children were very proud of their chairs, and often talked of them to one another, and Iris, who was the story-teller of the party, was never tired of telling the stories of the great originals after whom she and her brothers and sister were named.
Down the straight path which led to the pretty arbor were Scotch roses, red and white. The smell of these roses in the summer was quite enough to ravish you. Iris in particular used to sniff at them and sniff at them until she felt nearly intoxicated with delight.
The central garden, which was mostly devoted to flowers, led through little, old-fashioned, somewhat narrow postern doors into the fruit gardens on either side. In these were the gooseberries. Here were to be found the great beds of strawberries; here, by-and-by, ripened the plums and the many sorts of apples and pears; here, too, were the great glass houses where the grapes assumed their deep claret color and their wonderful bloom; and here also were some peculiar and marvelous foreign flowers, such as orchids, and many others.
Whenever the children were not in the house they were to be found in the garden, for, in addition to the abundance of fruit and vegetables, it also possessed some stately trees, which gave plenty of shade even when the sun was at its hottest. Here Iris would lie full length on her face and hands, and dream dreams to any extent. Now and then also she would wake up with a start and tell marvelous stories to her brothers and sister. She told stories very well, and the others always listened solemnly and begged her to tell more, and questioned and argued, and tried to make the adventures she described come really into their own lives.
Iris was undoubtedly the most imaginative of all the little party. She was also the most gentle and the most thoughtful. She took most after her beautiful mother, and thought more than any of the others of the peculiar names after which they were all called.
On a certain day in the first week of a particularly hot and lovely June, Iris, who had been in the house for some time, came slowly out, swinging her large muslin hat on her arm. Her face looked paler than usual, and somewhat thoughtful.
"Here you are at last, Iris," called out Diana, in her brisk voice, "and not a moment too soon. I have just found a poor innocent dead on the walk; you must come and look at it at once."
On hearing these words, the gloom left Iris' face as if by magic.
"Where is it?" she asked. "I hope you did not tread on it, Diana."
"No; but Puff-Ball did," answered Diana. "Don't blame him, please, Iris; he is only a puppy and always up to mischief. He took the poor innocent in his mouth and shook it; but I think it was quite deaded before that."
"Then, if it is dead, it must be buried," said Iris solemnly. "Bring it into the arbor, and let us think what kind of funeral we will give it."
"Why not into the dead-house at once?" queried Diana.
"No; the arbor will do for the present."
Iris quickened her footsteps and walked down the straight path through the midst of the Scotch roses. Having reached the pretty little summer-house, she seated herself on her rustic chair and waited until Diana arrived with the poor