A Little Mother to the Others | Page 3

innocent. This was a somewhat unsightly object, being nothing more nor less than a dead earthworm which had been found on the walk, and which Diana respected, as she did all live creatures, great or small.
"Put it down there," said Iris; "we can have a funeral when the sun is not quite so hot."
"I suppose it will have a private funeral," said Apollo, who came into the summer-house at that moment. "It is nothing but a poor innocent, and not worth a great deal of trouble; and I do hope, Iris," he added eagerly, "that you will not expect me to be present, for I have got some most important chemical experiments which I am anxious to go on with. I quite hope to succeed with my thermometer to-day, and, after all, as it is only a worm----"
Iris looked up at him with very solemn eyes.
"Only a worm," she repeated. "Is that its fault, poor thing?" Apollo seemed to feel the indignant glance of Iris' brown eyes. He sat down submissively on his own chair. Orion and Diana dropped on their knees by Iris' side. "I think," said Iris slowly, "that we will give this poor innocent a simple funeral. The coffin must be made of dock leaves, and----"
Here she was suddenly interrupted--a shadow fell across the entrance door of the pretty summer-house. An elderly woman, with a thin face and lank, figure, looked in.
"Miss Iris," she said, "Mrs. Delaney is awake and would be glad to see you."
"Mother!" cried Iris eagerly. She turned at once to her sister and brothers. "The innocent must wait," she said. "Put it in the dead-house with the other creatures. I will attend to the funeral in the evening or to-morrow. Don't keep me now, children."
"But I thought you had just come from mother," said Apollo.
"No. When I went to her she was asleep. Don't keep me, please." The woman who had brought the message had already disappeared down the long straight walk. Iris took to her heels and ran after her. "Fortune," she said, looking into her face, "is mother any better?"
"As to that, Miss Iris, it is more than I can tell you. Please don't hold on to my hand, miss. In hot weather I hate children to cling to me."
Iris said nothing more, but she withdrew a little from Fortune's side.
Fortune hurried her steps, and Iris kept time with her. When they reached the house, the woman stopped and looked intently at the child.
"You can go straight upstairs at once, miss, and into the room," she said. "You need not knock; my mistress is waiting for you."
"Don't you think, Fortune, that mother is just a little wee bit better?" asked Iris again. There was an imploring note in her question this time.
"She will tell you herself, my dear. Now, be quick; don't keep her waiting. It is bad for people, when they are ill, to be kept waiting."
"I won't keep her; I'll go to her this very instant," said Iris.
The old house was as beautiful as the garden to which it belonged. It had been built, a great part of it, centuries ago, and had, like many other houses of its date, been added to from time to time. Queerly shaped rooms jutted out in many quarters; odd stairs climbed up in several directions; towers and turrets were added to the roof; passages, some narrow, some broad, connected the new buildings with the old. The whole made an incongruous and yet beautiful effect, the new rooms possessing the advantages and comforts which modern builders put into their houses, and the older part of the house the quaint devices and thick, wainscoted walls and deep, mullioned windows of the times which are gone by.
Iris ran quickly through the wide entrance hall and up the broad, white, stone stairs. These stairs were a special feature of Delaney Manor. They had been brought all the way from Italy by a Delaney nearly a hundred years ago, and were made of pure marble, and were very lovely to look at. When Iris reached the first landing, she turned aside from the spacious modern apartments and, opening a green baize door, ran down a narrow passage. At the end of the passage she turned to the left and went down another passage, and then wended her way up some narrow stairs, which curled round and round as if they were going up a tower. This, as a matter of fact, was the case. Presently Iris pushed aside a curtain, and found herself in an octagon room nearly at the top of a somewhat high, but squarely built, tower. This room, which was large and airy, was wainscoted with oak; there was a thick Turkey carpet on the floor, and the many windows were flung wide open,