A Little Mother to the Others | Page 2

and white; the raspberries, had surely their match nowhere else
on this earth.
The walled-in garden contained quite five acres of ground, and was
divided itself into three portions. In the middle was the flower garden
proper. Here there was a long, straight walk which led to an arbor at the
bottom. The children 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