"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 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."