The first kind note utterly melted her little heart; she rushed to her sister, flung herself upon her, and sobbed as if she would never stop crying. "We can't stay in this howid place, Iris," she said; "all my darlin's has gone and got deaded. That howid old woman upstairs said they was wermin. She has killed 'em all. I can't stay here; I won't stay here. Take me back to the beautiful garden. Do, Iris; do. I'se just so mis'ble." Iris sat down on one of the hard-backed chairs. "Look here, Di," she said, "I have no time now to talk things over with you. Of course, everything is altered, and our lives are completely changed. When mother was dying, when I last saw her, she told me that I must expect this. She said she knew that, when she went away to the angels, we four children would have to go out into the world and fight our battles. She said that everybody in the world has got a battle to fight, and even little children have to fight theirs. She said, too, that if we were brave and the kind of children she wants us to be, we would follow the names she gave us and conquer our enemies. Now, Di, you are called after Diana, the great Diana, who was supposed to be a sort of goddess. Do you think she would have given in? Don't you think she would have been brave?" "Yes, course," said the little nineteenth-century Diana. "She would have shotted people down dead with her bow and arrows--I know kite well she was a bwave sort of a lady. All wight, Iris, I'll copy her if you wishes." "Indeed I do wish, darling. I think it would be splendid of you." "She was a very bwave lady," repeated Diana. "She had her bow and her arrows; she was a gweat huntwess, and she shotted people. I don't mind copying her one little bit." Diana dried away her tears and looked fixedly at her sister. "Then you really mean to be good and brave, Di?" "Certain sure, Iris." "And you won't call Aunt Jane any more names?" "I won't call her names--names don't si'nify, names don't kill people." "And you'll go and beg her pardon now?" "What's that?" "You'll say you are sorry that you called her names." "Would she let me out of this woom, then? and could I do just what I liked my own self?" "I expect so; I expect she is really sorry that she had to be hard on you to-day; but you see she has got a different way of bringing up children from our own mother." "Please, Iris, we won't talk much of our own mother--it makes me lumpy in the trof," said Diana, with a little gulp. "I'll beg her pardon, if it pleases her. I don't care--what's words? I'll go at once, and, Iris, mind me that I'm like Diana. She was a bwave lady and she shotted lots of people." "Well, then, come along, Di; you'll be allowed to come to dinner if you beg Aunt Jane's pardon." Di gave her hand to Iris, who took her upstairs. Here Iris washed her little sister's face and hands and brushed out her thick black hair, and kissed her on her rosebud lips, and then said: