Abandoning the argument, he clasped his rough head with both hands and bent muttering over his task. The lines he had just repeated stayed in Iris's mind like the sound of very peaceful music, and changed the direction of her thoughts, for now they turned, as her long needle went in and out of the grey sock, to her godmother's house and garden in the country. It was called Paradise Court, and though Iris had not been there since she was eight years old, she remembered it all perfectly; a picture of it rose before her again, and in a moment she was far away from Albert Street. She saw wide stretches of green lawn, with quiet meadows beyond; snowy white blossoms in the orchard, radiant flowers in the garden, borders, a row of royal purple flags with their sword-like leaves, which had specially pleased her because their name was "Iris" as well as her own. How happy she had been for those two or three days. How the sun had shone, and the birds had sung, and what big bunches of flowers she had picked in the fields. It was paradise, indeed. And she had to live in Albert Street. With a sigh she turned her eyes from the bright picture of her fancy, and glanced round the room she sat in. It was very small, and had folding doors which could be opened into the dining-room, and it was just as shabby and untidy as Max and Clement could make it. The chief thing to be noticed about it was the number of blots and splashes of ink; they were everywhere--on the walls, on the deal table, on the mantel-piece, on the map of the world, on the dog's-eared books, and on Max's stumpy finger-ends--there was hardly an inch of space free from them. From the window you could see the narrow straight piece of walled garden, one of many such, stretching along side by side in even rows at the backs of the houses. They were all exactly alike, in shape, in size, in griminess, and in the parched and sickly look of the plants and grass. How hard Iris had tried to make that garden pretty and pleasant to look upon! With hope ever new, and always to be disappointed, she sowed seeds in it, and spent her pennies in roots for it, and raked and dug and watered it. In vain; nothing would grow but some spindly London pride and scarlet geraniums. And indeed this was not surprising, for the garden had many things against it in the shape of poor soil, scorching sun, and numerous sparrows, not to mention boys and cats. A constant warfare was going on in it, for the cats lay in wait for the sparrows, and the boys were always on the watch for the cats, with jugs of water, traps of string, and other cunning stratagems. There was not much chance for the flowers, and even the turf was worn away in mangy patches by the feet of eager and excited combatants. At the end of it, built against the wall, there was an erection of old wire and packing-cases, in which Max and Clement kept rabbits, white rats, and a squirrel. A strange mixed scent of animals