"Iris, Iris! Where's Iris? Oh, Iris, do just come here!" Poor mother! Any chance of her getting some sleep must be over long ago. It was impossible to keep the children quiet. "Clement," said Iris impatiently, as a boy in knickerbockers came tumbling down-stairs at headlong speed, "I do think you might remember that mother has a headache. Why can't you come and find me instead of shouting about like that?" "Oh, I say," said Clement, stopping short and staring at her, "aren't you just cross this evening! What makes you in such a tremendous temper?" Iris felt almost inclined to cry. "What do you want me for?" she said in a resigned and injured voice. "Why, just look here!" Clement raised one knee and displayed a wide rent in his knickerbockers, of the shape known as a "trap-door." Through this he stuck his fingers, that it might be shown to better advantage. "Caught it on a nail on the squirrel-house," he said briefly. "Oh, dear me!" said Iris wearily; "there's an evening's work. And I've only just finished Max's socks. Pray, don't make it any larger, Clement." "You'll mend it, won't you?" said Clement earnestly, still gazing at his knee. "You see it shows so awfully, and I shall want to put 'em on to-morrow." "Yes," said Iris, "I suppose I must. I'm sure Mary won't have time." "You're a brick," said Clement, and he gave her a rough kiss on the cheek and rushed off. "How tiresome the boys are!" said Iris impatiently to herself; "how tiresome it is to be poor! How tiresome everything is!" and she sat down on the last step of the stairs and rested her head mournfully on her hand. Then her eye caught sight of a letter lying on a table in the passage. It was a fat rich-looking envelope, and it was directed in a stiff upright hand. Iris knew that writing--it was her godmother's. "How funny," she thought, "just as I was thinking of Paradise Court. I'll take it up to mother." But there was something stranger still in store for her when Mrs Graham had read that letter. It contained an invitation for Iris to spend a whole month with Mrs Fotheringham. "Mother!" exclaimed Iris. It was the only word she could say for some moments. It seemed too wonderful and delightful to be true. "Can I go?" was her next breathless speech. "Would you like so very much to go?" asked her mother smiling. It was an unnecessary question, for Iris's whole face was alight with joyful anticipation. Her cheeks flushed, and she shook her long hair back impatiently as though eager to take flight at once. "It will be a nice holiday for you," continued Mrs Graham. Suddenly it came into Iris's mind that it was mother who wanted a holiday. How tired she looked, and how often her head ached! "Mother," she exclaimed impetuously, "I won't go! It's horrid of me to leave you with all the children. You ought to go instead." "But you see I am not asked. I don't think that would quite do."