like the rainbow, full of hope.  And I will try to help Apollo to be the most beautiful and the bravest boy in the world; and, mother, I will do my best to help Diana to be strong and bright and full of courage; and I will do what I can for Orion—­he must be grand like a giant, so that he may live up to the wonderful name you have given him.  Mother, it will be very hard, but I promise, I promise with all my might, to do everything you want me to do.  I will act just as if you were there and could see, mother, and I will always remember that it is beautiful for you to have gone away, for while you were here you had so much pain and so much illness.  I won’t fret, mother; no, I won’t fret—­I promise to be a mother to the others, and there won’t be any time to fret.”

No tears came to Iris’ bright eyes, but her little thin face grew paler and paler.  Presently she left the window and went slowly downstairs again.

Fortune had now left the other children to themselves.  They were scattered about the bright day nursery, looking miserable, though they could scarcely tell why.

“I don’t believe a bit that mother is never coming back,” said Orion, in a stout, determined voice.

He was a very handsome little fellow, strongly made—­he had great big black eyes like his father’s.  He was standing now with his Noah’s ark in his hand.

“It is unfeeling of you to want to play with your Noah’s ark to-day, Orion,” said Apollo.  “Now, do you think I would go into my laboratory and try to make a thermometer?”

“Well, at least,” said Diana, speaking with a sort of jerk, and her small face turning crimson, “whatever happens, the animals must be fed.”

“Of course they must, Diana,” said Iris, coming forward, “and, Apollo, there is not the least harm in our going into the garden, and I don’t think there is any harm in Orion playing with his Noah’s ark.  Come, children; come with me.  We will feed all the pets and then go into the arbor, and, if you like, I will tell you stories.”

“What sort of stories?” asked Diana, in quite a cheerful voice.  She trotted up to her sister, and gave her her hand as she spoke.  She also was a finely made child, not unlike her name.

“I ’gree with Orion,” she said.  “I’m quite certain sure that mother is coming back ’fore long.  Fortune did talk nonsense.  She said, Iris—­do you know what she said?—­she said that in the middle of the night, just when it was black dark, you know, a white angel came into the room and took mother in his arms and flew up to the sky with her.  You don’t believe that; do you, Iris?”

“Yes, I do, Diana,” answered Iris.  “But I will tell you more about it in the arbor.  Come, Apollo; mother would not like us to stay in the house just because she has gone away to the angels.  Mother never was the least little bit selfish.  Come into the garden.”

The three forlorn-looking little children were much comforted by Iris’ brave words.  They dried their eyes, and Diana ran into the night nursery to fetch their hats.  They then ran downstairs without anyone specially noticing them, passed through the great entrance hall, and out on to the wide gravel sweep, which led by a side walk into the lovely garden.