Dinham, where the chemist's
shop was. Iris entered it rather shyly, for her first excitement was a
good deal sobered; there was Mr Wrench behind the counter with his red
head bent over a pestle and mortar; he hardly looked up as Iris
presented the bottle. "Who's it for?" he asked shortly, without ceasing
his occupation.

"It's for Mrs Moore's baby," said Iris; and added after a pause, "I
come from Paradise Court."

It was wonderful to see how Mr Wrench's voice and manner altered at
once. He looked up, bowed, and puckered his white face into the smile
which Iris remembered.

"I beg pardon," he murmured, "I did not for the moment recognise--Shall
we have the pleasure of sending the medicine?"

But this Iris hastily refused, and in a few moments she left the shop in
triumph with a bottle of Roche's embrocation neatly done up in white
paper and sealing-wax. Whether, however, she was too much uplifted in
spirit to see where she was going, or whether the place looked different
now to when seen out of a carriage window, she did a very foolish thing,
for instead of turning to the left, as she should have done, she turned
to the right, and walked on some distance without noticing her mistake.
But when at length she arrived at a little grey church, she stopped in
dismay: "I know," she said to herself, "that I didn't pass a church; I
must be going the wrong way." To her horror there now sounded from the
church clock the hour of five. How late it was! There would hardly be
time to get home and change her frock before her godmother missed her.
How angry she would be! What dreadful things she would say, and how
terrible she would look! If only it were possible to get back in time!
She was just turning hastily to retrace her steps, when towards her,
trotting briskly along with head erect, came a donkey drawing a small
cart, and in the cart was a man standing up to drive. Iris stopped and
waved her parcel in the air eagerly to attract his attention, for the
man was Moore returning from the station, and the donkey was Mrs
Fotheringham's donkey, David.

Moore pulled up after a good deal of effort, for David did not wish to
stop, and Iris rapidly and excitedly poured forth her story. She mixed
up the baby, the medicine, the lateness of the hour, and how she turned
the wrong way, in a manner which might have puzzled the quickest brain;
but Moore did not show any surprise. That would come later when he had
arranged his id