would cry," said the boy. "When Fortune came in and told
us the--the dreadful news, we all cried and we kissed her, and she
cried and she said she was sorry she had ever been unkind to us; but I
remember, Iris, you did not shed one tear, and you--you always seemed
to love mother the best of us all."

"And I love her still the best," said Iris, in a soft voice; "but,
Apollo, I have something else to do." And then she added, lowering her
tones, "You know, I can't be sorry about mother herself. I can only be
glad about her."

"Glad about mother! Glad that she is dead!" said the boy.

"Oh, I don't think about that part," said Iris. "She is not dead--not
really. She is only away up above the stars and the blue sky, and she
will never have any more suffering, and she will always be as happy as
happy can be, and sometime or other, Apollo, I think she will be able
to come back; and, if she can, I am sure she will. Yes, I am quite
sure she will."

"If she comes back we shall see her," said Apollo; "but she can't come
back, Iris. Dead people can't come back."

"Oh, please, don't call her that," said Iris, with a note of great
pain in her voice.

"But Fortune says that mother is dead, just like anybody else, and in
a few days she will be put into the ground. Oh, Iris! I am frightened
when I think of it. Mother was so lovely, and to think of their
putting her into the ground in a box just like--like we put the poor
innocent and the other creatures, and if that is the case she can
never come back--never, never, never!"

The little boy buried his black head of curling hair on his sister's
knee, and gave vent to a great burst of tears.

"But it is not true, Apollo," said Iris. "I mean in one way it is not
true--I can't explain it, but I know. Let us forget all the dark,
dreadful part--let us think of her, the real mother, the mother that
looked at us out of her beautiful eyes; she is not dead, she has only
gone away, and she wants us all to be good, so that we may join her
some day. She called me after the rainbow, and after the messenger of
the gods; and you, Apollo, after the bravest and the most beautiful
boy that was supposed ever to live; and Diana, too, was called after a
great Greek goddess; and Orion after the most lovely star in all the
world. Oh, surely we four little children ought to try to be great,
and good, and brave, if we are ever to meet our mother again!"

"Well, it is all very puzzling," said Apollo, "a