dren surrounded her. They
none of them felt inclined to cry at that moment. Orion, after staring
at her for some little time, gave her a sharp little tap on her arm.

"What are you crying about?" he said. "Don't you think you are rather
stupid?"

"You poor innocents!" said Miss Stevenson.

"Please don't call us that," said Diana; "that is our name for the
worms. Worms can't see, you know, and they are not to blame for being
only worms, and sometimes they get trodden on; and Iris thought we
might call them innocents, and we have always done so since she gave
us leave; but we would rather not be called by _quite_ the same name."

Miss Stevenson hastily dried her eyes.

"You certainly are the most extraordinary little creatures," she said.
"Don't you feel anything?"

"It would be horrid selfish to be sorry," said Diana "Iris says that
mother is awfully happy now."

Miss Stevenson stared at the children as if they were bewitched.

"And we are _not_ to have lessons, Stevie," said Orion; "that's
settled, isn't it?"

"Oh, my dear little child! I was not thinking of your lessons. It is
your terrible--your terrible loss that fills my mind; that and your
want of understanding. Iris, you are ten years old; I am surprised at
you."

Iris stood, looking very grave and silent, a step or two away.

"Please, Miss Stevenson," she said, after a long pause, "don't try to
understand us, for I am afraid it would be of no use. Mother talked to
me yesterday, and I know quite what to do. Mother asked me to be a
mother to the others, so I have no time to cry, nor to think of myself
at all. If you will give us a holiday to-day, will you please go away
and let us stay together, for I think I can manage the others if I am
all alone with them?"

Miss Stevenson rose hastily.

"I thought you would all have been overwhelmed," she said. "I thought
if ever children loved their mother you four did. Oh! how stunned I
feel! Yes, I will certainly go--I don't profess to understand any of
you."

CHAPTER III.

THE ARRIVAL OF THE AUNT.

About a week after the events related in the last chapter, on a
certain lovely day in June, a hired fly might have been seen ascending
the steep avenue to Delaney Manor. The fly had only one occupant--a
round, roly-poly sort of little woman. She was dressed in deep
mourning, and the windows of the fly being wide open, she constantly
poked her head out, now to the right and now to the left, to look
a