ted nor failed.

The beautiful healing sleep lasted for nearly eight hours; then, when
faint, cool shadows had stolen across the sick room, little Diana
opened her eyes. She saw Iris still kneeling in the same position and
looking at her with a world of love in her face. Diana smiled back in
answer to the love.

"I's k'ite well, Iris," she said. "I's had a beaut'ful s'eep, and
there's not going to be a pwivate nor yet a public funeral."

"No, no, Di!" said Iris, sobbing now as she spoke.

"I's hung'y," said little Diana. "I'd like my supper awfu' much."

* * * * *

The crisis was over, and Diana was to live. From that hour she
recovered, slowly but surely. Iris was allowed to be with her a good
deal, and the mere fact of Iris being in the room always seemed to
chase the irritation and the weakness of that long recovery away. At
the end of a fortnight the sick child was well enough to return to
Delaney Manor. Then, from being half well she became quite well, and
when the autumn really came, and the cool breezes blew in from the
sea, father returned to his home once more, and he and Aunt Jane had a
long talk, and it was finally arranged that the four children were to
remain in the old home, and were to play in the old garden, and that
father was to stay at home himself and look after them as best he
could.

"They are not ordinary children, and I frankly confess I cannot manage
them," said Aunt Jane. "As to Iris, she is without exception the most
peculiar child I ever came across; I know, of course, she is a good
child--I would not say a word to disparage her, for I admire her
strength--but when a child considers that she has got a mission----"

"I know all about that," said David Delaney.

"Iris thinks that she is to be a little mother to the others--those
were Evangeline's last words to her. Well, Jane, it is a heavy burden
for such a little creature to carry, but the fact of her obeying her
mother's last injunction really saved little Diana's life."

THE END.

End of Project Gutenberg's A Little Mother to the Others, by L. T. Meade

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