Iris held Diana by one hand and Orion by the other, and Apollo ran on in front.

“Now, then,” said Iris, when they had reached the garden, “we must begin by feeding all the pets.”

“There are an awful lot of them,” said Diana, in quite a cheerful voice; “and don’t you remember, Iris, the poor innocent was not buried yesterday?”

Iris could not help giving a little shiver.

“No more it was,” she said, in a low tone.  “It must have quite a private funeral.  Please get some dock leaves, Apollo.”

“Yes,” answered Apollo.

He ran off, returning with a bunch in a moment or two.

“Take them into the dead-house,” said Iris, “and sew them up and put the poor innocent inside, and then take your spade and dig a hole in the cemetery.  We can’t have a public funeral.  I—­I don’t feel up to it,” she added, her lips trembling for the first time.

Diana nestled close up to Iris.

“You need not look sad, Iris,” she said; “there’s no cause, is there?  I don’t believe that story ’bout mother, and if it is not true there’ll be nothing wrong in my laughing, will there?”

“You may laugh if you like, darling,” answered Iris.

They all entered the arbor now, and Iris seated herself in the little chair which mother had seen father make, and round which the beautiful flowers of the iris had been carved.

“Laugh, Di,” she said again; “I know mother won’t mind.”

For a full moment Diana stood silent, staring at her sister; then her big black eyes, which had been full of the deepest gloom, brightened.  A butterfly passed the entrance to the summer-house, and Diana flew after it, chasing it with a loud shout and a gay, hearty fit of laughter.

Apollo came back with the stray cat, whose name was “Trust,” in his arms.

“She looks miserable, poor thing,” he said.  “I don’t believe she has had anything to eat to-day.  She must have her breakfast, as usual; must she not, Iris?”

“Yes; we must feed all the pets,” said Iris, making a great effort to brighten up.  “Let us go regularly to work, all of us.  Apollo, will you take the birds?  You may as well clean out their cages—­they are sure to want it.  I will collect flies for the green frogs, and Orion, you may pick mulberry leaves for the silk-worms.”

For the next hour the children were busily employed.  No one missed them in the house.  The house was full of shade, but the garden, although mother had left it forever, was quite bright; the sun shone as brilliantly as it did every other day; a great many fresh flowers had come out; there was a very sweet smell from the opening roses, and in especial the Scotch roses, white and red, made a waft of delicious perfume as the children ran up and down.

“I’m awfully hungry,” said Diana suddenly.

“But we won’t go into the house for lunch to-day,” said Iris.  “Let us have a fruit lunch—­I think mother would like us to have a fruit lunch just for to-day.  Please, Apollo, go into the other garden and pick some of the ripest strawberries.  There were a great many ripe yesterday, and there are sure to be more to-day.  Bring a big leaf full, and we can eat them in the summer-house.”