“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, “and I can’t understand things the way you can, Iris, and I have an awful ache in my throat.  I am hungry, and yet I am not hungry.  I love strawberries as a rule, but I hate them to-day.  If only father would come and talk to us it would not be quite so bad; but Fortune said we were not to go to him, that he was shut up in his study, and that he was very unhappy.  She said that he felt it all dreadfully about mother.”

“Iris,” said Diana’s voice at that moment, “we are not surely to have any lessons to-day?”

She had come to the door of the summer-house, and was looking in.

“Lessons?” said Iris.  She put up her hand to her forehead in a dazed manner.

“Yes; do be quick and say.  Miss Stevenson is coming down the garden path.  I do think that on the very day when mother has gone away it would be hard if we were to have lessons; and if what you say is true, Iris, and mother is happy, why, it does not seem fair; does it?  We ought to have a whole holiday to-day, ought we not?  Just as if it was a birthday, you know.”

“I think so too,” said Orion, with a shout.  “I don’t think we need be bothered with old Stevie to-day.”  He raised his voice, and ran to meet her.  “You are not to give us any lessons to-day, Stevie,” he said.  “It is a holiday, a great, big holiday—­it is a sort of birthday.  We were all eating strawberries, for Iris said we were not to go back to the house.”

“Oh, my poor, dear, little boy!” said Miss Stevenson.  She was a kind-hearted, although old-fashioned, governess.  She bent down now and kissed Orion, and tried to take one of his very dirty little hands in hers.

“My dear little children—­” she began again.

“Please, Miss Stevenson, don’t pity us,” said Iris.

Miss Stevenson started.

“My dear Iris,” she said, “you don’t realize what it means.”

“I do,” answered Iris stoutly.

“And I know what Iris means,” said Apollo; “I know quite well.  I feel miserable; I have got a pain in my throat, and I cannot eat my strawberries; but Iris says we ought not fret, for mother is much better off.”