“Yes, course,” said the little nineteenth-century Diana.  “She would have shotted people down dead with her bow and arrows—­I know kite well she was a bwave sort of a lady.  All wight, Iris, I’ll copy her if you wishes.”

“Indeed I do wish, darling.  I think it would be splendid of you.”

“She was a very bwave lady,” repeated Diana.  “She had her bow and her arrows; she was a gweat huntwess, and she shotted people.  I don’t mind copying her one little bit.”

Diana dried away her tears and looked fixedly at her sister.

“Then you really mean to be good and brave, Di?”

“Certain sure, Iris.”

“And you won’t call Aunt Jane any more names?”

“I won’t call her names—­names don’t si’nify, names don’t kill people.”

“And you’ll go and beg her pardon now?”

“What’s that?”

“You’ll say you are sorry that you called her names.”

“Would she let me out of this woom, then? and could I do just what I liked my own self?”

“I expect so; I expect she is really sorry that she had to be hard on you to-day; but you see she has got a different way of bringing up children from our own mother.”

“Please, Iris, we won’t talk much of our own mother—­it makes me lumpy in the trof,” said Diana, with a little gulp.  “I’ll beg her pardon, if it pleases her.  I don’t care—­what’s words?  I’ll go at once, and, Iris, mind me that I’m like Diana.  She was a bwave lady and she shotted lots of people.”

“Well, then, come along, Di; you’ll be allowed to come to dinner if you beg Aunt Jane’s pardon.”

Di gave her hand to Iris, who took her upstairs.  Here Iris washed her little sister’s face and hands and brushed out her thick black hair, and kissed her on her rosebud lips, and then said: 

“There is nothing I would not do, Di, to be a real little mother to you.”

“All wight,” answered Diana; “you just mind me now and then that I is called after the bwave lady what lived long, long ago.  Is that the second gong?  I’se desp’ate hungy.  Let’s wun downstairs, p’ease, Iris.”

Diana entered the dining room with her face all aglow with smiles, the rich color back again in her cheeks, and her black eyes dancing.  Even Mr. Dolman gave a gasp of relief when he saw her.

Even Mrs. Dolman felt a slight degree of satisfaction.  She did not intend to be hard on the children—­in her heart of hearts she was quite resolved to make them not only good, but also happy.

“Well, my dear little girl,” she said, drawing Diana to her side, “and so you are sorry for what you said?”

“Awfu’ sossy,” answered Diana, in a cheerful voice.

“Then you beg my pardon, and you won’t be naughty again?”

“I begs yous pardon, Aunt Jane,” said Diana.  She looked very attentively up and down her relation’s figure as she spoke.

“Poor Aunt Jane, she’s awfu’ stout,” murmured Diana, under her breath.  “I must get a good sharp arrow—­oh, yes! words is nothing.”