Lucy, Mary, and Ann surrounded Iris; Apollo marched away by himself, and Philip and Conrad mysteriously disappeared with little Orion.  Diana thus found herself alone.  For a time she was contented to lie stretched out flat on the grass playing soldiers, and watching the tricks of a snow-white rabbit who ran in and out of his hole close by.  Presently, however, she grew tired of this solitary entertainment, and sprang to her feet, looking eagerly around her.

“Punishment is a very good thing,” she said to herself.  “I’s punished, and I’s lot better.  It’s now Aunt Jane’s turn to be punished, and it’s Simpson’s turn to be punished—­it’ll do them heaps of good.  First time I’s only going to punish ’em, I isn’t going to kill ’em down dead, but I’s going to pwick ’em.  I is Diana, and mother said I was to live just like the gweat Diana what lived long, long, long ago.”

Diana began to trot eagerly up and down under the shade of the tall forest trees.  She looked about her to right and left, and presently was fortunate enough to secure a pliant bough of a tree which was lying on the ground.  Having discovered this treasure, she sat down contentedly and began to pull off the leaves and to strip the bark.  When she had got the long, supple bough quite bare, she whipped some string out of her pocket, and converted it into the semblance of a bow.  It was certainly by no means a perfect bow, but it was a bow after a fashion.

The bow being made, the arrow must now be secured.  Diana could not possibly manage an arrow without a knife, and she was not allowed to keep a knife of her own.  Both bow and arrow must be a secret, for if anyone saw her with them it might enter into the head of that person not to consider it quite proper for her to punish Aunt Jane.

“And Aunt Jane must be punished,” muttered Diana.  “I must make an arrow, and I must pwick her with it.  My bow is weally beautiful—­it is a little crooked, but what do that matter?  I could shoot my arrow now and pwick the twees, if only I could get one made.  Oh, here’s a darlin’ little stick—­it would make a lovely arrow, if I had a knife to sharpen the point with.  Now, I do wonder what sort of a woman that Miss Wamsay is.”

Diana fixed her coal-black eyes on the lady.

“She looks sort of gentle now she’s weading,” whispered the little girl to herself.  “She looked howid this morning in the schoolroom, but she looks sort of gentle now.  I even seed her smile a minute back, and I should not be a bit s’prised if she didn’t hate Aunt Jane too.  I know what I’ll do; I’ll just go and ask her—­there is nothing in all the world like being plain-spoke.  If Miss Wamsay hates Aunt Jane, why, course, she’ll help me to sharpen my arrow, when I tell her it is to give Aunt Jane a little pwick.”

Accordingly Diana approached Miss Ramsay’s side, and, as the governess did not look up, she flung herself on the grass near by, uttering a deep sigh as she did so.  But Miss Ramsay was intent on her book, and did not take the least notice of Diana’s deep-drawn breath.  The little girl fidgeted, and tried further measures.  She came close up to the governess, and, stretching out one of her fat hands, laid it on one of Miss Ramsay’s.