“Something on our faces?” said Diana.

“Yes, my little love; it has to be done.  But when we get to another part of the country I’ll wash the ugly stuff off again, and you’ll look as fair and pretty as you do now.  It won’t make much difference after all to you, little missy,” she added, gazing fixedly at Diana, “’cos you are very dark by nature.  Yes, I had a little kid of my own, a little gal, and she wasn’t unlike you—­no, not by no means.  I’ll be kind to you for her pretty sake, my little dear.  Now, eat your breakfast, and be quick, the pair of you.”

“Has your little girl what was like me got deaded?” asked Diana, in a very thoughtful and earnest voice.

“She is dead, my dear.  Yes, yes, she is dead,” replied the woman.  “Eat up your breakfast now; I have no time to answer questions.”

Orion did not need a second bidding; he had already plunged his spoon into the porridge, and soon his little bowl was empty, and also the jug of milk.  Diana also finished her breakfast, but more thoughtfully.  She was a wonderfully wise little girl for her tender years, and at the present moment she was dreadfully puzzled to know what to do.  She was quite shrewd enough to guess that Mother Rodesia was a bad sort of woman, and that she, Diana, had done wrong ever to trust herself to her.  Uncle Ben, too, in spite of her brave words, terrified her more or less.  All things considered, therefore, she would not have been at all sorry to find herself back again at the Rectory, with Miss Ramsay to teach her, and Aunt Jane hovering in the background.  “Isn’t it funny, we has got our nightdwesses on?” she said suddenly.  “Woman, it’s not pwoper to have our bekfus in our nightdwesses; and these are such keer nightdwesses, not at all what they ought to be.  Our mother would not like us to be dwessed in this sort of style.  Can you get our day dwesses, p’ease, for us to put on, Aunt Sawah?”

“No; I can’t get the dresses you wore yesterday,” replied Aunt Sarah; “but for all that you shall wear a very pretty little frock.  I have got a blue one for you with white wings.  What do you say to that?”

“B’ue, with white wings?” echoed Diana.  “It sounds pwetty; but I must have a b’ack bow, p’ease, woman, ’cos our mother has gone away to the angels, you underland; and when mothers go to the angels little girls wear b’ack bows—­at least, that’s what Iris says.  Oh, I say, Orion,” suddenly concluded Diana; “what is we to do without Iris?  She is our little mother now.  You underland what I mean; doesn’t you, Orion?”

The only answer Orion made was to fling himself flat down on the floor and begin to howl with all his might.

“You had best not do that, young sir,” said Aunt Sarah, “for if Uncle Ben hears he’ll be awful angry.  He is a terrible man when he’s angered.  It’s only right I should tell you the solemn truth, you poor little kids.”

“We isn’t kids; we is sildrens,” said Diana.