tired. She is not like anybody else, and that is why--why she wears
that wonderful, almost holy expression. Sometimes I wish she did not,
but I would not change her, not for all the world."

Iris' heart grew quiet. Her cup of bliss was quite full. She scarcely
touched her tea; she was too happy even to eat.

"Have you had enough tea, mother?" she asked presently.

"Yes, darling. Please push the tea-table a little aside, and then come
up very near to me. I want to hold your dear little hand in mine; I
can't talk much."

"But you are better--you are surely better, mother?"

"In one sense, yes, Iris."

Iris moved the tea-table very deftly aside, and then, drawing up her
small chair, slipped her hand inside her mother's.

"I have made up my mind to tell you, Iris," said the mother. She
looked at the little girl for a full minute, and then began to talk in
a low, clear voice. "I am the mother of four children. I don't think
there are any other children like you four in the wide world. I have
thought a great deal about you, and while I have been ill have prayed
to God to keep you and to help me, and now, Iris, now that I have got
to go away--"

"To go away, mother?" interrupted Iris, turning very pale.