Iris quickened her footsteps and walked down the straight path through
the midst of the Scotch roses. Having reached the pretty little
summer-house, she seated herself on her rustic chair and waited until
Diana arrived with the poor innocent. This was a somewhat unsightly
object, being nothing more nor less than a dead earthworm which had
been found on the walk, and which Diana respected, as she did all live
creatures, great or small.

"Put it down there," said Iris; "we can have a funeral when the sun is
not quite so hot."

"I suppose it will have a private funeral," said Apollo, who came into
the summer-house at that moment. "It is nothing but a poor innocent,
and not worth a great deal of trouble; and I do hope, Iris," he added
eagerly, "that you will not expect me to be present, for I have got
some most important chemical experiments which I am anxious to go on
with. I quite hope to succeed with my thermometer to-day, and, after
all, as it is only a worm----"

Iris looked up at him with very solemn eyes.

"_Only_ a worm," she repeated. "Is _that_ its fault, poor thing?"
Apollo seemed to feel the indignant glance of Iris' brown eyes. He sat
down submissively on his own chair. Orion and Diana dropped on their
knees by Iris' side. "I think," said Iris slowly, "that we will give
this poor innocent a simple funeral. The coffin must be made of dock
leaves, and----"

Here she was suddenly interrupted--a shadow fell across the entrance
door of the pretty summer-house. An elderly woman, with a thin face