uncle william took the children straight up to london. they spent the night at a great big hotel, and in the morning he went alone to have a long consultation with one of the best detectives in new scotland yard. when he returned after this interview, iris came to meet him with a wise look on her face.

"i know what to do," she exclaimed.

"well, then, my dear, it's more than i do," replied uncle william.

"it's the only thing," repeated iris. "let's go straight home."

"home? do you mean to the rectory? why, we have just come from there."

"i don't mean the rectory. i mean our real home," answered iris. "let's get back at once to delaney manor."

"i don't see much use in that," answered uncle william.

"it's all a feel i have inside of me," replied iris. "often and often i get that feel, and whenever i obey it things come right. i have a feel now that i shall be nearer to diana and to orion in the old garden than anywhere else. i always try to obey my feel. perhaps it's silly, but i can't help it. do you ever get that sort of feel inside of you, uncle william?"

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"if i did," replied uncle william, "your aunt jane would say that i was the silliest old man she had ever come across."

"but you aren't, you know. you are a right good sort," answered apollo, in a patronizing tone.

"i am glad you think so, my boy," replied uncle william. "well, now," he added, "i always did hate london, and in the middle of summer it seems to me that it is wanting in air. i once heard a countryman say that he believed people only breathed turn about in london, and it really seems something like that this morning. the place is so close and so used-up that there is not a breath anywhere; so, iris, if you have got that feel, and if you will promise not to tell your aunt jane that that is your reason for returning to the manor, why, we may just as well do so—only, i suppose, the place is all shut up."

"fortune, at any rate, is there," replied iris; "and if anybody can help us to find diana and orion, it's fortune; for she had them, you know, uncle william, from the moment the angel brought them down from heaven. she had to do for them and nurse them, and tend them from that moment until aunt jane took them away. oh, yes!" continued iris; "if there is a person who will help us to find them, it's fortune."

"she partakes of the strange names which seem to run in your family," answered uncle william. "but there, it is as good an idea as any other, and we shall at least each of us have our proper number of breaths at delaney manor. that certainly is in favor of the scheme."

accordingly, that very afternoon, uncle william, iris, and apollo took the train into devonshire. they arrived at the manor in the evening. nobody

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expected them, and the place looked, to uncle william, at least, very dull and desolate. but when iris saw the quaint old gateway, and when apollo felt his feet once again upon the well-known avenue, the sadness of heart which had oppressed both children seemed to lift itself as if it had wings and fly right away.

"let's go to the garden this very instant," exclaimed iris, looking at her brother.

they clasped each other's hands and, flying along the well-remembered haunts, soon reached their favorite garden.

"oh, apollo! i live; i breathe again," said iris, panting as she spoke. "oh, i am happy once more!"

"let us see if anything has been injured while we were away," said apollo. "oh, i wonder if anybody has watered our pretty gardens. i planted a lot of mignonette the day before i went away. i wonder if it has come up."

the children wandered about the garden. the dead-house was now empty; the four little gardens looked sadly the worse for want of watering and general looking after. the cemetery, however, looked much as usual; so also did the greenswards of grass, the roses, the different summer flowers; and finally iris and apollo visited the little summer-house, and seated themselves on their own chairs.

"the garden has not run away," said apollo. "that's a comfort. i'm real glad of that."

"it's exactly like the garden of eden," said iris, panting as she spoke. "i don't think anybody," she continued, "could be naughty in this garden."

apollo kicked his legs in a somewhat impatient manner.

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"i feel dreadfully hungry, iris," he said. "suppose we go to the house now and have some supper."

"who is that coming down the walk?" said iris.

it was dusk by this time, and in the little summer-house all was dark; but iris, as she spoke, sprang to her feet, and the next moment found herself clasped in fortune's motherly arms.

"my darling!" said the woman. "why, it drives me near mad to see you again. and now, what in the world is up with the two of you, and where are the others? there's an elderly gentleman—a clergyman—in the house, and he said i was to look for you here, and that you were going to spend the night. what does it mean, iris? oh, my dear! i can't see your face, for it is too dark; but you are very light. why, you are no weight at all, my honey."

"i expect i'm rather worn out," replied iris, in her old-fashioned tone. "you know, fortune, when mother went away she told me to be a mother to the others, and—oh, fortune, fortune! i have failed, i have failed."

iris' little arms were clasped tightly round her old nurse's neck; her face was hidden against her bosom; her heavy sobs came thick and fast.

"why, my poor dear, you are exactly like a feather," said fortune; "it aint to be expected that a young thing like you could be a mother. but what's gone wrong, dearie? what's gone wrong?"

"they are lost. that's what has gone wrong," said iris. "orion and diana are lost, fortune."

"sakes alive, child! stand up and speak proper," said fortune. "your little brother and sister lost! impossible; you are joking me, iris, and that aint

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fair, seeing i was with you since you drew the breath of life."

"do you think i could joke upon such a subject?" said iris. "you say i am like a feather—that is because i have all wasted away from—from fretting, from—from misery. yes, fortune, they are lost, and i wish i were dead. i feel it here so dreadfully." the child pressed both her hands against her heart. "i have not been a mother," she continued. "oh, fortune! what is to be done?"

"you jest sit down on my lap and stop talking nonsense," said fortune. "why, you are trembling like an aspen. you jest rest yourself a bit alongside o' me. now then, master apollo, tell me the whole truth, from beginning to end. the two children lost? now, i don't believe it, and that's a fact."

"you'll have to believe it, fortune," said apollo, "for it's true. they went out one day about a month ago—we think they must have gone to some woods not far from that horrid rectory, but nobody seems to know for certain—and they just never came back. we missed them at tea-time, and we began to look for 'em, and we went on looking from that minute until now, and we have never found either of 'em. that's about all. they are both quite lost. what i think," continued the little boy, speaking in a wise tone, "is that diana must have met the great diana of long ago, and gone right away with her, and perhaps orion has been turned into one of the stars that he's called after. i don't really know what else to think," continued apollo.

"fudge!" said fortune. "don't you waste your time talking any more such arrant nonsense. now, the two of you are as cold and shivery as can be, and

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i doubt not, as hungry also. come straight away to the house. this thing has got to be inquired into."

"oh, fortune! can you do anything?" asked iris.

"can i do anything?" said fortune. "i have got to find those blessed children, or my name's not fortune squeers. did your mother bring me all the way from america to be of no use in an emergency like the present? you needn't fret any more, iris; nor you either, apollo. just come right along to the house and have your cozy, warm supper, the two of you, and then let me undress you and put you into your old little beds, and i'll sleep in the room alongside of you, and in the morning we'll see about getting back those two children. lost, is it? not a bit of it. they are mislaid, if you like, but lost they aint—not while fortune is above ground."

fortune's strong words were of the greatest possible comfort to iris. it is true that aunt jane had told her somewhat the same, day by day—aunt jane was also sure that the children were certain to be found—but, as far as iris could gather, she only spoke, and never did anything to aid their recovery; for iris had no faith in detectives, nor secret police, nor any of the known dignitaries of the law. but she put the greatest possible faith in the strong, cheery words of her old nurse, and she returned to the house clasping fortune's hand, and feeling as if the worst of her troubles were at an end.

the greater part of delaney manor was shut up, and fortune and two other old servants were left in charge; but very soon a comfortable meal was spread for the travelers, a room was provided for uncle william, and iris and apollo slept once more in the dear old nursery.

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how very sound iris did sleep that night! how happy she felt once more!

fortune had dragged in her bed, and laid it on the floor close to the little girl's side, and the sound of fortune's snores was the sweetest music iris had listened to for a long time.

"fortune will find the others, and i can be a real mother once more," she whispered over and over to herself.

and so she slept sweetly and dreamed happily, and awoke in the morning with color in her cheeks and hope in her eyes.