Miss Munnion slowly, "but I really--
don't--quite--"

By this time Mrs Fotheringham was fully awake, and had recovered from
her confusion.

"You never _do, quite_," she said sharply. Then to Iris:

"Child, come here and explain why you rush into the room in this
abominable manner."

Poor Iris advanced. She wished she could say that something was on
fire, or that something more important had happened than the duck
sitting under the bee-hive. It seemed nothing at all now, not the least
amusing, and certainly not a sufficient reason for disturbing her
godmother's nap.

"I didn't know you were asleep," she began.

"Keep to the point," said Mrs Fotheringham; "what did you do it for?"

Iris told her story very lamely, and conscious of an unsympathetic
audience. The very parrot ruffled up his feathers and turned his
glistening eye upon his mistress when it was over, as though he shrugged
his shoulders and said:

"Here's a poor affair!"

"Do you mean to tell me, you stupid and vexing child," said Mrs
Fotheringham, "that you woke me up merely to relate this nonsense?"

Iris had nothing to say, but she thought it unkind of Miss Munnion to
murmur in the background:

"Most thoughtless!"

"If anything of this nature occurs again," said Mrs Fotheringham
severely, "I shall send you home at once. Other failings I can excuse,
but selfish thoughtlessness is a thing I abhor. There, go away. No,
Miss Munnion, you needn't read any more, I shall not be able to sleep
now. My nerves are quite shaken."

Iris wandered disconsolately out into the garden. Everything looked as
bright and gay as ever, but she felt sad. It was hard to be disgraced
and scolded as though she had done something wrong, when she had only
made a mistake. "I really _did_ think they would like to hear about the
duck," she said to herself; "and how _could_ I know she was asleep?"
How they would have liked it at home! How often mother was waked up
suddenly by the noise of the children, or the boys rushing in to ask her
something! Her patient face came before Iris now, full of the
gentleness and love which were always there as a matter of course,
because she was "mother." There was something wanting at Paradise
Court--something that not all its radiant flowers, and pleasant
luxurious rooms, and daintily prepared meals could supply.

"After all," said Iris, "it doesn't seem to make people kinder to have
so many nice things as my godmother."

S