requent, which made her more angry still. This
very day she had discovered that he had actually sown the sweet peas in
the wrong place.

"The man's a perfect fool!" she exclaimed in great wrath; "after all the
minute directions I gave him about this border. He gets stupider and
stupider every day. One would think he had a thousand things to employ
his mind, if he's got a mind, instead of these few simple facts."

"Perhaps," said Iris, "he's been thinking about his baby. It's been
awfully ill. Bronchitis it's had."

"His baby!" said Mrs Fotheringham, glaring round at her; "what do _you_
know about his baby?"

"Oh," replied Iris cheerfully, "I know all about it. It's teething, you
know, and then it caught cold, and then it turned to bronchitis. It's
been ill a fortnight, but now it's taken a turn."

"Has it, indeed?" said Mrs Fotheringham sarcastically.

"You see," said Iris, "I know all about bronchitis, because Dottie had
it so badly a year ago. We had to keep her in one room for ever so
long. It was Roche's embrocation that did her more good than anything.
I told Moore that, and he got some. When Dottie got better the doctor
said we ought to take her to the seaside, but that was out of the
question, mother said."

"Why?" asked Mrs Fotheringham.

"Because it would have cost so much," answered Iris.

She thought it was rather dull of her godmother not to have known that
without asking, but as she seemed interested in Moore's baby she went on
to supply her with a few more facts about his family.

"Moore has seven children," she said; "the eldest is just Max's age, ten
years old. _His_ name is Joseph. Then there's another boy, _his_ name
is Stephen. Then there's a girl, _her_ name is--"

"Stop!" said Mrs Fotheringham sharply.

Iris looked up startled, in the act of checking off the members of
Moore's family on her fingers. There was an expression of decided
displeasure on Mrs Fotheringham's face.

"May I ask," she said, "how and where you have gathered these details
about Moore's affairs?"

Iris hung her head. She had done something wrong again.

"It was after he told me his baby was ill," she said; "_I_ told _him_
about Dottie being ill, and how many brothers and sisters I had, and
their names and ages, and then he told me about his children."

"And what possible interest could that be to you?" asked Mrs
Fotheringham. "You appear to have very strange tastes. Pray, remember
for the futu