A woman with a smiling face came to the door.

"Now, what in the world is the matter with you, Jonathan?" she
answered.

"Only this, wife. I met the queerest little pair in all the world on
the road. Can't you take them in and give them rest for a bit? I
believe the little miss is hurt awful."

"I's c'acked inside my head, but it don't matter," said Diana.

The woman stared from the children to the man; then something in
Diana's face went straight to her heart.

"Why, you poor little mite," she said, "come along this minute. Why,
Jonathan, don't you know her? Course it's the little missy that we
both saw in the circus last night. Didn't I see her when she fell from
the ring? Oh, poor little dear! poor little love!"

CHAPTER XXIII.

FORTUNE.

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?"

"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 breat