"Yes; I am your first cousin."

"First cousin," repeated Diana. She flung off her hat and threw it on the floor.

"Orion," she said, turning to her little brother, "you take good care of our pwecious box. And what is you?" she continued, raising her eyes to Simpson's face.

"Well, my dear, at the present moment I am the nurse, and ready to wash you and look after you, and make you comfortable."

"Then I wishes to say something," remarked Diana. "I wishes to say it bold, and I wishes to say it soon. I hate cousins, more 'specially first, and I hate nurses. There, now, you can go downstairs, first cousin, and tell aunt, and she can punish me. I don't care. You can tell your mamma just what you p'ease."

Diana strutted across the room, deposited her box on the washhand-stand, and then, turning round once again, began to view the company. What might have happened at that moment there is no saying, if Iris had not come to the rescue.

"Please don't mind her," she said; "she is only a very little child and she has gone through great trouble, for our mother--our own mother--she has left us, you know. Diana does not really mean to be rude. Please let me talk to her. Di, darling, come to me, come to Iris."

It was impossible to resist Iris when she spoke in that tone, and when she looked at Diana with her speaking dark eyes, and that gentle, beautiful expression on her little face, it seemed to Diana then as if the hard journey, and the pain of all the partings had never taken place at all. She rushed up to her sister, clasped her fat arms round her neck, and began to sob.

"Poor little thing, she is dreadfully tired!" said Iris. "If I might have a little bread and milk to give her, and then if she might be put to bed, I know she would fall asleep immediately and be quite herself in the morning."

"Indeed, miss, I think you are right," said Simpson, who could not help gazing at Iris with admiration. "I see you are a very kind little sister, and of course no one ought to mind the words of a mere baby.

I'll take it upon me, miss, to do what you suggest, even though my missus may be angry. Oh, my word! there's the supper gong. You must go down at once, Miss Iris, you really must. I cannot answer for two of you being absent, but I will speak to Mrs. Dolman afterwards, and tell her that I just put Miss Diana straight to bed, for she was much too sleepy to go downstairs again."

"But I won't let you leave me, Iris," almost screamed Diana, tightening her arms round her sister's neck.

"Please let me stay here," said Iris. "I do not really want any supper, and I know how to manage her. She has gone through a great deal."

"Well, miss, do you dare?"

"Oh, I dare anything! I am quite positive certain Aunt Jane won't mind when I tell her my own self what I have done."

"I will tell mamma; she shan't mind," said little Ann suddenly.

Iris looked up at her and smiled--Ann smiled back at her. The hearts of the two little cousins were knit together in real love from that moment.

The gong sounded again downstairs, and this time in a distinctly angry manner. The three Dolman girls and the two Delaney boys had to hurry off as fast as they could, and then Iris undressed Diana and put her into her snug little white bed.

"I is drefful unhappy, Iris," said Diana, as she laid her head on her pillow.

"But you won't be in the morning, Diana. You'll feel brave and strong and bright in the morning, just like the dear name mother gave you."

"Oh, p'ease, p'ease, will you see that the spiders and beetles has somethin' to eat? They is so far from home, poor darlin's, and they has come a drefful long journey, and they may be deaded in the morning if nothing's not done for 'em. P'ease see to 'em; won't you, Iris?"

"Yes," replied Iris.

"Very well. Now, I'll say my pwayers and go stwaight off to s'eep.

P'ease, G.o.d, b'ess Di, make her good girl. Amen. Good-night, Iris."

The next moment the little girl had gone away into the world of happy slumber and innocent dreams. She knew nothing whatever about what poor Iris, to her dismay, soon discovered, namely, that Simpson had marched off with the box which contained the spiders and beetles. That box, with its contents, was never found again. It was the straw too much, as Simpson expressed it afterwards.

CHAPTER IX.

THE PUNISHMENT CHAMBER.

The next morning matters began by being a little better, and might have gone on being so but for Diana. The four little Delaneys had slept well, and were refreshed; and as the sun was shining brightly, and there was a pleasant breeze blowing, Mrs. Dolman decided that all the nine children might have a holiday in order to get acquainted with one another. It did not seem so very dreadful to Iris and Apollo to have cousins to walk about with and talk to. Philip and Conrad, too, were fairly kind to little Orion; they took him round to see their gardens and their several pets. Life was certainly prim at the Rectory compared to what it had been at the Manor; but children will be children all the world over, and when there is a bright sun in the heavens, and flowers grow at their feet, and a gentle breeze is blowing, it is almost impossible to be all sulks and tears and misery.

Even Diana was interested in what was going on. She had never been away from home before, and she found it pleasant to watch the Dolman children. As she expressed it, in her st.u.r.dy fashion, she did not think much of any of them, but still it amused her to hear them speak, and to take Ann's hand and allow her to lead her round the garden.

Ann was extremely kind to her, but she only received a very qualified measure of approval from the saucy little miss. Lucy and Mary she could not bear, but as Ann showed her all her treasures, and as Ann happened also to be very fond of animals, Diana began to chatter, and presently became almost confidential. Suddenly, however, in the midst of quite a merry game of play, the little girl was heard to utter a shout.

"Where is my darlin's that I brought from home?" she cried; "my three spiders and my four beetles? I have not given none of 'em their bwekfus. I must wun and fetch 'em. Iris promised to see to 'em last night, so I know they isn't deaded; but I must go this very instant minute to feed 'em, 'cos, of course, they wants their bwekfus, poor dears. If you like I'll show 'em to you, Ann; you can see 'em while they is eating."

"Please, Diana, don't go!" called out Ann; but Diana did not hear her.

Putting wings to her st.u.r.dy little feet, she sped across the lawn, ran helter-skelter into the house, and up to the room where she had slept.

The room was empty, the windows were wide open, the little bed was neatly made; there was not a sign of the precious box to be discovered anywhere.

"Where is that howid old nurse?" called Diana aloud. "She must know where my pets is. Oh, they must be desp'te hungry, poor darlin's. I say, nurse, where is 'oo? Nurse, come 'long, you howid old thing!"

Simpson, who happened to be in the day-nursery not far away, heard Diana's imperious little cry. The under-nurse was also standing in the room.

"Mrs. Simpson," she said, "I hear one of the strange little ladies calling out for you."

"Well, and so do I hear her," answered Mrs. Simpson, with a toss of her head; "but she must learn to speak respectful before I take any notice. I fully expect it's that pert little Miss Diana. They say she is called after one of the heathen G.o.ds; no wonder she is so fiery and--"

But at that moment the fierce little face, the jet-black head and sparkling eyes were seen peeping round the nursery door.

"There you is, old Simpson; that's wight," said Diana, dancing up to her. "Now, p'ease, tell me where you put my box."

"What box, miss? I'll thank you, Miss Diana, not to call me old Simpson. My name is Mrs. Simpson."

"I only call you what you is," said Diana. "You is old, your hair is gway; you is awfu' old, I 'spect. Now, where is my box? Where did you put it, old--I mean, Mrs. Simpson?"

"What box, miss?" said Simpson, beginning to temporize, for she really was afraid of the burst of wrath which Diana might give way to when she learned the truth.

"You _is_ a stupid," said Diana. "It's the box what holds my pwecious beetles and spiders. I want to feed 'em. I'm just going to catch flies for my spiders. I know how to catch 'em quite well; and my dear little bettles, too, must be fed on bits of sugar. Where did you put the box?

The woom I s'ept in is kite tidy. Where is the box? Speak, can't you?"

"Well, then, Miss Diana, I must just tell you the simple truth. We can't have no messing with horrid vermin in this house. I would not stay here for an hour if I thought those odious beetles and spiders were anywhere about."

"Well, then, you can go," said Diana; "n.o.body wants you to stay; you is of no cons'kence. I want my darlin' pets, my little home things that comed from the lovely garden; my spiders and my dear beetles.

Where did you put 'em?"

"The fact is, Miss Diana, you want a right good talking to," said Simpson. "Well, then, this is the truth. I have put 'em away."

"Away! Where?"

"They are gone, miss; you'll never find 'em again."