"We have come to keep father company," said Apollo, fixing his flashing black eyes, with a distinctly adverse expression in them, on his aunt's face.

"In my day," continued Aunt Jane complacently, helping herself to strawberries, "the motto was: 'Little boys should be seen and not heard.' To-night, of course, I make allowances; but things will be different presently. David, you surely are not giving those children wine?"

"Oh, they generally have a little sip each from my port," said Mr.

Delaney; "it does not do them any harm."

"You may inculcate a taste," said Mrs. Dolman, in a very solemn voice.

"In consequence of that little sip, which appears so innocent, those children may grow up drunkards. Early impressions! Well, all I can say is this--when they come to live at the Rectory they will have to be teetotalers. In my house we are all teetotalers. My husband and I both think that we cannot have proper influence on the parishioners unless we do ourselves what we urge them to do."

Iris and Apollo both listened to these strange words with fast-beating hearts. What did they mean? Mrs. Dolman spoke of when they were to live at the Rectory. What rectory? She spoke of a time when they were to live with her. Oh, no; she must be mistaken. Nothing so perfectly awful could be going to happen.

Nevertheless, Iris could scarcely touch her wine, and she pushed aside the tempting macaroon which Mr. Delaney had slipped on to her plate.

She found it impossible to eat.

Apollo, after a moment's hesitation, attacked his wine and swallowed his biscuit manfully; but even he had not his usual appet.i.te.

After a short pause, Iris gave a gentle sigh and put both her arms round her father's neck.

"I am tired, father; I should like to go to bed."

"And I want to go too," said Apollo.

"Those are the first sensible remarks I have heard from either of the children," said Mrs. Dolman. "I should think they are dead tired for want of sleep, poor little mites. Good-night, both of you. When you come to live with me--ah! I see you are astonished; but we will talk of that pleasant little scheme to-morrow. Good-night to you both."

"Good-night, Aunt Jane," said Iris.

"Good-night, Aunt Jane," said Apollo.

"Good-night to you both, my pets," said Mr. Delaney.

Iris gave her father a silent hug, Apollo kissed him on the forehead--a moment later the little pair left the room. As soon as ever they had done so, Mrs. Dolman turned to her brother.

"Now then, David," she said, "you have got to listen to me; we may just as well settle this matter out of hand. I must return home on Thursday--and this is Tuesday evening. It will be impossible for you to stay on here with those four children and no one responsible to look after them. You appear half dead with grief and depression, and you want a thorough change. The place is going to rack and ruin. Your rent-roll, how much is it?"

"About fifteen thousand pounds a year--quite enough to keep me out of anxiety," said Mr. Delaney, with a grim smile.

"It ought to be twenty thousand a year--in our father's time it was quite that. No doubt you let your farms too cheap; and so much gra.s.s round the house is disgraceful. Now, if I had the management--"

"But you see you have not, Jane," said Mr. Delaney. "The property happens to belong to me."

"That is true, and I have a great deal too much on my mind to worry myself about Delaney Manor; but, of course, it is the old place, and you are my only brother, and I am anxious to help you in your great affliction. When you married you broke off almost all connection with me, but now--now I am willing to overlook the past. Do you, or do you not, intend those children to run wild any longer? Even though they are called after heathen idols they are flesh and blood, and it is to be hoped that some religious influence may be brought to bear on them.

At the present moment, I conclude that they have none whatever."

"I never saw better children," said Mr. Delaney; "their mother brought them up as no one else could. In my opinion, they are nearly perfect."

"You talk nonsense of that kind because you are blinded by your fatherly affection. Now, let me a.s.sure you, in full confidence, that I never came across more neglected and more utterly absurd little creatures. Good-looking they are--you are a fine-looking man yourself, and your wife was certainly pretty--the children take after you both.

I have nothing to say against their appearance; but they talk utter gibberish; and as to that eldest little girl, if she is not given something sensible to occupy her I cannot answer for the consequence.

My dear David, I don't want to interfere with your estate."

"You could not, Jane; I would not permit it."

"But with regard to the children, I really have experience. I have five children of my own, and I think, if you were to see them, you would be well a.s.sured that Iris and Diana, Apollo and Orion would do well to take example by them. We might change the names of the boys and give them t.i.tles not quite so terrible."

"I wish them to be called by the names their mother chose," said Mr.

Delaney, with great firmness.

"Well, I suppose the poor children will live it down, but they will have a terrible time at school. However, they are too young for anything of that kind at present. Give me the children, David, and I will act as a mother to them; then pack up your belongings, put your estate into the hands of a good agent, and go abroad for some years."

"It would be an untold relief," said Mr. Delaney.

At that moment the door was opened, and the butler appeared with the evening post on a salver. Mr. Delaney laid the letters languidly by his plate.

"Shall we go into the drawing room, Jane?" he said.

Mrs. Dolman rose briskly.

"I shall retire early to bed," she said. "Read your letters, please, David; you need not stand on ceremony with me."

Mr. Delaney looked over his post; then his eyes lighted up as he saw the handwriting on one of the envelopes. He opened the letter in question, which immediately interested him vastly. It happened to be from an old friend, and certainly seemed to come at an opportune moment. This friend was about to start on an expedition to the Himalayas, and he begged his old fellow-traveler to go with him. His long letter, the enthusiastic way he wrote, the suggestions he threw out of possible and exciting adventures came just at the nick of time to the much-depressed and weary man.

"Why, I declare, Jane," he said, "this does seem to come opportunely."

He walked over to where his sister was standing, and read a portion of the letter aloud. "If I might venture to trust my darlings to you," he said, "there is nothing in all the world I should like better than to accompany Seymour to the Himalayas. He starts in a fortnight's time, so there really is not a day to lose."

"Then, David," said Mrs. Dolman, "you will not allow this valuable opportunity to slip--you will trust your children to me. I a.s.sure you I will do my duty by them." She spoke with real sincerity, and tears absolutely dimmed her bright eyes. "David," she continued, "that letter seems a Providence; you will act upon it."

"It certainly does," said the man; "but, Jane, you will be good to the children--tender, I mean. Their mother has always been very gentle to them."

"You need not question me as to how I will treat them. I will bring them up as I would my own. I will do my utmost to rear them in the fear of G.o.d. David, this clinches the matter. Write to Mr. Seymour by this night's post."

Mr. Delaney promised to do so, and soon afterwards Mrs. Dolman, feeling that she had done a very good and excellent work, retired, in a thoroughly happy frame of mind, to her bedroom.

CHAPTER VI.

THE POOR DEAD 'UNS.

Mr. Delaney's bedroom faced east, and the following morning, at a very early hour, he began to have most unpleasant dreams. He thought a hobgoblin was seated on his chest, and several brownies were pulling him where he did not wish to go, and finally that a gnome of enormous dimensions was dragging him into a dark cavern, where he could never again behold the daylight. At last, in great perturbation, he opened his dazed eyes. The sight he saw seemed at first to be a continuation of his dream, but after a moment or two he discovered that the person who had become possessed of his chest was a small boy of the name of Orion, that a little black-eyed girl called Diana had comfortably ensconced herself on his knees, and that Iris and Apollo were seated one at each side of his pillow. The four children had all climbed up on to the big bedstead, and were gazing attentively at him.

"He is opening his eyes," said Orion, "he'll be all right after a minute or two. Don't hurry up, father; we can wait."

"We can wait quite well, father," said Diana; "and it's very comf'able on your knees; they is so flat."

"We are awfully sorry to disturb you, father," said Iris.

"But we can't help it, because it's most solemnly important," said Apollo.