A Little Mother to the Others | Page 4

wended her way up some narrow
stairs, which curled round and round as if they were going up a tower.
This, as a matter of fact, was the case. Presently Iris pushed aside a
curtain, and found herself in an octagon room nearly at the top of a
somewhat high, but squarely built, tower. This room, which was large
and airy, was wainscoted with oak; there was a thick Turkey carpet on
the floor, and the many windows were flung wide open, so that the
summer breeze, coming in fresh and sweet from this great height, made

the whole lovely room as fresh and cheery and full of sweet perfume as
if its solitary inmate were really in the open air.
Iris, however, had often been in the room before, and had no time or
thought now to give to its appearance. Her eyes darted to the sofa on
which her young mother lay. Mrs. Delaney was half-sitting up, and
looked almost too young to be the mother of a child as big as Iris. She
had one of the most beautiful faces God ever gave to anybody. It was
not so much that her features were perfect, but they were full of light,
full of soul, and such a very loving expression beamed in her eyes that
no man, woman, or child ever looked at her without feeling the best in
their natures coming immediately to the surface.
As to little Iris, her feelings for her mother were quite beyond any
words to express. She ran up to her now and knelt by her side.
"Kiss me, Iris," said Mrs. Delaney.
Iris put up her soft, rosebud lips; they met the equally soft lips of the
mother.
"You are much better, mummy; are you not?" said the child, in an eager,
half-passionate whisper.
"I have had a long sleep, darling, and I am rested," said Mrs. Delaney.
"I told Fortune to call you. Father is away for the day. I thought we
could have half an hour uninterrupted."
"How beautiful, mother! It is the most delightful thing in all the world
to be alone with you, mummy."
"Well, bring your little chair and sit near me, Iris. Fortune will bring in
tea in a moment, and you can pour it out. You shall have tea with me, if
you wish it, darling."
Iris gave a sigh of rapture; she was too happy almost for words. This
was almost invariably the case when she found herself in her mother's
presence. When with her mother she was quiet and seldom spoke a

great deal. In the garden with the other children Iris was the one who
chattered most, but with her mother her words were always few. She
felt herself then to be more or less in a listening attitude. She listened
for the words which dropped from those gentle lips; she was always on
the lookout for the love-light which filled the soft brown eyes.
At that moment the old servant, Fortune, brought in the tea on a pretty
tray and laid it on a small table near Mrs. Delaney. Then Iris got up,
and with an important air poured it out and brought a cup, nicely
prepared, to her mother.
Mrs. Delaney sipped her tea and looked from time to time at her little
daughter. When she did so, Iris devoured her with her anxious eyes.
"No," she said to herself, "mother does not look ill--not even very tired.
She is not like anybody else, and that is why--why she wears that
wonderful, almost holy expression. Sometimes I wish she did not, but I
would not change her, not for all the world."
Iris' heart grew quiet. Her cup of bliss was quite full. She scarcely
touched her tea; she was too happy even to eat.
"Have you had enough tea, mother?" she asked presently.
"Yes, darling. Please push the tea-table a little aside, and then come up
very near to me. I want to hold your dear little hand in mine; I can't talk
much."
"But you are better--you are surely better, mother?"
"In one sense, yes, Iris."
Iris moved the tea-table very deftly aside, and then, drawing up her
small chair, slipped her hand inside her mother's.
"I have made up my mind to tell you, Iris," said the mother. She looked
at the little girl for a full minute, and then began to talk in a low, clear
voice. "I am the mother of four children. I don't think there are any

other children like you four in the wide world. I have thought a great
deal about you, and while I have been ill have prayed to God to keep
you and to help me, and now, Iris, now that I have got to go away--"
"To go