Her godmother’s keen eye followed her glance to where the unfortunate man was still dodging about as though to escape something, and striking madly out into the air. She smiled contemptuously.
“It’s that idiotic Moore,” she said. “He irritates the bees, and I don’t wonder. I’m sure he irritates me.”
“He’ll be stung,” exclaimed Iris, getting up from her chair eagerly; “he’ll certainly be stung!”
“Yes,” said Miss Munnion, laying down her knife and fork, and looking mildly round at Moore’s struggles, “I’m really afraid he will.”
“Very likely,” remarked Mrs Fotheringham composedly; “he often is. I’ve always noticed,” she continued, with a pointed glance at her companion, “that bees, as well as birds and beasts, are quite aware when anyone’s frightened of them. Moore’s a complete coward, and they know it. They never touch me.”
The parrot and Mrs Fotheringham had already discovered that Miss Munnion was nervous. She was afraid of all animals, but specially of parrots.
“Once,” continued the old lady, “you show fear to man, woman, or child, you are their bond-slave for ever. And it’s the same with the lower animals.”
Miss Munnion said that she had often observed it, and that it was very true.
The following morning Iris woke up to remember that her holiday had really begun, and that there was a whole long day before her with no duties in it—nothing but idle hours and sunshine. It was the strangest thing in the world at first, and quite difficult to believe, that as long as she appeared at meal-times, no one would ask, “Where is Iris?” No one would say, “Fetch this,” or “Go there,” or “Do this.” Her time was her own at Paradise Court, and she was left to fill it up just as she pleased. And she spent most of it in the garden and fields, for fortunately the fine weather continued, and it was hardly necessary to be indoors at all.
How beautiful it all was! Every morning something new had budded or blossomed, and was ready to greet her with its fresh bright face; for the spring had till lately been so cold and wet that the flowers could not bloom at the right time, and now, called out by the mild soft air, they all came crowding eagerly together, looking over each other’s shoulders, as it were, and almost tripping each other up in their haste. So Iris found kingcups, primroses, and cowslips all in blossom together in different parts of the fields, and the garden was suddenly bright with all sorts of flowers which had seldom seen the sunshine in each other’s company before. And there were other interesting things too, for the birds were all busy just now about their domestic concerns, and she discovered more than one nest built so confidingly, that they were low enough for her to peep into them and meet the bright glance of the mother bird.