On this special morning, however, Diana's dear little face looked very
grave and full of business.

"It's most 'citing," she said. "'Fore we does anything else we must
'tend to the funerals--there is such a lot of dead 'uns to bury this
morning. Come 'long to the dead-house at once, Iris."

"I must smell the Scotch roses first," answered Iris.

"You can do that afterwards, can't you? There's poor Rub-a-Dub. We has
to 'cide whether he is to have a public or a pwivate funeral, or
whether he is just to be sewn up in dock leaves, and put into the
gwound p'omisc's."

Diana had a great facility for taking up long words, which she always
used in the most matter-of-fact style, not in the least caring how she
pronounced them.

The other children could not help laughing at her now, and the four
hurried off as fast as they possibly could to the dead-house.

This unpleasantly named abode was in reality a pretty little shed in
one corner of the old garden. It contained a door with lock and key, a
nice little window, and everything fitted up for the keeping of tools
and carpenters' implements. Long ago, however, the children decided
that here the dead animals of all sorts and species were to be kept
until the solemn moment of interment.

Iris looked just as grave as the others when she unlocked the door of
the dead-house now, and they all entered. The dead 'uns were decently