laid out on a shelf, just in front of the public view. There was a
dead bee, and two butterflies; there were two dead worms and a dead
toad; also three or four beetles in different stages of decomposition,
and a terribly crushed spider--and solemnly lying in the midst of his
dead brethren lay Rub-a-Dub, the precious and dearly loved piebald
mouse.

"They look beautiful, poor darlin's," said Diana; "they will most fill
up the cemetery. Now please, Iris, which is to have a public funeral?"

"Of course Rub-a-Dub must," answered Iris. "As to the others--"

"Don't you think that poor toad, Iris?" said Diana, wrinkling up her
brows, and gazing anxiously at her sister. "The toad seems to me to be
rather big to have only a pwivate funeral. We could scarcely get dock
leaves enough."

"We must try," answered Iris; "the toad must be buried privately with
the others. We always make it a rule--don't you remember, Di--only to
give public funerals to our own special pets."

"All wight," answered Diana. She was very easily brought round to
accept Iris' view. In her heart of hearts she considered Iris' verdict
like the laws of the Medes and Persians--something which could not
possibly be disputed.

"Run, Orion!" she said; "be quick, and fetch as many dock leaves as
possible. I will thread a needle so as to sew up the poor dead 'uns in
their coffins. We must get through the pwivate funerals as quick as
possible this morning, and then we'll be weady for poor Rub-a-Dub."