"It's Rub-a-Dub, and he is deaded," answered Diana. She unfolded the handkerchief carefully and slowly, and showed her father a small piebald mouse, quite dead, and with a shriveled appearance. "He is as dead as he can be," repeated Diana. "Look at him. His little claws are blue, and oh! his little nose, and he cannot see; he is stone dead, father." "Well, you shall go into Beaminster to-morrow and buy another mouse," said Mr. Delaney. Diana gazed at him with grave, wondering black eyes. "That would not be Rub-a-Dub," she said; then she buried her little, fat face on his shoulder and sobs shook her frame. "Evangeline would have known exactly what to say to the child," muttered the father, in a fit of despair. "Come along, little one," he said. "What can't be cured must be endured, you know. Now, take my hand and I'll race you into the house." The child gave a wan little smile; but the thought of the mouse lay heavy against her heart. "May I go back to the garden first?" she said. "I want to put Rub-a-Dub into the dead-house." "The dead-house, Diana? What do you mean?" "It is the house where we keep the poor innocents, and all the other creatures what get deaded," said Diana. "We keep them there until Iris has settled whether they are to have a pwivate or a public funeral. Iris does not know yet about Rub-a-Dub. He was quite well this morning. I don't know what he could have died of. Perhaps, father, if you look at him you will be able to tell me." "Well, let me have a peep," said the man, his mustache twitching as he spoke. Diana once again unfolded her small handkerchief, in the center of which lay the much shriveled-up mouse. "The _darling_!" said the little girl tenderly. "I loved Rub-a-Dub so much; I love him still. I do hope Iris will think him 'portant enough for a public funeral." "Look here," said Mr. Delaney, interested in spite of himself, and forgetting all about the dinner which would be ready in a few minutes; "I'll come right along with you to the dead-house; but I did not know, Di, that you kept an awful place of that sort in the garden." "Tisn't awful," said Diana. "We has to keep a dead-house when we find dead things. We keep all the dead 'uns we find there. There aren't as many as usual to-day--only a couple of butterflies and two or three beetles, and a poor crushed spider. And oh! I forgot the toad that we found this morning. It was awful hurt and Apollo had to kill it; he had to stamp on it and kill it; and he did not like it a bit. Iris can't kill things, nor can I, nor can Orion, so we always get Apollo to kill the things that are half dead--to put them out of their misery, you know, father." "You seem to be a very wise little girl; but I am sure this cannot be at all wholesome work," said the father, looking more bewildered and puzzled than ever.