said Orion. "Poor Rub-a-Dub must be buried, and I
must have a box for his coffin and cotton wool to lay him in."

"See here, Orion," said the father; "where do you get the cotton
wool?"

"We gen'ly get it from Fortune's box in the night-nursery," replied
Orion.

"And you steal it?"

"Oh, yes; she would make _such_ a fuss if we asked her for some. We
always steal it for public funerals."

"Well, on this occasion, and to spare your aunt's feelings, tell
Fortune that I desire her to give you some.

"Now, Jane," continued Mr. Delaney, "as you are here, and as I am
here, we may both of us as well witness this ceremony. The children
are fond of doing all honor to their pets, even after the supreme
moment of dissolution. Shall we witness this public funeral?"

Mrs. Dolman looked wonderfully inclined to say "No," but as her object
now was to humor her brother as far as possible, she agreed very
unwillingly to wait.

Accordingly he and she began to pace up and down the lovely garden,
and soon, in the interest which the sight of the unforgotten
playground of her youth excited within her, her brow cleared, and she
became pleasant and even talkative. The two were in the midst of a
very interesting conversation, and were pacing up and down not far
from the summer-house, when Orion's clear voice was heard. "The public
funeral is going to begin," he shouted, "so you had best come along if
you want to see it. If you don't, Diana and me, and Apollo and
Iris--why, we don't care."

"Oh, we'll come, you rude little body," said his father, laughing and
chuckling as he spoke. "You mark my words, Jane," he continued, "you
will have a handful with those children."

"Oh, I'll manage them," said Mrs. Dolman. "I have not lived my
thirty-five years for nothing; they certainly need managing, poor
little spoilt creatures."

They both hurried to the cemetery, where Apollo was standing, having
dug a grave nearly a foot deep, and large enough to hold a square
cardboard box. He stood leaning on his spade now, his hat pushed off,
his handsome little face slightly flushed with the exercise, his eyes
full of a sort of gloomy defiance. But now the funeral procession was
coming on apace. Orion's mouth was much puffed out because he was
blowing vigorously on his Jew's harp, Diana followed him beating a
little drum, and Iris, with long black ribbons fastened to her flowing
chestnut locks, was walking behind, carrying the tiny coffin. Iris, as
s