he walked, rang an old dinner bell in a very impressive manner, and
also sang a little dirge to the accompaniment of the bell and the two
other children's music. These were the words Iris sang:

"Ding-a-dong, Rub-a-Dub's dead;
Good-by, Rub-a-Dub.
Sleep well in your little bed;
Good-by, Rub-a-Dub.

"We'll put a stone at your head and your feet;
Good-by, Rub-a-Dub.
And you shall sleep very sound and sweet;
Good-by, Rub-a-Dub.
And you'll never know fear any more;
Little dear;
Good-by, Rub-a-Dub."

Iris was a poet on occasions, and she had made up these impressive
lines in great haste while the other children were arranging minor
details of the funeral.

As the mourning party approached the open grave, Apollo came forward
and dropped on his knees. The coffin was supplied with strings of
white satin ribbon, and was lowered with great solemnity into the
grave. Then the four mourners stood over it and each of them sang the
last words of Iris' poem:

"And you'll never know fear any more,
Little dear;
Good-by, Rub-a-Dub."

The moment this was over flowers were strewn upon the box, and Apollo
with great vigor began to shovel in the earth.

"Make a nice high mound," said Diana; "let it look as like a weal
gwave as possible." Then she turned eagerly to her sister. "When are
we to see about making the tombstone for the head and the feet?" she
asked.

"We'll talk it over this evening," answered Iris.

It may here be noted that none of the four mourners took the slightest
notice of Mr. Delaney or of Mrs. Dolman. To them it was as if these
two grown-up spectators did not exist--they were all lost in their own
intensely important world.

"Well," said Mrs. Dolman, as she turned away with her brother, "of all
the heathenish and wicked nonsense that I was ever permitted to
witness, this beats everything. It is a right good thing--yes, I will
say it frankly, David--that you are going abroad, and that your
benighted children are handed over to me. When you come back in a year
or two--I assure you, my dear brother, I do not wish to hurry you--but
when you come back in a few years you will see, please Providence,
very different children waiting to welcome you."

"Well, Jane," said David Delaney, "I have arranged to give the
children to you, and I hope to Heaven I am doing right; but do not
spoil them whatever you do, for to me and to their saint