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Updated: May 18, 2025
She thought again of the dead Rub-a-Dub, but then the chance of his having a public funeral consoled her. She longed to find Iris. Full of this thought, her little heart beating more quickly than usual, she rushed up the front stairs, and was turning down the passage which led to the nursery, when she was confronted by a short, stout woman dressed in black.
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.
I know of no two more pertinacious incendiaries in the whole country. Nor will they, themselves deny the charge. In fact this noise-making twain are the two sticks of a drum, keeping up what Daniel Webster called 'The rub-a-dub of agitation."
"Why, little woman, what can be the matter? and what have you got in your handkerchief?" "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.
Iris said nothing. "And he is to have a public funeral, isn't he?" said Diana, "and a beautiful insipcron. Do say he is, and let us have the funeral to-morrow." "I am awfully sorry," said Iris, then; "I did love Rub-a-Dub. Yes, Di; I'll think it over. We can meet after breakfast in the dead-house and settle what to do."
Sterling's verses had a monotonous rub-a-dub, instead of tune; no trace of music deeper than that of a well-beaten drum; to which limited range of excellence the substance also corresponded; being intrinsically always a rhymed and slightly rhythmical speech, not a song.
Anon it swelled louder: the unmistakable "Dub! dub! rub-a-dub! dub! . . . Dub! dub! dub!" of a far-off drum. Margaret shook his sleeve. "Of course it's a drum. It can't be anything else, can it?" "It's Drake's Drum!" he replied, with mock solemnity. "There's a legend in the West Country, you know " "I know!"
Here's a vedy nice piece of bwead." Orion did what Diana wished, but he could scarcely eat. Tears came suddenly into his eyes. "I wish I was dead, like poor Rub-a-Dub," he said, after a pause; "I wish I was lying in the beautiful garden, in the cemetery part with Rub-a-Dub." "Oh, don't be such a silly!" said Diana. "You has a lot to do afore you is deaded.
"Well, child, I am inclined to keep you for a moment, as I want to talk to you. Do you know, you rude little girl, that I have come a long way to see you. Of course, my little girl, I know you are sad at present; but you must try to get over your great sorrow." "Do you know, then, about Rub-a-Dub?" said Diana, her whole face changing, and a look of keen interest coming into it.
The five old soldiers of the dragon's teeth grew very fond of these small urchins, and were never weary of showing them how to shoulder sticks, flourish wooden swords, and march in military order, blowing a penny trumpet, or beating an abominable rub-a-dub upon a little drum.
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