"Why, Di! how very queer you are. Don't you remember Uncle Ben, the awful man who has the circus?"
"No, I don't," said Diana. "Is it true that Rub-a-Dub's dead?"
"Oh, Di! Rub-a-Dub died weeks ago. What does it matter about a mouse? I'm frightened about Uncle Ben. If he catches us he'll change his mind, perhaps, and I cannot ride Greased Lightning again. Don't speak so queer, Di. Do rouse yourself. We must get out of this as fast as we can."
"As fast as we can," echoed Diana. "All wight, Orion; I's k'ite sati'fied."
"Well, come, then," said Orion; "get up."
"But we can't run away if you are lying there."
"No more we can," said Diana. She laughed again. "Isn't it fun?" she said. "And so Rub-a-Dub isn't dead after all?"
"Yes; of course he is."
"Orion, look!" said the child; "look!"