CHAPTER II
A LOAD OF FLOWERS
Three of the six little Bunkers—Rose, Margy and Violet—stood grouped around their mother, looking with anxious eyes toward Russ, who had made up his mind that he was going to get Vi’s doll and snatch it out of danger before the big truck reached it. But, in doing this, Russ was also in danger himself.
“Russ! Russ! Come back!” cried his mother, darting forward.
“It’s going to run right over him!” screamed Margy.
“He’ll be smashed!” and Violet covered her eyes with her hands.
“Let the old doll go!” shouted Rose.
But Russ did not heed. Straight across the street, directly in front of the truck he ran, and toward Vi’s doll Esmeralda that was lying in the highway, where she had been dropped by the stray dog.
The man driving the big truck, after giving one call of warning, had ceased, and was now doing his best either to steer out of the way, so he would not run over Russ, or else to put on the brakes. This last was not so easy to do as the street just there was down hill and the truck was a heavy one.
Russ reached the doll before the truck got to it. The Bunker boy picked up Vi’s plaything and started to run out of danger, but he slipped on a stone and down he fell in the dust of the road.
“Oh! Oh!” cried his mother. “Oh, Russ!”
Russ was down, but, as he said afterward, he was not “out.” He rolled to one side, out of the way of the thundering big wheels of the truck. A moment later he was on his feet, dirty and dusty, but holding proudly aloft the doll he had rescued.
By this time the man had brought his truck to a stop, a little distance from the place where Russ had fallen and where the doll had been lying.
“That was a narrow escape for you, youngster!” exclaimed the man rather sternly. “You ought not to do things like that!”
“I didn’t want Vi’s doll run over,” explained Russ, as his mother and sisters hurried toward him.
And while Russ is brushing the dust from his clothing and while Vi is looking over her doll, to make sure it is all right, I shall take a moment to let you know who the Bunkers are. And I shall also speak of the other books in this series telling about them. I think it is much better to read about people after you know who they are and what they have done.
The first book introducing the children is called “Six Little Bunkers at Grandma Bell’s.” At the opening of that story you find the Bunkers living in Pineville, a Pennsylvania town.
Bunker was the family name, and as there were six children, none of them very large, it was the most natural thing in the world to speak of them as the “six little Bunkers.” Of course there was a father and mother Bunker. Mr. Bunker’s name was Charles, and he was in the real estate business. His wife was named Amy, and there were a number of relatives, all of whom loved the six little Bunkers and all of whom the six little Bunkers loved.
As for the children the eldest was Russ—the one who was just in such danger. Russ seemed destined to become an inventor, for he was always making new things—make-believe houses, engines, automobiles, steamboats and the like. And as he worked he whistled merrily.
Rose might be called a “little mother,” for she was very helpful about the house, and Mrs. Bunker often said:
“I don’t know what I’d do without Rose to help look after the younger children.”
Violet and Laddie, who were twins, needed much looking after. They were both rather peculiar. That is, Violet was given to asking questions. Her father said she could ask more in an hour than could be rightly answered in a week. As for Laddie, he was fond of asking riddles such as:
“You can have a house full and a hole full but you can’t keep a bowl full. What is it?” The answer, of course, is “smoke,” but nothing gave Laddie more pleasure than to find some one who couldn’t answer that or some other riddle he asked. Sometimes he made up riddles himself, or he might ask one that came out of a book. A queer little chap was Laddie.
Then there was Margy, who was seldom called by her real name of Margaret, and Mun Bun, otherwise known as Munroe Ford, as I have mentioned.
Now you have met all the six little Bunkers and I hope you will like them. As for their aunts, their uncles, their cousins and their other relatives—well, there are books telling about these different characters. The children often went to visit their cousins and aunts and had many adventures.
For instance there is the time they stayed for a while at Aunt Jo’s, or the occasion of their visit to Cousin Tom’s. They had fun at both these places, but no more than at Grandpa Ford’s or Uncle Fred’s. When they spent several weeks at Captain Ben’s the six little Bunkers had delightful times, and Russ thought there never was such a chap as Cowboy Jack, at whose ranch they spent some time. The other children liked Cowboy Jack, too.
Just before the events I am going to tell you about in this book took place, the children had been down South. You may find out all that happened by reading the volume, “Six Little Bunkers at Mammy June’s.” The family was now at home again in Pineville, ready for more adventures.
“You certainly gave me a fright, boy,” said the truck driver, as he got down off his high seat and looked at Russ. “Why did you run out into the road like that?”
“I wanted to get my sister’s doll,” answered Russ, still brushing the dust from his clothes.
“Um! Well, don’t do it again—that’s all I ask!” begged the man. “I was afraid I was going to run right over you!”
“Yes, it was a very dangerous thing for him to do,” said Mrs. Bunker. “He shouldn’t have tried it. I’m sorry he caused you trouble.”
“Oh, it wasn’t exactly trouble,” said the man, and he smiled a little. “I was going to stop around here, anyhow. I’m looking for a family named Bunker. Do you know if they live around here?”
“We’re the Bunkers!” quickly answered Russ. “Anyhow, we’re the most of ’em,” he added, laughing. “All but daddy and——”
“Oh!” murmured the driver of the truck. “Are there more of you?”
“It is rather a large family,” said Mrs. Bunker. “I have two more boys.”
“My daddy’s in his office,” volunteered Violet, who was now satisfied that her doll, Esmeralda, was all right except for a little dirt.
“And Laddie and Mun Bun are digging a hole to China,” added Margy.
“Oh,” and again the man smiled.
“Are you looking for a Mr. Charles Bunker?” asked Mrs. Bunker.
“That’s the name, yes, ma’am,” the truck driver replied, glancing at a slip of paper in his hand. “I have a load of flowers for him.”
“Oh, flowers! Is that what’s on your auto?” cried Rose, for the sides of the truck were covered with canvas and it could not be seen what it was laden with. Without waiting for an answer, Rose hurried around to the rear. There she saw a number of pots of flowers and plants, and, being very fond of them, she reached up to pull nearer to her the pot closest to the end of the truck.
Perhaps the sudden stopping of the vehicle had made the pot unsteady, for, as Rose touched it, the pot was upset and rolled out of the truck toward the little girl.
“Oh! Oh!” cried Rose.
“What is the matter now?” asked Mrs. Bunker, going around to the rear of the truck. She was just in time to see a shower of brown earth from the pot splattering around Rose. The pot fell to the ground and was broken, the flower in it being knocked out.
“Not much damage done as long as the little girl isn’t harmed,” said the driver. “I’ve got some extra pots on the truck and I can easily plant this flower again,” and he picked up the geranium, which was a pink one in full blossom.
“Let me ’mell!” begged Mun Bun who, with Laddie, had now come out in the street to see why his mother and the other little Bunkers were gathered there.
“There isn’t much smell to that geranium,” laughed the driver. “But I have other flowers that do smell.”
“Are all these for us?” asked Mrs. Bunker, as she saw the mass of blossoms inside. “Rose, dear, are you sure you aren’t hurt?”
“Yes, Mother, I’m all right,” was the answer. “But, oh, where did all the pretty flowers come from?”
“They’re from Mr. Joel Todd,” answered the driver.
“Farmer Joel?” asked Mrs. Bunker.
“Yes, some folks call him that,” was the reply, and Mrs. Bunker remembered a rather odd character whom her husband knew. Mr. Bunker had often spoken of “Farmer Joel,” but had said nothing about a load of flowers coming from him.
“Did my husband order these?” asked Mrs. Bunker.
“No, I don’t know that he did, exactly,” the driver answered. “Farmer Joel had more plants than he could use, so he told me to bring these in to you, as I had to come this way anyhow with a load of produce.”
“Mother, who is Farmer Joel?” asked Rose, in a whisper.
“He has a farm about forty miles from here,” answered Mrs. Bunker. “Your father and I were there some years ago. Farmer Joel has orchards, bees, flowers, chickens, cows, and horses.”
“Oh, what a lovely place that would be to go to for the rest of the summer!” exclaimed Rose.
“Could we go there, Mother?” begged Vi.
“I—now—I know a riddle about a horse,” spoke up Laddie. “When is a boy a little horse?”
“We haven’t time for riddles now, dear,” said his mother. “I must tell this man where to leave the flowers that Farmer Joel was so kind as to send us.”
“Well, then I’ll tell you when a boy is a little horse,” went on Laddie. “It’s when he has a cold.”
“Pooh! Being hoarse when you have a cold isn’t being a horse on a farm,” declared Rose.
“It’s good enough for a riddle,” replied Laddie. “Oh, I want a ride!” he cried, as he saw the driver climbing up on his seat after Mrs. Bunker had pointed out her house.
“No, Laddie! Keep off the truck,” his mother warned him.
“Farmer Joel!” said Russ, in a musing tone as they all turned to go back home. “I wonder if we could go there?”
“Maybe you’ll have the chance,” his mother said, smiling.
“Oh! Oh! Oh!” cried the six little Bunkers in delight.
“But I can’t tell you any more now,” Mrs. Bunker went on. “It’s a secret!”