Six little Bunkers at farmer Joel's

Five little Bunkers, with their father, their mother, Norah, and Adam North looked at one little Bunker in a queer plight. That one little Bunker was Margy.

After her fall Margy rolled along the path a short distance, for she was a round little girl, quite chubby and, as her father often said, “about as broad as she was long.”

As Margy rolled along, the box she had been carrying also rolled.

There was nothing very strange in Margy’s rolling over and over after a tumble. She often did that. So did the other little Bunkers. So, also, do you if you are little and fat.

There was also nothing very strange in the box, which Margy had been carrying, rolling over. That is, there would not have been anything strange if the box had just rolled in one direction.

But it did not. It rolled this way and that way and the other way and then it rolled this way again, in such a strange manner that Russ cried:

“What in the world can be in that box to make it go that way?”

“It’s just as if it was alive!” said Rose.

“Maybe it’s a riddle!” suggested Laddie.

Mrs. Bunker had gone to Margy to pick her up. Beyond a scratch or two and some bruises, together with some dust on her dress, Margy was unharmed. She was used to cuts and bruises, so these did not much matter. Nor did the dust.

Russ ran to pick up the queer, rolling box, calling out:

“What’s in it, Margy?”

Before she could answer there came from within the box, the cover of which was fitted tightly on, a little yipping whine and bark.

“Oh, it’s a dog!” cried Mun Bun. “I want to see the dog!”

“Dog!” exclaimed Violet. “It must be a terribly little dog to be in a box like that.”

“Margy, what have you in the box?” asked her father, as Russ was trying to take off the cover.

“It’s a—now—a puppy!” answered Margy.

“A puppy!” cried the other five little Bunkers, while Margy’s mother asked:

“Where did you get the puppy, Margy?”

“I went over to Tommy Baker’s house. His dog has some little puppies, and I took one and put it in this box ’cause I want to take a puppy with me to the farm,” Margy answered.

The others laughed.

By this time Russ had managed to get the cover off the box, and a cute little puppy stuck his head out, and, with his tongue, began licking Russ’s hands. I suppose that was the puppy’s way of telling how glad he was to get out of the box.

“Oh, isn’t he sweet!” cried Rose.

“Could we keep him?” begged Violet.

“I love him an’ he’s my puppy!” announced Margy.

“Well, the next time you love a puppy don’t shut him up in a box without any air, and don’t drop him so the box rolls and he turns somersaults,” advised Daddy Bunker. “Russ, you run back to Mr. Baker’s with the little dog, and tell him Margy didn’t really mean to take it.”

“Oh, Daddy! can’t I keep it?” begged Margy.

“No, dear. It belongs to Tommy Baker. You’ll find animals enough out at Farmer Joel’s, anyway,” said her mother, as Russ started back with the puppy in his arms.

For a moment it seemed as if Margy would cry, but Mun Bun kept her tears back by saying:

“It was awful funny when he did roll over and over in the box. I like a puppy to do that!” And when the others laughed at Mun Bun’s funny way of saying this, Margy also laughed.

Russ came running back, having left the puppy with the others, a last look was taken around the house to see that all was in good order, and then Mrs. Bunker and Norah started off in the touring car and Daddy and Adam North started in the big straw-filled truck with the six little Bunkers.

“Oh, this is great! It’s going to be lots of fun!” exclaimed Russ, as they rumbled along.

“I hope there’s a big, old-fashioned kitchen at Farmer Joel’s,” said Rose. “Mother said I might help her with the baking of cake and pies.”

“Well, I’ll help with the eating,” laughed Russ. “I hope there’s a brook on the farm. I want to make a water wheel and build a little toy mill that the water wheel will turn.”

“I’ll help you,” offered Laddie, as Russ whistled merrily.

The way to Cedarhurst where Farmer Joel lived was along a pleasant road, and the children, sitting on the straw in the big truck, enjoyed looking out through openings in the canvas sides.

“Did we bring anything to eat?” asked Vi, after a few miles had been journeyed.

“No, daddy said we were going to stop in Westfield for our lunch,” explained Rose. “We are going to meet mother there and all eat together in a restaurant.”

“Oh, that’ll be fun!” declared Vi.

“It would be more fun if we could camp beside the road, make a fire and cook something,” suggested Russ.

“If I had a gun I could shoot something and we could cook that,” cried Laddie.

“Pooh! What could you shoot? A bear?” asked his twin sister.

“No,” he drawled. “But maybe I could shoot a chicken.”

“If you did the farmer that owned it would have you arrested,” declared Russ. “I guess it will be better for us to eat in the restaurant.”

Adam North, who sat up in the front seat with Daddy Bunker, suddenly turned the truck off to one side of the road and brought the big machine to a stop.

“Oh, are we there already?” cried Rose, leaping up from the straw where she had been sitting beside Russ.

“Are we at Farmer Joel’s?” asked Violet eagerly.

“I want to wide on a horsie!” demanded Mun Bun.

“No, we aren’t there yet,” answered Adam. “But I need some water in the radiator of the auto, so I’ll just stop here and get some. There’s a farmer here whom I know.”

“May we get out?” asked Russ, for he thought perhaps they might not stop long enough for this.

“Oh, yes, get out and stretch your legs,” his father told him.

“I’ll wait here five or ten minutes and cool down the engine,” added Adam.

With whoops and shouts of delight the six little Bunkers piled out of the truck and ran up and down the road. The machine had come to a stop with the open rear end close to a wooden platform, which was just as high as the floor of the big car. From the platform a flight of steps led to the ground, and the Bunker children got out on this platform and so descended.

“What’s this for?” asked Violet, with her usual way of starting questions.

“This,” her father told her, “is a milk platform.”

“What’s a milk——” began Vi, but her father held up his hand.

“I’ll tell you all about it, and then you won’t have to ask any more questions,” he said, with a smile. “This platform is built for the farmer to set his cans of milk on. It is made high, so it is easy to roll the cans of milk from the platform into the wagon. The milk is collected by a big wagon, or auto truck, from the cheese factory. Many farmers around here sell their milk and cream to the cheese factory, and these platforms are built to make the work easier.”

“Oh,” murmured Violet. She had never had so many questions answered before without her asking any, and she was in rather a daze.

“Now run along and play with the others,” her father told her, for the five little Bunkers were wandering about, looking at things around the farmhouse.

Mr. Armstrong owned the place, and he came out to shake hands with Mr. Bunker and Adam North, telling the latter to take as much water as he needed for the thirsty automobile.

Mrs. Armstrong invited the children in and gave them some cookies and glasses of milk.

“Aren’t you afraid you’ll spoil your appetites for dinner by eating now?” asked Daddy Bunker. “It’s eleven o’clock, and we’ll have lunch about noon.”

“I guess I can eat again,” said Russ.

“So can I.” “And I!” cried the others.

“Bless their hearts!” laughed the motherly Mrs. Armstrong.

While the auto engine was cooling the children ran about and played tag. Rose thought perhaps her mother and Norah might come past in the touring car, but Adam said they had probably taken a shorter way, over a back road.

“I couldn’t go that way because the truck is so heavy,” he explained. “I have to stick to the hard highways. But we’ll meet your mother in Westfield.”

“Oh, come on out and see what I found!” cried Margy, running around the corner of the house.

“What is it?” asked Mun Bun.

“A lot of little pigs in a pen, and they squeal like anything!” Margy answered.

“Oh, I want to see the pigs! Maybe I can make up a riddle about ’em!” cried Laddie.

There was a rush for the pen, and the children had fun watching the little pigs stumble about, rooting with their pink noses in the dirt of their pen for something to eat.

But now the engine was cool enough to travel on, and Mr. Bunker called the children to come back. Russ was the first to reach the machine, running up the platform steps ready to help his smaller brothers and sisters if they needed it.

He peered inside the truck, thinking perhaps the straw would need spreading out again in a smooth layer, and, as he did so, he started back in surprise.

“What’s the matter?” asked Rose, who had followed him.

“There’s something in there—in the straw,” whispered Russ.

“You mean one of the children?” asked Rose, for thus she often spoke of her smaller brothers and sister.

“No, it—it looks like some animal,” said Russ. “Look!”

Rose looked and saw a dark object—clearly an animal—moving about in the straw.

“Oh, maybe it’s a bear!” she cried.