Three little Trippertrots on their travels

When the baby’s mamma saw the queer old fisherman fishing in the baby’s carriage she cried out:

“Oh, you funny man! Why are you doing that?”

“Hush!” exclaimed Mary Trippertrot, in a whisper, “don’t disturb him, please. He always fishes in strange places, and you should see the queer things he catches.”

“Yes,” went on Tommy, “once he fished up an umbrella and a pair of rubber boots from a little lake.”

“And a raincoat, and right after that it began to rain, and we put the things on—that is, the boots and raincoat—and held the umbrella over us, and we didn’t get wet, and we went to the house of the false-face man,” said Johnny, almost out of breath.

“My! My! What queer children you are, and what odd adventures you must have had,” said the baby’s mamma, while the baby lay in the crib and drank the milk from the bottle.

“Oh, we are the Trippertrots, and we are always getting lost, and having funny things happen to us,” said Mary. “This time we got lost because we ran out after the postman, to give him back a letter he had dropped, and Jiggly Jig found us, and then he went in a house, and the milkman told us to get in his wagon.”

“Yes, and the milkman’s horse ran away with us, and here we are,” finished Tommy, for by this time Mary was out of breath.

“And I wonder where the fisherman will take us?” spoke Johnny.

“He said he’d take us home,” replied Tommy. “Ah, he’s caught something!” he cried, for at that moment the funny old fisherman, who had not spoken since he began fishing, pulled up his hammock-hook and line, and there, dangling on the end of it, was a baby’s pink knitted sock.

“Ah, ha!” exclaimed the old fisherman. “I rather thought I would catch something this time. This is better than a fish,” and making a low bow he handed the baby’s sock to the baby’s mamma.

“Oh, where did you get it?” she asked.

“I fished it up out of the baby’s carriage,” said the old fisherman, with a jolly laugh. “Perhaps I can catch something else if I try.”

“I wish you would,” said the lady. “I have been looking all over for my baby’s pink socks, and I couldn’t find them. I never thought to look in the carriage.”

“Perhaps I can fish up the other one,” said the old fisherman, and then he sat down on the piano stool, and began dangling his hook and line in the baby carriage again, while the baby drank milk from the bottle, and the Trippertrot children and the lady looked at the fisherman. I forgot to tell you that on the end of the fisherman’s line was a hammock-hook. It wasn’t very sharp, and it couldn’t hurt any one, not even a baby’s pink sock, you see.

“There, I think I have something!” cried the fisherman at last, as he pulled up his line again. “The other sock!” he exclaimed, and there, surely enough, dangling from the hammock-hook, was the second pink sock.

“Oh, how very kind of you!” cried the lady. “I wish you would always stay here, and fish for the things that are lost. The baby loses so many things, and then there’s the little dog—he hides things.”

“Oh, we have a dog!” cried Mary.

“His name is Fido!” said Tommy.

“And we have a cat named Ivy Vine,” added Johnny.

“How very nice,” said the lady, while the baby lay in the crib, looked up at the ceiling and blinked his blue eyes. “I will show you our dog,” went on the lady. “His name is Bony.”

“What a funny name!” exclaimed Mary. “Why do you call him that?”

“Because he is so fond of bones,” the lady said. Then she called: “Here, Bony! Bony! Bony!” and in came running a little, fat poodle dog, and he stood up on his hind legs, and wagged his tail, and then he tried to get hold of Tommy’s shoe, to pull it off.

“Why does he do that?” the little Trippertrot boy wanted to know.

“I guess he thinks it’s something he can hide,” answered the lady. “Bony is the greatest dog for hiding things! He carries off my slippers, and my husband’s shoes, and all the baby’s rattleboxes, and hides them in such funny places. Sometimes in the icebox, and sometimes under the parlor chairs, and sometimes even down cellar in the coal-bin.

“That’s why I wish you could stay here and fish for the things that are lost,” the lady said to the nice old fisherman.

“You are very kind,” he answered, with a low bow, “but I can’t stay. I came after the Trippertrot children, to take them home. They’re lost, you know.”

“Oh, yes, so we are, I nearly forgot,” spoke Mary.

“Are you sure you can find our house?” asked Tommy.

“I certainly can,” replied the fisherman, with another jolly laugh.

“But how are we going to get home?” asked Mary. “The milk wagon horse has run away, and we can’t walk, because it is so far. What shall we do?”

“That’s so,” agreed the fisherman, scratching his nose with the hammock-hook that wasn’t sharp. “I could carry you on my back, one at a time, I suppose. That is, I could carry Mary home first, and then come back for Johnny or Tommy, and if I took Tommy next I could carry Johnny last.”

“But we would be pretty late getting home, wouldn’t we?” asked Johnny. “At least, I would be if you took me last.”

“That’s so,” agreed Mary. “Can’t you think of some other way, Mr. Fisherman?”

“Hum!” he said. “If I only had an automobile now, or an airship, we would be all right.”

“Or if we each had a toy green or red balloon, we could take hold of them, and float home,” said Johnny.

“But we haven’t anything like that,” spoke Mary. “Oh, dear, it’s dreadful to be lost! I wonder what we can do, and how you can take us all home at once?”

“I have it!” suddenly cried the baby’s mamma. “Down in our cellar is a great big baby carriage, that I had once when there were twins here, but they are now big children, and don’t need the carriage. I’m sure it would hold you three children very easily, and then the fisherman could wheel you home in it.”

“That’s it!” exclaimed the fisherman. “The very thing! I will soon have the Trippertrots home now, and I hope they never wander away again.”

“No, indeed, we never will!” they all promised at once. But you just wait for some more stories about them, and see what happens. However, now I must tell you about the baby carriage.

“Where did you say the carriage was?” asked the fisherman.

“Down cellar,” answered the lady. “I will get it for you.”

“Oh, no, don’t trouble yourself,” said the fisherman. “I will fish it up,” and, surely enough, he stood at the head of the cellar steps, dangled his line down, and soon he had hooked on to the carriage, and lifted it up. It was a very big one, and would easily hold the three little Trippertrots.

So they got into it, and the lady wrapped a warm blanket over them, and they said good-by to her and to the cute, cunning little baby, and off the old fisherman started with them, wheeling the carriage down the front steps as easily as a kittie cat can lap up her milk.

“Come and see me some time, when you aren’t lost,” called the lady after them, as she waved her hand out of the window.

“We will,” promised Mary and Tommy and Johnny Trippertrot.

Away they went, along the street, the old fisherman wheeling them toward their home. The Trippertrots were tired and sleepy and hungry, for they had been away for some time now.

All of a sudden, as the fisherman was wheeling them, a lady on the street came up and stopped them.

“Oh, may I see the pretty babies in the carriage?” she asked. “I just love babies!”

“These aren’t babies,” said the fisherman, “they are the lost Trippertrot children, and I am taking them home. But you may look at them.”

So the lady looked, and she leaned over to kiss Mary, and the fur thing the lady wore around her neck tickled Tommy so that he sneezed three times.

“How cute!” exclaimed the lady, as she walked away.

Then they went on a little farther, and pretty soon another lady cried out:

“Oh, may I see the pretty babies in the carriage?”

“They aren’t babies—they are the lost Trippertrot children,” said the old fisherman. “But you may see them.”

So this lady looked, and she kissed Mary, and the fur thing she wore on her neck tickled Johnny so that he awakened from his sleep.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” said the lady.

Then they went on some more, and a third lady said:

“Oh, may I just have one look at the pretty babies in the carriage?” for she couldn’t see that they weren’t babies, because they were covered up with the blanket, you know.

“These are the lost Trippertrot children,” said the old fisherman. “They were lost, and I am taking them home, but if you will excuse me saying so, I’ll never get there if all the ladies want to look at them.”

Then the third lady leaned over to kiss Tommy, and the feathers in her hat tickled Mary so that she sneezed three times, and part of another one.

“Goodness me!” exclaimed the lady.

“Now I am going to run home with you,” said the old fisherman, and soon he was safe at the Trippertrot house, and my! how glad Mary and Tommy and Johnny were to get back. Their papa and mamma hugged and kissed them, and so did Suzette, the nursemaid, and the children said they would never go away from home again.

But, oh, dear! Just read the next story and see what happened.