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!”