OFF TO THE FARM
Mr. Bunker saw that his wife was growing a little alarmed over Laddie’s
absence, so he said:
“Now don’t worry, we’ll find Laddie.”
“I’ll help you look for him,” said Adam. “He can’t have gone very far.”
“Maybe he fell asleep in the summer-house,” suggested Russ, for at the
end of the garden was a rustic summer-house, or pavilion, in which the
children sometimes played. But Laddie was not there.
“Could he have fallen into the brook?” asked Rose.
“If he did, all that could happen would be that he got wet,” her father
answered, with a laugh.
“And if Laddie fell into the brook I guess he’d yell and we would hear
him,” Rose said, nodding her head.
“’Tisn’t very deep, anyhow,” added Russ.
They looked farther in the garden for Laddie and called his name, but
there was no answer. Mr. Bunker was just beginning to get worried when
the telephone in the house suddenly rang.
“Maybe that’s some news of him!” exclaimed the mother of the missing
little fellow. She started toward the telephone, but Laddie’s father
reached it first.
“Hello! Hello!” called Mr. Bunker into the telephone.
The others listened to what he had to say.
“Yes! Yes,” he went on. “Oh, then he’s all right. I’m glad of that.
Thank you! Yes, I’ll be right down after him.”
“Evidently it’s about Laddie?” said Mrs. Bunker in a questioning voice.
“Yes,” answered her husband, as he hung up the receiver. “Laddie is in
the police station.”
“The _police station_!” cried Russ.
“Is he arrested? What for?” Rose queried wonderingly.
Daddy Bunker laughed, which let them all know it could not be very
serious.
“What is it?” asked his wife.
“As nearly as I can make out,” said Mr. Bunker, “Laddie wandered away
from here and went to the police station about some riddle.”
“A _riddle_!” cried Adam North. “Good gasoline! That boy must dream of
riddles!”
“I sometimes think he does,” sighed his mother. “But what sort of
riddle is it this time?” she asked her husband.
“The officer at the police station didn’t just know,” was Mr. Bunker’s
answer. “He said they had Laddie there and asked me to come and get
him, as they didn’t want to send him home with a policeman for fear the
neighbors would think something had happened. As nearly as I can make
out, Laddie must have thought of a riddle and have gone to the police
station to see if any one could guess it.”
“Why didn’t he ask one of us?” his mother wanted to know. “He generally
does ask us first.”
“We’ll find out all about it when I bring him home,” replied Mr.
Bunker. “I’ll go right after him.”
“Will you take the car?” asked Mrs. Bunker.
“Yes, I think I’d better. Laddie may have fallen asleep, and he’s
pretty heavy to carry.”
“I’ll go with you,” offered Adam, and soon they were at the police
station.
There they found Laddie wide awake, sitting in the assembly room of the
station house, while several officers, who were on reserve duty, were
laughing and joking with him.
“He’s far from being asleep,” said Mr. North.
“I should say so!” agreed Mr. Bunker. “Laddie boy, what in the world
are you doing down here?” he asked the little fellow.
“I came down to find out about a riddle,” he answered.
“And he’s had us all guessing riddles ever since he walked in here
about an hour ago,” chuckled the police sergeant in charge of the
station. “He’s a great boy!”
“I didn’t perzactly come down here to ask riddles,” said Laddie. “But
I wanted to make up a riddle about a policeman to ask Farmer Joel when
I got to the farm, and I had to see a police station inside to make up
the riddle.”
“Well, did you make the riddle up?” asked the sergeant, with another
laugh. Life at the station was very often dull, and the men on duty
welcomed any little change.
“Yes, I got a riddle,” Laddie announced. “’Tisn’t very good, but maybe
I can think of a better one after a while. This is it. Why is a police
station like a candy shop?”
“Ha! Ha!” laughed the sergeant. “That may be a riddle, but I can’t see
it. Nothing could be more different than a candy store and this police
station.”
“Yes, there’s something alike in each of them,” went on Laddie. “Do you
all give up?” he asked. “Can you tell why a police station is like a
candy shop?”
“Is it because when people are brought here they have to stick?” asked
Adam.
“Ha! Ha! That’s pretty good!” laughed the sergeant. “I’d never think of
that myself! Pretty good! A police station is like a candy shop because
people have to stick here! And it’s true! They do have to stick if we
arrest them and put them in a cell. And if there’s sticky candy on the
floor of a candy shop they’d stick there. Pretty good!”
“No, that isn’t the reason,” said Laddie. “Listen. I’ll tell you.
A police station is like a candy shop because it’s full of sticks.
Sticks, you know—the policemen’s clubs. They’re like sticks of candy,
you know!”
“Ha! Ha!” laughed the sergeant again. “That’s pretty good! I must
remember that to tell the captain. Well, good night to you,” he added,
as Mr. Bunker led Laddie out, thanking the sergeant and his men for
having entertained and kept the little boy.
On the way home in the automobile Mr. Bunker said Laddie should not
have slipped off and gone down the street to the police station without
telling some one about it.
“We were all worried, Laddie,” went on his father.
“I’m sorry,” the little fellow said. “I won’t do it again. But I got to
thinking I could make up a good riddle about a policeman, and I thought
it would be better if I could see one before I made the riddle, so I
just went.”
“Well, it’s a pretty good riddle—I’ll say that,” chuckled Adam North.
“Maybe you can make up some about the farm when you get there. Farmer
Joel likes jokes and riddles.”
“I’ll make up a lot of them for him,” kindly offered Laddie, as if he
had a stock of riddles constantly on hand and could turn them out at a
moment’s notice.
“Oh, Laddie, you bad boy, where have you been?” asked his mother when
he reached home.
When they told her his riddle about the police station and candy shop,
she could not help laughing.
A few days after this everything was ready for the start to Farmer
Joel’s. Mr. Bunker had arranged to leave his real estate business in
charge of his men at the office, and Mrs. Bunker prepared to close the
house, taking Norah with her to cook at the farm.
The children’s clothing had been packed in valises and trunks, and
piled in the big auto truck which was filled with straw to make
a comfortable resting place for the six little Bunkers on their
forty-mile trip.
As I have told you, the children and their father would ride in the
big truck with Adam, and Mrs. Bunker would follow with Norah in the
touring car, the children’s mother doing the driving.
All was one grand excitement in the home of the six little Bunkers
when the morning came on which they were to leave for the farm. Every
one seemed to be talking at once, and certainly the children, Violet
especially, never seemed to have asked so many questions before.
Laddie, too, was on the alert. He was working on a new riddle. He spoke
of it to Russ.
“It’s about a tree,” said Laddie.
“Oh, I know that old riddle,” Russ said. “You mean why is a tree like a
dog? Because it has a bark.”
“No, it isn’t that one,” Laddie said eagerly. “This is a new riddle.
Now I have it! What’s the difference between a tree and a bird? Can you
answer that?”
“Let me see now,” murmured Russ, who wanted to please his little
brother. “The difference between a bird and a tree. Well, one flies and
the other doesn’t.”
“Nope!” cried Laddie. “I’ll tell you. A tree leaves in the spring and
a bird leaves in the fall. See what I mean? A tree leaves in the
spring—the leaves come out. But a bird leaves in the fall. The bird
leaves the North and flies down South where it’s warm.”
“I don’t think that’s a very good riddle,” said Russ.
“Well, maybe I can think of a better one after a while,” Laddie
remarked cheerfully. He certainly was good-natured.
Now that the time of going to the farm had arrived, Violet was eager to
find out all about the animals. She fairly pestered Adam with wanting
to know things. She asked:
“How many chickens are there? How many cows? Did you ever count the
bees?”
“Count the bees? Good land, no!” laughed Adam. “There’s millions of
’em and they never keep still long enough to be counted. Besides, if I
tried they might sting me.”
“Well,” said Vi, “are there any——”
“Violet, get in the truck and sit still,” ordered her mother firmly,
and Violet obeyed.
Everything was ready for the start. Mr. Bunker was counting the
children and the trunks and the satchels, to make sure none was
missing, when Rose asked:
“Where’s Margy?”
“Here she comes,” said Russ, as he noticed his little sister appearing
around the corner of the house.
“What in the world is she carrying?” asked Mr. Bunker.
And well might he inquire. For Margy was half dragging half carrying
a large pasteboard box which seemed alive, for it swayed from side to
side and seemed about to leap away.
“Margy, what have you there?” called her father.
Before she could answer the box gave a sudden lurch to one side, Margy
lost her balance, and down she went on the path in a heap, the box
tumbling over and over as if it had suddenly come to life. What could
it be?