THE SHOE-LACE BOY
Russ, who was nearest the door, went to open it. Afterward Violet said
she thought it might be some of the neighbors coming to ask for a piece
of Rose’s strawberry shortcake. Laddie said later that he thought it
might be Ralph come on the same sort of errand.
Well, it was a boy who had knocked on the door, but it was not Ralph,
the master of Jimsie, the dog, nor was it any boy the Bunker children
had ever seen around Farmer Joel’s place.
It was a “peddler boy,” as Violet called him—a boy with dark hair, dark
complexion, and deep brown eyes, and he carried a pack on his back and
a box slung by a strap in front of him.
“Shoe laces, collar buttons, suspenders, needles, pins—anything
to-day?” asked the peddler boy, rattling out the words so quickly that
Russ could hardly tell one from another.
“Wha—what’s that?” asked the bewildered Russ.
“Want any shoe laces? Any collar buttons—needles—pins—suspenders—hooks
and eyes—court plaster—pocket knives—any——”
“No, we don’t want anything to-day,” said Norah, advancing to the door
and looking out over Russ’s head.
“How do you know you don’t want anything, Lady?” asked the peddler boy
with a pert and rather smart manner. “I haven’t told you all I carry
yet. I have——”
“But I tell you we don’t want anything!” insisted Norah. “I know what
you have—notions—and we don’t want any because we’re only visiting here
and——”
“I have baggage tags!” interrupted the boy. “If you are only visiting
you’ll want to send your trunks back and you’d better put a tag on.
I’ll show you!” Quickly he opened the box he carried, slung by a strap
about his neck. The other Bunker children, crowding to the door, saw in
the box many of the things the boy had named—pins, needles, some combs
and brushes, and other things.
The boy took out a package of baggage tags, each tag having a short
piece of cord attached to it. These he held out to Norah, at the same
time saying:
“Use these and you never lose any baggage.”
“We take our baggage in the automobile,” said Rose.
“Well, maybe a piece might fall out and if it had a tag on it you
wouldn’t lose it,” said the boy, who spoke in rather a strange manner,
like a foreigner who had recently learned English.
“I tell you we don’t want anything,” said Norah, speaking a little more
sharply.
“What about some letter paper and envelopes?” persisted the boy. “You
could write, couldn’t you, and I sell ’em cheap——”
“No! No! We don’t want a thing, I tell you!” and Norah spoke very
sharply and began to close the door.
“Huh, I guess it wouldn’t be much good to sell you letter paper,”
sneered the boy. “You’re so mean you haven’t any friends that’d want
you to write!”
The door was closed but the words came through.
“Say,” cried Russ, as he struggled to open the door again, “if you talk
like that to our Norah——”
“Never mind,” laughed the good-natured cook. “Such peddlers aren’t
worth answering. He’s angry because we didn’t buy something. If he had
been polite about it I might, but he was too——”
“Too smart! That’s what he was!” finished Rose, and that about
described the shoe-lace peddler.
In the kitchen Norah and the six little Bunkers could hear him
muttering to himself as he walked away, but as Daddy Bunker just then
called the children to give them some picture papers that had come by
mail, they forgot all about the impolite lad.
The Bunker children had fun looking through the illustrated magazine
and they were rather glad to sit down and do this, for picking the
strawberries on the distant hill had been rather tiring.
“I wish supper would soon be ready. I want some of Rose’s shortcake,”
remarked Violet.
“It looked good,” returned Russ. “If it tastes half as good as it
looks, it will be great!”
“I hope it will be good,” said Rose modestly.
Six hungry little Bunkers sat down to the supper table, and pretty soon
there were no more six hungry little Bunkers, for they ate so many of
the good things Norah cooked for them that they were no longer hungry.
But there was still six little Bunkers, and they were anxious to try
Rose’s strawberry shortcake.
“I’ll bring it in to the table and Rose can cut it,” said Norah.
She went to the pantry, but in less than half a minute she came
hurrying back with a strange look on her face.
“What’s the matter?” asked Daddy Bunker. “Did you see a ghost, Norah?”
“No, sir. But—but—didn’t we put the strawberry shortcake in the
pantry?” she asked Mrs. Bunker.
“Yes, surely,” was the answer. “I saw you put it there to cool.”
“Well, it isn’t there now!” exclaimed Norah.
“Oh, did some one take my lovely strawberry shortcake?” sighed Rose.
“Russ, you aren’t playing any of your jokes, are you?” asked his
father, somewhat sternly. “Did you take Rose’s shortcake and hide it,
just for fun?”
“No, sir! I never touched her shortcake. I didn’t see it after Norah
put it away!”
“I’ll take a look,” said Mrs. Bunker. “Perhaps Farmer Joel went in and
set it on a higher shelf.”
“No, indeed!” declared Mr. Todd. “I never go into the pantry. That
isn’t my part of the house. And Adam didn’t touch the shortcake, I’m
sure. Did you?” he asked.
Mr. North shook his head.
“I like strawberry shortcake,” he said, “but I’d never think of playing
a joke with the one Rose baked.”
By this time Mrs. Bunker came back from the pantry whither she had gone
to make a search.
“The shortcake isn’t there,” she said.
“Who could have taken it?” asked Norah.
“Maybe Jimsie!” suggested Russ.
“No dog could reach up to the high sill of the pantry window,” said
Mrs. Bunker. “I can see where the cake was placed on the sill, for a
little of the red juice ran out and made a stain. The cake was lifted
out of the window, perhaps by some one from the outside.”
“I’ll have a look!” exclaimed Mr. Bunker.
He hurried outside to the pantry window at the back of the house,
followed by Russ, Rose and the others. Supper was over except for the
dessert, and this finish of the meal was to have been the shortcake.
With this gone—well, there wasn’t any dessert, that’s all!
Mr. Bunker looked carefully under the window, motioning to the others
to keep back so they would not trample in any footprints that might
remain in the soft ground. Carefully Mr. Bunker looked and then he said:
“Some boy went there, reached in and took the cake.”
“What makes you think it was a boy?” asked Farmer Joel.
“Because of the size of the footprints. They are not much larger than
those Russ would make.”
“I wonder if Ralph was here?” murmured Rose.
“No, I saw Ralph and his Jimsie dog going over to Woodport right after
dinner,” remarked Adam North. “He said he was going to be gone all day.
Ralph didn’t take the cake, nor did his dog Jimsie. Of that I’m sure.”
“Then I know who it was!” suddenly exclaimed Russ.
“Who?” they all asked.
“That peddler, the shoe-lace boy!” Russ answered. “He was mad because
we wouldn’t buy anything, and he sneaked around and took Rose’s
shortcake off the window sill.”
Russ started toward the road.
“Where are you going?” asked his father.
“I’m going to chase after that shoe-lace boy and make him give back the
strawberry shortcake!” cried Russ.