Mun Bun didn't mind this. He didn't care which way the horse went as long as he was having a ride and was doing the driving. Down the side street went the junk wagon, with Mun Bun on it. He was now out of sight of any one who might be looking from Aunt Jo's yard. The little fellow was halfway down the new block when a woman, looking from the window of her house, saw the bony horse and the old rattly, rickety wagon. "Oh, there's a junkman!" she cried. "I've been looking for one a long time to take the papers out of the cellar. There's a junkman!" "No, it's a junk boy," said the woman's cook, who happened to be with her. "There's no one but a little boy on the wagon." "Well, maybe it's the junkman's little boy," said the woman. "They let them drive when they go in after the junk. Run after him, Jane, and stop him. I want to get the trash cleaned out of the cellar." So the cook ran quickly to the front door and cried: "Hey! Junk boy! Stop! We got some papers for you!" Mun Bun heard, and turned around. "I isn't the junkman," he said. "I'm just havin' a ride!" "We have some old papers for you," called the cook. Mun Bun didn't know just what it all meant, but he saw the cook waving her hand at him, and he heard her calling, though he could not make out all the words, because the wagon rattled so. But Mun Bun had an idea. "I guess maybe she wants a ride," he said. "She likes to ride same as I do. I'll give her a ride with me." He pulled on the reins, and called: "Whoa!" But either Mun Bun did not pull hard enough, or he did not call loudly enough, for the horse did not stop. Perhaps it thought that if it did stop it would be too hard work to start again, so it kept on going. "Stop! Stop!" cried the cook. "We have some papers to sell you!" "Whoa!" called Mun Bun again. But the horse did not stop. Just then a policeman came down the street. He saw Mun Bun on the seat of the wagon, and he saw the cook waving at him and calling. And the policeman needed to take only one look to make him feel sure that Mun Bun was not the junkman's little boy driving the wagon. Mun Bun was not dressed as a junkman's little boy would probably be dressed. "That's funny," said the policeman to himself. "I must see about this." He walked toward the wagon. By this time the cook had come out on the sidewalk. She knew the policeman. "Stop him!" she called, pointing to the wagon. "Stop that junkman!" "That isn't a junkman," said the officer. "Well, stop that junk boy then, Mr. Mulligan," begged the cook, smiling at the policeman. "Nor yet it isn't a junk boy," said the officer. "He doesn't belong on that wagon." "Do you mean to say he stole it?" asked the cook. "Mrs. Rynsler has some junk she wants to get out of the cellar, and----"