“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.