SOMETHING IN THE STRAW Five little Bunkers, with their father, their mother, Norah, and Adam North looked at one little Bunker in a queer plight. That one little Bunker was Margy. After her fall Margy rolled along the path a short distance, for she was a round little girl, quite chubby and, as her father often said, “about as broad as she was long.” As Margy rolled along, the box she had been carrying also rolled. There was nothing very strange in Margy’s rolling over and over after a tumble. She often did that. So did the other little Bunkers. So, also, do you if you are little and fat. There was also nothing very strange in the box, which Margy had been carrying, rolling over. That is, there would not have been anything strange if the box had just rolled in one direction. But it did not. It rolled this way and that way and the other way and then it rolled this way again, in such a strange manner that Russ cried: “What in the world can be in that box to make it go that way?” “It’s just as if it was alive!” said Rose. “Maybe it’s a riddle!” suggested Laddie. Mrs. Bunker had gone to Margy to pick her up. Beyond a scratch or two and some bruises, together with some dust on her dress, Margy was unharmed. She was used to cuts and bruises, so these did not much matter. Nor did the dust. Russ ran to pick up the queer, rolling box, calling out: “What’s in it, Margy?” Before she could answer there came from within the box, the cover of which was fitted tightly on, a little yipping whine and bark. “Oh, it’s a dog!” cried Mun Bun. “I want to see the dog!” “Dog!” exclaimed Violet. “It must be a terribly little dog to be in a box like that.” “Margy, what have you in the box?” asked her father, as Russ was trying to take off the cover. “It’s a—now—a puppy!” answered Margy. “A puppy!” cried the other five little Bunkers, while Margy’s mother asked: “Where did you get the puppy, Margy?” “I went over to Tommy Baker’s house. His dog has some little puppies, and I took one and put it in this box ’cause I want to take a puppy with me to the farm,” Margy answered. The others laughed. By this time Russ had managed to get the cover off the box, and a cute little puppy stuck his head out, and, with his tongue, began licking Russ’s hands. I suppose that was the puppy’s way of telling how glad he was to get out of the box. “Oh, isn’t he sweet!” cried Rose. “Could we keep him?” begged Violet. “I love him an’ he’s my puppy!” announced Margy. “Well, the next time you love a puppy don’t shut him up in a box without any air, and don’t drop him so the box rolls and he turns somersaults,” advised Daddy Bunker. “Russ, you run back to Mr. Baker’s with the little dog, and tell him Margy didn’t really mean to take it.” “Oh, Daddy! can’t I keep it?” begged Margy. “No, dear. It belongs to Tommy Baker. You’ll find animals enough out at Farmer Joel’s, anyway,” said her mother, as Russ started back with the puppy in his arms.