With whoops and shouts of delight the six little Bunkers piled out of the truck and ran up and down the road. The machine had come to a stop with the open rear end close to a wooden platform, which was just as high as the floor of the big car. From the platform a flight of steps led to the ground, and the Bunker children got out on this platform and so descended. “What’s this for?” asked Violet, with her usual way of starting questions. “This,” her father told her, “is a milk platform.” “What’s a milk——” began Vi, but her father held up his hand. “I’ll tell you all about it, and then you won’t have to ask any more questions,” he said, with a smile. “This platform is built for the farmer to set his cans of milk on. It is made high, so it is easy to roll the cans of milk from the platform into the wagon. The milk is collected by a big wagon, or auto truck, from the cheese factory. Many farmers around here sell their milk and cream to the cheese factory, and these platforms are built to make the work easier.” “Oh,” murmured Violet. She had never had so many questions answered before without her asking any, and she was in rather a daze. “Now run along and play with the others,” her father told her, for the five little Bunkers were wandering about, looking at things around the farmhouse. Mr. Armstrong owned the place, and he came out to shake hands with Mr. Bunker and Adam North, telling the latter to take as much water as he needed for the thirsty automobile. Mrs. Armstrong invited the children in and gave them some cookies and glasses of milk. “Aren’t you afraid you’ll spoil your appetites for dinner by eating now?” asked Daddy Bunker. “It’s eleven o’clock, and we’ll have lunch about noon.” “I guess I can eat again,” said Russ. “So can I.” “And I!” cried the others. “Bless their hearts!” laughed the motherly Mrs. Armstrong. While the auto engine was cooling the children ran about and played tag. Rose thought perhaps her mother and Norah might come past in the touring car, but Adam said they had probably taken a shorter way, over a back road. “I couldn’t go that way because the truck is so heavy,” he explained. “I have to stick to the hard highways. But we’ll meet your mother in Westfield.” “Oh, come on out and see what I found!” cried Margy, running around the corner of the house. “What is it?” asked Mun Bun. “A lot of little pigs in a pen, and they squeal like anything!” Margy answered. “Oh, I want to see the pigs! Maybe I can make up a riddle about ’em!” cried Laddie. There was a rush for the pen, and the children had fun watching the little pigs stumble about, rooting with their pink noses in the dirt of their pen for something to eat. But now the engine was cool enough to travel on, and Mr. Bunker called the children to come back. Russ was the first to reach the machine, running up the platform steps ready to help his smaller brothers and sisters if they needed it.