“We left her there, didn’t we?” asked Vi, for sometimes there was so much going on at the Bunker house that to remember where one of the many dolls or other playthings was left became a task. “Yes, we left Esmeralda out on the porch,” agreed Margy. “But she isn’t there now. I looked. She’s—she’s gone!” Margy felt almost as sad over the loss as did Vi, though Esmeralda, or “Measles,” as Russ called her, belonged particularly to Violet. “Do you s’pose a tramp would take my doll, Mother?” asked Violet, for Mrs. Bunker was now walking toward the side porch with her two little girls. “No, my dear, I don’t believe so,” was the answer. “What would a tramp want with a doll?” This puzzled Vi for a moment, but she quickly had ready a reply. “He—he might want to give her to his little girl,” Vi said. “Tramps, as a rule, don’t have little girls,” remarked Mrs. Bunker. “If they had they wouldn’t be tramps.” This gave Vi a chance to ask another question. Eagerly she had it ready. “Why don’t tramps have little girls?” she inquired of her mother. “Do they run away? I mean do the little girls run away?” “No, that isn’t the reason,” and Mrs. Bunker tried not to smile at Vi’s eagerness. “I’ll tell you about it some other time. But show me where you left your doll,” she added, as they reached the shady side porch. “Esmeralda certainly isn’t here,” for a look around showed no doll in sight. “Oh, where can she be?” gasped Vi, now on the verge of tears. Margy, seeing how her sister was affected, was also getting ready to weep, but just then a merry whistle was heard around the corner of the house. It was the merry whistle of a happy boy. “Here comes Russ!” exclaimed Violet, for she knew her oldest brother’s habit of being tuneful. “He’ll help me look for Esmeralda.” “Maybe he took her,” suggested Margy. “No. If he did he wouldn’t be coming back whistling,” decided Vi. Russ Bunker, next to his father the “man” of the family, swung around the path at the side of the house. Following him was Rose, his sister, a year younger, a pretty girl, with light, fluffy hair. And, very often, Rose had a merry song on her lips. But as Russ was now whistling Rose could not sing. She always said Russ whistled “out of tune,” but Russ declared it was her singing that was off key. “Oh, Russ!” exclaimed his mother, “you didn’t go to daddy’s office and bother him to-day, did you, when it’s the first of the month? And he is so busy——” “No, Mother, I wasn’t at daddy’s office,” Russ answered. “Rose and I just went to the store for some nails. I’m making a seesaw, and——” “Oh, can I be on it?” begged Margy. “I love to teeter-totter! Please, Russ, can’t I——” “I want a ride, too!” put in Vi. “All right! All right!” agreed Russ, with a laugh. “You can all have rides—Mun Bun and Laddie too—as soon as I get it made. But it’s a lot of work and it’s got to be done right and——”