THE SHOE-LACE BOY Russ, who was nearest the door, went to open it. Afterward Violet said she thought it might be some of the neighbors coming to ask for a piece of Rose’s strawberry shortcake. Laddie said later that he thought it might be Ralph come on the same sort of errand. Well, it was a boy who had knocked on the door, but it was not Ralph, the master of Jimsie, the dog, nor was it any boy the Bunker children had ever seen around Farmer Joel’s place. It was a “peddler boy,” as Violet called him—a boy with dark hair, dark complexion, and deep brown eyes, and he carried a pack on his back and a box slung by a strap in front of him. “Shoe laces, collar buttons, suspenders, needles, pins—anything to-day?” asked the peddler boy, rattling out the words so quickly that Russ could hardly tell one from another. “Wha—what’s that?” asked the bewildered Russ. “Want any shoe laces? Any collar buttons—needles—pins—suspenders—hooks and eyes—court plaster—pocket knives—any——” “No, we don’t want anything to-day,” said Norah, advancing to the door and looking out over Russ’s head. “How do you know you don’t want anything, Lady?” asked the peddler boy with a pert and rather smart manner. “I haven’t told you all I carry yet. I have——” “But I tell you we don’t want anything!” insisted Norah. “I know what you have—notions—and we don’t want any because we’re only visiting here and——” “I have baggage tags!” interrupted the boy. “If you are only visiting you’ll want to send your trunks back and you’d better put a tag on. I’ll show you!” Quickly he opened the box he carried, slung by a strap about his neck. The other Bunker children, crowding to the door, saw in the box many of the things the boy had named—pins, needles, some combs and brushes, and other things. The boy took out a package of baggage tags, each tag having a short piece of cord attached to it. These he held out to Norah, at the same time saying: “Use these and you never lose any baggage.” “We take our baggage in the automobile,” said Rose. “Well, maybe a piece might fall out and if it had a tag on it you wouldn’t lose it,” said the boy, who spoke in rather a strange manner, like a foreigner who had recently learned English. “I tell you we don’t want anything,” said Norah, speaking a little more sharply. “What about some letter paper and envelopes?” persisted the boy. “You could write, couldn’t you, and I sell ’em cheap——” “No! No! We don’t want a thing, I tell you!” and Norah spoke very sharply and began to close the door. “Huh, I guess it wouldn’t be much good to sell you letter paper,” sneered the boy. “You’re so mean you haven’t any friends that’d want you to write!” The door was closed but the words came through. “Say,” cried Russ, as he struggled to open the door again, “if you talk like that to our Norah——”