“Never mind,” laughed the good-natured cook. “Such peddlers aren’t worth answering. He’s angry because we didn’t buy something. If he had been polite about it I might, but he was too——” “Too smart! That’s what he was!” finished Rose, and that about described the shoe-lace peddler. In the kitchen Norah and the six little Bunkers could hear him muttering to himself as he walked away, but as Daddy Bunker just then called the children to give them some picture papers that had come by mail, they forgot all about the impolite lad. The Bunker children had fun looking through the illustrated magazine and they were rather glad to sit down and do this, for picking the strawberries on the distant hill had been rather tiring. “I wish supper would soon be ready. I want some of Rose’s shortcake,” remarked Violet. “It looked good,” returned Russ. “If it tastes half as good as it looks, it will be great!” “I hope it will be good,” said Rose modestly. Six hungry little Bunkers sat down to the supper table, and pretty soon there were no more six hungry little Bunkers, for they ate so many of the good things Norah cooked for them that they were no longer hungry. But there was still six little Bunkers, and they were anxious to try Rose’s strawberry shortcake. “I’ll bring it in to the table and Rose can cut it,” said Norah. She went to the pantry, but in less than half a minute she came hurrying back with a strange look on her face. “What’s the matter?” asked Daddy Bunker. “Did you see a ghost, Norah?” “No, sir. But—but—didn’t we put the strawberry shortcake in the pantry?” she asked Mrs. Bunker. “Yes, surely,” was the answer. “I saw you put it there to cool.” “Well, it isn’t there now!” exclaimed Norah. “Oh, did some one take my lovely strawberry shortcake?” sighed Rose. “Russ, you aren’t playing any of your jokes, are you?” asked his father, somewhat sternly. “Did you take Rose’s shortcake and hide it, just for fun?” “No, sir! I never touched her shortcake. I didn’t see it after Norah put it away!” “I’ll take a look,” said Mrs. Bunker. “Perhaps Farmer Joel went in and set it on a higher shelf.” “No, indeed!” declared Mr. Todd. “I never go into the pantry. That isn’t my part of the house. And Adam didn’t touch the shortcake, I’m sure. Did you?” he asked. Mr. North shook his head. “I like strawberry shortcake,” he said, “but I’d never think of playing a joke with the one Rose baked.” By this time Mrs. Bunker came back from the pantry whither she had gone to make a search. “The shortcake isn’t there,” she said. “Who could have taken it?” asked Norah. “Maybe Jimsie!” suggested Russ. “No dog could reach up to the high sill of the pantry window,” said Mrs. Bunker. “I can see where the cake was placed on the sill, for a little of the red juice ran out and made a stain. The cake was lifted out of the window, perhaps by some one from the outside.” “I’ll have a look!” exclaimed Mr. Bunker.