“I don’t see any harm in it,” he answered. “In the first place, I don’t believe Russ and Laddie will catch that boy. But if they do, I’ll follow along to see that he doesn’t harm them.” “And if you need help call on us!” chuckled Farmer Joel, as he and Adam North began to do the night chores around the place. Farmer Joel called it “doing his chores,” when he locked the barn, saw that the hen-house was fastened, and got in kindling for the morning fire. “Oh, I guess there’ll be no trouble,” said Mr. Bunker. Rose came hurrying out toward the front gate, running ahead of her father. “Where are you going, Rose?” he asked her. “I’m going with Russ and Laddie,” she answered. “Oh, no, Rose,” said Mrs. Bunker. “I don’t believe I would.” “Yes, please!” pleaded Rose. “It was my shortcake that peddler boy took, and I want to bring it back. Please let me go!” She seemed so much in earnest about it, and looked so disappointed when her mother had spoken of keeping her back, that Daddy Bunker said: “All right, run along. But don’t get hurt. Your mother and I will come along after you.” So it was that Russ, Laddie, and Rose hurried down the country road after the peddler who it was suspected had taken the cake. Trailing after them, but coming more slowly, were Mr. and Mrs. Bunker and the other little Bunkers. “What shall we do to him, Russ, when we catch him?” asked Rose, as she jogged along beside her older brother. “I’ll ask him for the cake, that’s what I’ll do.” “And if he doesn’t give it up?” “Then—then—I—I’ll thump him!” exclaimed Russ, doubling up his fists. “And I’ll help,” offered Laddie excitedly. “We-ell, perhaps,” said Rose doubtfully. It sounded to her a little too boastful. The white bridge which Mr. Harper had spoken of was about half a mile down the road from Farmer Joel’s place, and soon after making a turn in the highway Russ, Rose, and Laddie saw the structure. “I see some one fishing off the bridge,” remarked Russ. “Maybe it’s that boy.” As the three Bunkers came nearer they could see a boy sitting on the bridge railing, holding a pole from which a line was dangling in the water that flowed under the bridge. And when the children drew a little nearer they could make out that the fisher was the shoe-lace peddler boy. Almost at the same time that they recognized him, the boy knew them, and he sprang down from the bridge railing, began winding up his line and started to pick up his box and basket. “Here, you! Wait a minute!” ordered Russ. “I don’t have to wait!” sneered the peddler. “There’s no fish here, so why should I wait?” “You’ve got something that we want!” went on Rose, drawing nearer with Russ, while Laddie began looking about for a club or a stone. “You said you didn’t want anything,” grumbled the peddler. “I was up by your house, and you wouldn’t buy any shoe laces nor collar buttons yet, so why should it be you come running after me now?”