“Because you have my shortcake!” burst out Rose indignantly. “You took my strawberry shortcake and I want it back.” “I should have taken your shortcake, little girl?” cried the boy, as if greatly surprised. “You are mistaken! Why should you say I have your shortcake?” “Because you were the only one around the house after the shortcake was set in the pantry window to cool,” said Russ boldly. “And my father saw your footprints under the window.” “And my father’s coming, and so is my mother, and if you don’t give my sister back her cake they’ll have you arrested!” threatened Laddie. “Oh, your father and mother—they is coming, are they?” asked the boy, who did not speak very good English. He was not quite so bold and defiant as at first. “Yes, they’re coming,” said Russ, looking over his shoulder down the road. “But if you give up the shortcake there won’t be any trouble.” “Why should I have your cake?” cried the boy. “Look you and see—it is not in mine pockets!” He turned one or two pockets inside out as he stood on the bridge. “Pooh! Just as if you could put my big strawberry shortcake in your pocket!” scoffed Rose. “It’s in your box or your basket, that’s where it is!” declared Laddie. And then another thought came to him as he added: “Unless you’ve eaten it!” “Oh!” cried Rose, in distress at the thought of her good strawberry shortcake having been eaten by the shoe-lace peddler. “I should eat your cake? No! No!” cried the boy, raising his hand in the air over his head. “Well, I’m going to have a look in your basket!” threatened Russ, walking toward the place on the bridge where the peddler boy had set down the things in which he carried his wares. “Don’t you touch my basket!” yelled the peddler. “If you open it I shall a blow give you on the nose!” He said it in such a funny, excited way that Rose had to laugh, and Russ said: “I can give you a hit on the nose, too!” “You don’t dast!” sneered the peddler. “Yes, I dare!” insisted Russ. “And I’ll help him!” added Laddie, who had found a stick. The peddler boy, who was almost a head taller than Russ, closed his fists and was walking toward the three Bunker children. Rose felt her heart beating very fast. She looked back down the road and saw her father and mother coming, followed by Margy, Mun Bun, and Violet. “Oh, here come daddy and mother!” cried Rose. Instantly a change came over the peddler boy. His fists unclenched and he smiled in a sickly, frightened sort of way. “Oh, well, maybe your shortcake did get in my box by mistake,” he said. “I takes me a look and see.” Quickly he opened his box, and there, wrapped in a clean paper, was the strawberry shortcake Rose had made. “Oh!” cried the little girl, in delight. “Oh, my shortcake has come back!” “Huh! I thought you said you didn’t have it!” exclaimed Russ, as the peddler lad lifted out the cake and handed it to Rose. “Well, maybe I make a mistake and forget,” said the other.