“Oh, yes, so you did. Please excuse me,” said the newsboy. “Well, pink is a very pretty color. Wouldn’t you like to live in a pink house?”
“Oh, how funny!” exclaimed Johnny. “We can’t live in any house but our own, you know.”
“No more you can,” said the newsboy. “Well, perhaps we shall come up to it very soon. Where is it?”
“Why, don’t you know?” asked Tommy.
“No, I thought you did,” said the boy. “All the children I ever saw knew where they lived.”
“Oh, but we’re lost,” spoke Mary.
“And besides,” said Johnny, “we’re the Trippertrots. We never know where we live; do we, Tommy?”
“No,” said Tommy, with a laugh.
“Well, it’s very strange,” went on the newsboy. “I’ll give one more look, and then, maybe, I can see your house. I thought I could take you home, but if you don’t know where you live I’m sure it’s going to be quite a puzzle—quite a puzzle,” and he shook his head up and down, and sideways.
Then the drygoods box-ship went sailing on and on down the street, and the rain kept on raining down harder and harder, and the Trippertrots went on faster and faster. Presently the newsboy said: