All this time the horse was pulling the milk wagon farther and farther away. The children kept peering out, but they couldn’t see any house that looked like theirs, and they thought they must have come a long distance from home.
All of a sudden the Trippertrots heard some one out in the street crying:
“Whoa! Whoa there, horsie!”
Then the milkman’s horse stopped running, and the wagon, of course, stopped also.
“Ha! I wonder who that can be?” asked Tommy.
“I’m going to look and see,” spoke Johnny, so out he peeped and then he cried: “Why, it’s Simple Simon, and the pieman is with him.”
“Really?” asked Mary. “I wonder what they want?”
“We want some milk, if you please,” answered the pieman, putting his head in through the milkman’s wagon window—not through the glass, you understand, or he would have been cut, but through the open window. “I would like some milk,” went on the nice pieman.
“What for?” asked Mary, who always liked to know the reason for everything.
“I have to use it to make pies,” said the pieman. “I am going to make a custard pie for Simple Simon, and I need milk.”