When the baby’s mamma saw the queer old fisherman fishing in the baby’s carriage she cried out:
“Oh, you funny man! Why are you doing that?”
“Hush!” exclaimed Mary Trippertrot, in a whisper, “don’t disturb him, please. He always fishes in strange places, and you should see the queer things he catches.”
“Yes,” went on Tommy, “once he fished up an umbrella and a pair of rubber boots from a little lake.”
“And a raincoat, and right after that it began to rain, and we put the things on—that is, the boots and raincoat—and held the umbrella over us, and we didn’t get wet, and we went to the house of the false-face man,” said Johnny, almost out of breath.
“My! My! What queer children you are, and what odd adventures you must have had,” said the baby’s mamma, while the baby lay in the crib and drank the milk from the bottle.
“Oh, we are the Trippertrots, and we are always getting lost, and having funny things happen to us,” said Mary. “This time we got lost because we ran out after the postman, to give him back a letter he had dropped, and Jiggly Jig found us, and then he went in a house, and the milkman told us to get in his wagon.”
“Yes, and the milkman’s horse ran away with us, and here we are,” finished Tommy, for by this time Mary was out of breath.
“And I wonder where the fisherman will take us?” spoke Johnny.
“He said he’d take us home,” replied Tommy. “Ah, he’s caught something!” he cried, for at that moment the funny old fisherman, who had not spoken since he began fishing, pulled up his hammock-hook and line, and there, dangling on the end of it, was a baby’s pink knitted sock.