“Where did you say the carriage was?” asked the fisherman.
“Down cellar,” answered the lady. “I will get it for you.”
“Oh, no, don’t trouble yourself,” said the fisherman. “I will fish it up,” and, surely enough, he stood at the head of the cellar steps, dangled his line down, and soon he had hooked on to the carriage, and lifted it up. It was a very big one, and would easily hold the three little Trippertrots.
So they got into it, and the lady wrapped a warm blanket over them, and they said good-by to her and to the cute, cunning little baby, and off the old fisherman started with them, wheeling the carriage down the front steps as easily as a kittie cat can lap up her milk.
“Come and see me some time, when you aren’t lost,” called the lady after them, as she waved her hand out of the window.
“We will,” promised Mary and Tommy and Johnny Trippertrot.
Away they went, along the street, the old fisherman wheeling them toward their home. The Trippertrots were tired and sleepy and hungry, for they had been away for some time now.
All of a sudden, as the fisherman was wheeling them, a lady on the street came up and stopped them.
“Oh, may I see the pretty babies in the carriage?” she asked. “I just love babies!”
“These aren’t babies,” said the fisherman, “they are the lost Trippertrot children, and I am taking them home. But you may look at them.”