"Oh, but it hurts like anything!" yelled Russ. "He 'most bit off my big toe!"
By this time they were all in the kitchen. The rest of the six little Bunkers had followed their father and mother. They saw a queer sight.
Crabs were crawling all over the floor. They had managed to wiggle out of the peach basket in which they had been put as they were caught from the boat. Cousin Tom had spread wet seaweed over the top of the basket, but this had not been enough to keep the crabs in.
"Look, they're chasing us!" cried Rose, as a crab came sliding sideways over the oil-cloth, clashing its big claws.
"They are only trying to get into the dark corners to hide," said Cousin Tom. "I'll pick them up."
"Will they pinch you?" asked Laddie.
"No, not if I pick them up by one of their back flippers," said his cousin. "There is a certain way to pick up a crab so he can't reach you with his claws."
Just then a crab came toward Cousin Tom. He put out his foot, and held it tightly on the hard shell of the crab's back. Then, reaching behind the crab, and taking hold of one of the broad, flat swimming flippers, he lifted the crab up that way. The crab wiggled and tried to reach Cousin Tom with the pinching claws, but could not.
"That's the way to do it," called out Cousin Tom, as he tossed the crab into the basket.
"I can do it!" said Laddie, who liked to try new things.