“Tramps, as a rule, don’t have little girls,” remarked Mrs. Bunker. “If they had they wouldn’t be tramps.”
This gave Vi a chance to ask another question. Eagerly she had it ready.
“Why don’t tramps have little girls?” she inquired of her mother. “Do they run away? I mean do the little girls run away?”
“No, that isn’t the reason,” and Mrs. Bunker tried not to smile at Vi’s eagerness. “I’ll tell you about it some other time. But show me where you left your doll,” she added, as they reached the shady side porch. “Esmeralda certainly isn’t here,” for a look around showed no doll in sight.
“Oh, where can she be?” gasped Vi, now on the verge of tears. Margy, seeing how her sister was affected, was also getting ready to weep, but just then a merry whistle was heard around the corner of the house. It was the merry whistle of a happy boy.
“Here comes Russ!” exclaimed Violet, for she knew her oldest brother’s habit of being tuneful. “He’ll help me look for Esmeralda.”
“Maybe he took her,” suggested Margy.
“No. If he did he wouldn’t be coming back whistling,” decided Vi.
Russ Bunker, next to his father the “man” of the family, swung around the path at the side of the house. Following him was Rose, his sister, a year younger, a pretty girl, with light, fluffy hair. And, very often, Rose had a merry song on her lips. But as Russ was now whistling Rose could not sing. She always said Russ whistled “out of tune,” but Russ declared it was her singing that was off key.
“Oh, Russ!” exclaimed his mother, “you didn’t go to daddy’s office and bother him to-day, did you, when it’s the first of the month? And he is so busy——”