"Come on, and you'll see," returned Russ.
By this time most of their fireworks had been shot off, though Daddy Bunker had insisted that they save a few for afternoon. And, making sure that the children did not have smoldering pieces of punk, which might set the barn on fire, Mrs. Bunker watched the six little tots run out there to have fun.
"Have you heard anything about the papers the tramp carried away in your old coat?" she asked her husband, who did not go to the office that day.
"No, the police couldn't find the man," answered Mr. Bunker. "I guess my papers are gone for good. But I mustn't worry about them; nor must you. I want you and the children to have a good time at Grandma Bell's."
"Oh, we always have good times there," said his wife. "I'll be glad to go. It is lovely in Maine at this time of year."
Out in the barn the children could be heard laughing and shouting.
"I hope they don't try to make any more steamboats out of old barrels, and get caught in the ruins," said Mrs. Bunker with a laugh, as she thought of the funny accident that had happened in the playroom.
"Oh, I guess they'll be all right," said Mr. Bunker. "It's quiet now, so I'll lie down and have a nap, to get ready to take them to the fireworks to-night."
The six little Bunkers had played some games in the barn—sliding down the hay, pretending an old wagon was a stage coach and that the Indians captured it—games like that—when they heard Norah calling loudly to them.
"What's she saying?" asked Laddie, who had found a hen's nest in the hay and was wondering whether he had better take in the eggs or let them stay to be hatched into little chickens. "What's Norah want, Russ? Have we got to come in?"