Six Little Bunkers at Mammy Junes | Page 4

overturned bookcase sections struck Russ
Bunker's head with considerable force--actually cutting the skin and
bringing blood. Big as he was, the oldest Bunker yelled loudly.

Then, of course, everybody yelled. Quite a panic followed. When Aunt
Jo and Mother Bunker came running to the front room where all this
had taken place the Eskimo igloo looked very much like a pile of boxes
with a young earthquake at work beneath it!
"For the good land's sake!" gasped Aunt Jo, who usually was very
particular about her speech, but who on this occasion was startled into
an exclamation. "What is happening?"
"Get off my head, Vi!" wailed Laddie, from somewhere under the
tottering pile. "It's not to sit on."
"Oh! Oh!" cried Rose. "Russ is all bloody! Oh, dear!"
"I'm not cold any more," cried Mun Bun. "Let me out! I'll be good!"
But Russ Bunker was neither crying nor struggling. He was a good deal
of a man, for a nine-and-a-half-year-old boy. Being the oldest of the six
little Bunkers there were certain duties which fell to his lot, and he
understood that one of them was to keep cool when anything happened
to excite or frighten his brothers and sisters.
The whack he had got on the head, and even the trickle of blood down
his face, did not cause Russ to lose his head. No, indeed. He, and the
other little Bunkers, had been in innumerable scrapes before, and the
wreck of the Eskimo igloo was nothing provided Aunt Jo did not make
a lot out of it. It just crossed Russ' mind that he ought to have asked his
aunt before he used the sectional bookcases for building-blocks.
Naturally of an inventive turn of mind, Russ was constantly building
new things--make-believe houses, engines, automobiles, steamboats,
and the like--usually with a merry whistle on his lips, too. He was a
cheerful boy and almost always considered the safety and pleasure of
his brothers and sisters first.
In companionship with Rose, who was a year younger, the boy cared
for the other four little Bunkers so successfully that Mother Bunker and
Daddy Bunker were seldom troubled in their minds regarding any of

the children. Rose was a particularly helpful little girl, and assisted
Mother Bunker a good deal. She was a real little housewife.
Vi and Laddie, the twins, were both very active children--active with
their tongues as well as their bodies. Violet's inquisitiveness knew no
bounds. She wanted to know about every little thing that happened
about her. Daddy Bunker said he was sure she must ask questions in
her sleep. Laddie was an inveterate riddle-asker. He learned every
riddle he heard; and he tried to make up riddles about everything that
happened. Sometimes he was successful, and sometimes he was not.
But he always tried again, having a persevering temperament.
The smallest Bunkers--Margy, whose real name was Margaret, and
Mun Bun, whose real name was Monroe Ford--were quite as anxious to
get out from under the heap of boxes as the others. Mother Bunker and
Aunt Jo ran to their assistance, and soon the six were on their feet to be
hugged and scolded a little by both their mother and aunt.
"But they do get into such mischief all the time," sighed Mother Bunker.
"I shall be glad when Daddy gets back and decides what to do for the
winter. I don't know whether we shall go right back to Pineville or not."
For it was in Pineville, Pennsylvania, that we first met the six little
Bunkers and in the first volume of this series went with them on a nice
vacation to Mother Bunker's mother. The book telling of this is called
"Six Little Bunkers at Grandma Bell's."
After that lovely visit in Maine the six little Bunkers had gone to stay
for a time with each of the following very delightful relatives and
friends: To Aunt Jo's in Boston, where they were now for a second visit
over the Thanksgiving holidays; to Cousin Tom's; to Grandpa Ford's; to
Uncle Fred's; to Captain Ben's; and last of all to Cowboy Jack's.
In that last book, "Six Little Bunkers at Cowboy Jack's," they had
enjoyed themselves so much that they were always talking about it.
And now, as Vi managed to crawl out from under the wreck of the
Eskimo igloo, she announced:

"That iggilyoo isn't half as nice to live in as Chief Black Bear's
wigwam was at Cowboy Jack's. You 'member that wigwam, Russ?"
"I remember it, all right," said Russ, rather ruefully touching the cut
above his temple and bringing away his finger again to look at the
blood upon it. "Say, is it going to keep right on bleeding, Mother?"
"Not for long," declared Mother Bunker. "But I think you were rightly
punished, Russ. Suppose