"Rags! Rags! Bottles and rags!" cried the junkman as he went back to the garage with a bag over his shoulder.

As it happened, Mun Bun was out, watching William pump air into a new tire, and when the chauffeur went into the cellar with the junkman to get the papers, Mun Bun wandered out in front to where the junkman's horse and wagon was standing.

"If I could get up into that wagon now," thought Mun Bun to himself, "I could have a better ride than with Alexis. I guess I will."

How he managed to climb up I don't know, but he did. The wagon was not very high, and there was a step near the front, and of course there were wheels. Somehow, Mun Bun scrambled up, and the horse, luckily for him, did not move while the boy was climbing. Right up on the seat got Mun Bun. He picked up the real reins, as he had seen Russ do with the make-believe ones on Alexis, and then Mun Bun called:

"Gid-dap!"

And, just as easily as you please, the horse started off as natural as anything, with Mun Bun driving. Down the street he slowly walked, much to the delight of Mun Bun.

But what would happen next?

CHAPTER XIV

THE WHISTLING WAGON

Mun Bun smiled happily. This was more fun than he had ever expected to have at Aunt Jo's house. In fact, what little thinking he did about it was to the effect that he could have had a lot more fun by staying at Grandma Bell's.

Up he sat on the seat of the junkman's wagon, holding the reins as he had helped Russ or Laddie hold the reins on the big dog Alexis, who pulled the six little Bunkers in the express wagon.

"This is fun!" said Mun Bun.

The horse slowly walked along. Junkmen's horses hardly ever run. There are several reasons for this.

In the first place, a junkman's horse goes slowly because the junkman is never in a hurry. He wants to look at the houses on each side of the street to see if any one is going to call him in to sell him paper, rags, old bottles, rubber boots or broken stoves.

So, of course, a junkman wants his horse to go slowly, for then he has a chance to look at the houses on each side of the street. For nowadays the junkmen, in the cities, at least, are not allowed to ring bells and shout loudly or make much noise. They used to do that, but they can't any more.

Another reason why a junkman's horse walks slowly is that the poor horse is nearly always old and thin and hungry.

And I suppose it's a good thing this junkman's horse was old and thin and tired and hungry. That's what made him go slowly, so Mun Bun was not rattled off the seat. He was only a little fellow, and it would not have taken much of a jolt of the wagon to have tossed him off. But as long as the wagon went slowly he was all right.

"Gid-dap!" cried Mun Bun in a jolly voice, and he pulled on the reins, thinking what fun it was really to drive, and not make-believe, as he and the others had done with Alexis.

All this while the junkman was in Aunt Jo's yard, talking with William about the old rags and papers the chauffeur had to sell. The five other little Bunkers were playing at different games, Daddy Bunker was downtown, and Aunt Jo and Mother Bunker were busy at something or other, I've forgotten just what.

So there was no one in particular to see what Mun Bun was doing, and he was just having the grandest time, all by himself, driving the poor, thin horse. Of course he wasn't really driving it. The horse just went along as it always did, as slowly as it could, and, very likely, it didn't know, or care, whether Mun Bun was driving it, or the junkman.

"Gid-dap!" cried the little fellow again, and he pulled on the reins.

And then a funny thing happened. He pulled a little harder on the left rein than on the right, and, just as the animal had been used to doing whenever this happened, the horse turned to the left, and went down a side street.

Mun Bun didn't mind this. He didn't care which way the horse went as long as he was having a ride and was doing the driving. Down the side street went the junk wagon, with Mun Bun on it. He was now out of sight of any one who might be looking from Aunt Jo's yard.

The little fellow was halfway down the new block when a woman, looking from the window of her house, saw the bony horse and the old rattly, rickety wagon.

"Oh, there's a junkman!" she cried. "I've been looking for one a long time to take the papers out of the cellar. There's a junkman!"

"No, it's a junk boy," said the woman's cook, who happened to be with her. "There's no one but a little boy on the wagon."

"Well, maybe it's the junkman's little boy," said the woman. "They let them drive when they go in after the junk. Run after him, Jane, and stop him. I want to get the trash cleaned out of the cellar."

So the cook ran quickly to the front door and cried:

"Hey! Junk boy! Stop! We got some papers for you!"

Mun Bun heard, and turned around.

"I isn't the junkman," he said. "I'm just havin' a ride!"

"We have some old papers for you," called the cook.

Mun Bun didn't know just what it all meant, but he saw the cook waving her hand at him, and he heard her calling, though he could not make out all the words, because the wagon rattled so. But Mun Bun had an idea.

"I guess maybe she wants a ride," he said. "She likes to ride same as I do. I'll give her a ride with me."

He pulled on the reins, and called:

"Whoa!"

But either Mun Bun did not pull hard enough, or he did not call loudly enough, for the horse did not stop. Perhaps it thought that if it did stop it would be too hard work to start again, so it kept on going.

"Stop! Stop!" cried the cook. "We have some papers to sell you!"

"Whoa!" called Mun Bun again. But the horse did not stop.

Just then a policeman came down the street. He saw Mun Bun on the seat of the wagon, and he saw the cook waving at him and calling. And the policeman needed to take only one look to make him feel sure that Mun Bun was not the junkman's little boy driving the wagon. Mun Bun was not dressed as a junkman's little boy would probably be dressed.

"That's funny," said the policeman to himself. "I must see about this."

He walked toward the wagon. By this time the cook had come out on the sidewalk. She knew the policeman.

"Stop him!" she called, pointing to the wagon. "Stop that junkman!"

"That isn't a junkman," said the officer.

"Well, stop that junk boy then, Mr. Mulligan," begged the cook, smiling at the policeman.

"Nor yet it isn't a junk boy," said the officer. "He doesn't belong on that wagon."

"Do you mean to say he stole it?" asked the cook. "Mrs. Rynsler has some junk she wants to get out of the cellar, and----"

"This boy'll never take it," said Mr. Mulligan, the policeman. "In the first place he's too little, and in the second place he isn't a junk boy. I must see about this," and, hurrying along for a little distance, then walking out to the curb, he reached out his hand and stopped the horse. It was not hard work. The bony horse was ready to stop almost any time.

"Whoa!" said the policeman.