"Yes, very good."

"Maybe it swallowed Rose's locket. Do you think so, Daddy?" asked the little girl.

"Oh, no, Vi. Now don't ask so many questions, please."

"Could I ask a riddle?" Laddie wanted to know.

"Oh, I suppose so," laughed his father. "What is it?"

"I haven't made it up yet," went on Laddie. "It's going to be about a flounder and a wringer, but I got to think. When I get it ready I'll tell you."

"Don't forget!" laughed Cousin Tom.

It was about a week after Rose had lost her locket and it had not been found, that one day Russ called to Rose:

"Come on down to the beach. I know how we can have some fun."

"What can we do?" asked his sister.

"We'll build a house and have a play party," answered Russ.

"Where?"

"On the beach. We can build a house in the sand."

So the children started off, with their shovels and sand pails. Their mother watched them, thinking how nice it was that they could be at the sh.o.r.e in hot weather.

It was about an hour after Rose and Russ had started down the beach together to make a sand house that Mrs. Bunker, who was just thinking of taking a walk and having another look for the lost locket, heard cries.

"Mother! Mother! Come quick!" she heard Russ calling.

"What's the matter?" cried Mrs. Bunker.

"Oh, come quick!" went on Russ. "Rose is in the sand house! Rose is in the sand house!"

Not knowing what had happened, Mrs. Bunker set off on a run down the beach.

CHAPTER X

THE PIRATE BUNGALOW

The mother of the six little Bunkers was used to having things happen to them. She did not have half a dozen children without knowing that, nearly every day, some one of them would fall down and b.u.mp a nose, cut a finger, get caught in a fence, or have something like that happen to make trouble. So, in a way, Mrs. Bunker was used to calls for help.

"But this seems different," she said to herself, as she ran along. "I'm afraid something has happened to Rose."

And something had. As Mrs. Bunker came within sight of Russ and his sister, where they had gone to dig their sand house, their mother saw her oldest boy dancing about on the beach.

"Where is Rose?" called Mrs. Bunker. "What have you done with Rose?"

"I didn't do anything to her, Mother!" answered Russ. "But she's in the sand house and she can't get out!"

Mrs. Bunker kept on running toward the children; at least toward Russ.

Rose she could not see.

"She can't get out of the sand house 'cause it fell down on her,"

explained Russ. "I tried to pull her out, but I couldn't, so I hollered for you, Mother!"

"Something dreadful must have happened! I wish I had stopped for Daddy!"

thought Mrs. Bunker.

By this time she was close beside Russ, who was capering about like an Indian doing a war dance. But Russ was not doing it for fun. He was just excited, and couldn't keep still.

"Where is your sister?" asked Mrs. Bunker.

"There!" answered Russ, pointing.

Then Mrs. Bunker understood why she had not seen Rose before. It was because the little girl was hidden behind a pile of sand. But there was more than this the matter. For Rose was down in a hole, and the sand had caved in on her feet and legs, covering her up almost to her waist. Rose was held fast in a heap of sand, and, wiggle and twist though she did, she could not get out.

"Oh, dear! Oh, dear!" sobbed the little girl, tears streaming down her cheeks. "I'm all fast and I can't get out!"

"I'll get you out! There! Don't cry any more," said Mrs. Bunker. "I'll soon have you out. Get a shovel, and help me dig Rose loose," she called to Russ.

"All right," answered the little boy. He had stopped jumping about now.

"Where are your shovels, Russ?" asked his mother, looking about for something with which to dig.

"We didn't have any. We used big clam sh.e.l.ls," he answered. "Here's one, and I'll get another."

The large clam sh.e.l.ls were pretty good to use as shovels, though Mrs.

Bunker felt that she could have worked faster with a regular one.

However, she had to do the best she could, and really the sh.e.l.l scooped the sand out very well. Russ helped, and they both set to work to dig Rose out of the hole in which she was partly buried.

"It's a good thing the sand didn't slide in on you and cover your head,"

said Mrs. Bunker. "How did it happen, Russ?"

"Well, we were digging a sand house--it was just a hole in the sand, you know," the little boy explained. "We were going to put some sticks across the top, when we got it deep enough to stand up in, and put some seaweed over the sticks for a roof. I saw some boys on the beach make a sand house like that yesterday.

"But after we dug down a way," he went on, "Rose got down in the hole so she could dig better. She scooped the sand up to me and I put it in a heap on the beach. And then, all of a sudden, a lot of the sand slid in on Rose and she was held fast and--and----"

"And I couldn't get out, but I tried like anything!" added Rose, as her brother stopped for breath. "And then Russ screamed for you and--and--Oh, I'm so glad you came!" and Rose leaned her head against her mother, who was busy digging out the sand with the clam sh.e.l.l.

"I'm glad I came, too, my dear," said Mrs. Bunker. "After this don't dig such deep sand holes, or, if you do, don't get into them. Sand, you know, is not like other dirt. It doesn't stay in one place, but slips and slides about."

"But we want to have something to play in!" exclaimed Russ.