etting rather mixed up in his talk. "And
when I wanted to come back I didn't know the way and I sat down and you
weren't there, Mother, and I was afraid and----"

"But you're all right now," said Mrs. Bunker, as she saw Mun Bun's chin
begin to quiver as it always did just before he cried. "You're all right
now, and not lost any more. Finish your waffle, and we'll soon be ready
to go on the boat to Cousin Tom's."

The children were eating heartily, for they were hungry after their
night trip from Fall River. Laddie, who had had several helpings of
waffles, at last seemed satisfied. He leaned back in his chair and said:

"I know another riddle. When is Mun Bun not Mun Bun?"

"He's always Mun Bun, 'ceptin' when Mother calls him Munroe Ford Bunker,
when he's got himself all dirt," said Vi. "I don't call that a riddle."

"It is a riddle," insisted Laddie. "When is Mun Bun not Mun Bun?"

"Is it when he's asleep?" asked Russ, taking a guess just to please his
small brother.

"Nope! That isn't it," went on the small boy. "It's awful hard, and
you'd never guess it, so I'll tell you. Mun Bun isn't Mun Bun when he's
Tommie Wilson. Isn't that a good riddle?" he asked. "Mun Bun isn't Mun
Bun when he's Tommie Wilson."

"Yes, that is pretty good," said Mr. Bunker. "But now we had better
hurry, or we may be late for the Atlantic Highlands boat. Are you all
through?"

They were; all but Mun Bun, who saw a little pool of maple syrup on his
plate, and wanted to get that up with a spoon before he left the table.
Then once more the six little Bunkers were on their way.

The Atlantic Highlands boat left from a pier near one of the New Jersey
Central Railroad ferry slips on West street in New York City, and it was
quite a long walk from the shore end of the pier to the end that was out
in the Hudson River. It was at the river end that the boat stopped,
coming down from a pier farther up the stream.

"Now are we all here?" asked Mother Bunker, as she and her husband
started down West street. "I don't want Mun Bun to change into some one
else after we get started on the boat, for then it will be too late to
change him back. Are we all here?"

They were, it seemed, and down West street they hurried. The way was
lined with out-door stands, where it seemed that nearly everything from
bananas and oranges to pocketbooks and shoes, were sold. West street is
along the river front, where many boats land, and there are sailors, and
other p