“No, they don’t,” exclaimed the little fellow.  “That’s a riddle!  What kind of a wheel doesn’t go ’round?”

“Oh, let’s give it up,” proposed Rose.  “Tell us, Laddie, and then we’ll get in the make-believe steamboat Russ has made, and we’ll have a ride.  What kind of a wheel doesn’t go around?”

“A wheelbarrow doesn’t go ’round!” laughed Laddie.

“Oh, it does so!” cried Rose.  “The wheel goes around.”

“But the barrow doesn’t—­that’s the part you put things in,” went on Laddie. “That doesn’t go ’round.  You have to push it.”

“All right.  That’s a pretty good riddle,” said Russ with a laugh.  “Now let’s get on the steamboat and we’ll have a ride,” and he began to whistle a little bit of a new song, something about down on a river where the cotton blossoms grow.

“Where is steamboat?” asked Margy, aged five, whose real name was Margaret, but who, as yet, seemed too little to have all those letters for herself.  So she was just called Margy.  “Where is steamboat?” she asked.  “Is it in the kitchen on the stove?” and she opened wide her dark brown eyes and looked at Russ.

“Oh, you’re thinking of a steam teakettle, Margy,” he said, as he took hold of her fat, chubby hand.  “The teakettle steams on the kitchen stove,” went on Russ.  “But we’re making believe this is a steamboat in here,” and he pointed to the barrel, the boxes, the chairs and the footstool, which he and Rose had piled together with such care.  For it was a rainy day and the children were having what fun they could in the big playroom.

“I want to go on steamboat,” spoke up the sixth member of the Bunker family a moment later.

“Yes, you may have a ride, Mun Bun,” said Rose.  “You may sit with me in front and see the wheels go around.”

Mun Bun, I might say, was the pet name of the youngest member of the family.  He was really Munroe Ford Bunker, but it seemed such a big name for such a little chap, that it was nearly always shortened to Mun.  And that, added to half his last name, made Mun Bun.

And, really, Munroe Ford Bunker did look a little like a bun—­one of the light, golden brown kind, with sugar on top.  For Mun, as we shall call him, was small, and had blue eyes and golden hair.

“Come on, Mun Bun!” called Russ, who was the oldest of the family of six little Bunkers, and the leader in all the fun and games.  “Come on, everybody!  All aboard the steamboat!”

“Oh, wait a minute!  Wait a minute!” suddenly called Vi.  “Is there any water around your steamboat, Russ?”

“Water?  ’Course there is,” he answered.  “You couldn’t make a steamboat go without water.”

“Is it deep water?” asked Vi, who seemed started on her favorite game of asking questions.

Russ thought for a minute, looking at the playroom floor.

“’Course it’s deep,” he answered. “’Bout ten miles deep.  What do you ask that for, Vi?”