“I guess so, too,” said Grandma Bell, and she smiled.

With the dog-cart, taking rowing trips on the lake now and then, going fishing, hunting for berries and walking in the woods, the six little Bunkers at Grandma Bell’s had a fine time that early summer.  There seemed to be something new to do every day, or, if there wasn’t, Russ or Laddie made it.

“And I’ve thought up a new riddle,” said the smaller boy one day.

“What’s it about?” asked Russ.

“It’s about Zip,” Laddie replied.  “Why is Zip like a little boy when he’s tired?  I mean when Zip is tired.  Why is he like a little boy then?”

“’Cause he wants to sit down and rest,” answered Russ.

“Nope; that isn’t the answer,” said Laddie, shaking his head.

“Why isn’t it?”

“’Cause it isn’t.  I know the answer, and it isn’t that.  Tom helped me think the riddle up.  Maybe it’s an old one, but Tom said it was good.  Why is Zip, when he’s tired, like a little boy?”

Russ thought for a while, and then he said: 

“I don’t know.  I give up.  Why is he, Laddie?”

“’Cause his breath comes in short pants.  You see when Zip is tired his breath is short—­he pants, Tom told me.  And a little boy, like you and me, Russ, wears short pants.  So that’s why Zip is like one.”

“Oh, I see!” laughed Russ.  “That’s pretty good.  I know a riddle too, Laddie.”

“What is it?”

“This.  What makes a miller wear a white hat?”

Laddie thought over this for a moment or two and then said: 

“He wears a white hat so the flour dust won’t show so plain.”

“Nope; that isn’t it,” Russ declared.

“Is it because nobody would sell him a black hat?” asked Laddie.

“Nope.  Shall I tell you the answer?”

“No.  Let me guess!” begged the smaller boy.

He gave several other answers, none of which, Russ said, was right, and at last Laddie murmured: 

“I give up!  Why does a miller wear a white hat?”

“To keep his head warm, same as anybody else!” laughed Russ.  “Tom told me that riddle, too,” he added.

“Well,” said Laddie slowly, as he took off his own hat to run his fingers through his hair, “that isn’t as good a riddle as the one about Zip’s breath coming in short pants.”

“Maybe not.  But it’s harder to guess,” said Russ.

Then the two boys, after waiting for Zip’s breath to come out of short pants—­that is, waiting for him to get rested—­went for a ride in the dog-cart.

As they were going down the road they saw, coming toward them, a man with bright red hair.  He was driving a horse and carriage.

“There’s Mr. Hurd,” said Russ.  “He’s the one we thought was the tramp lumberman that got daddy’s real estate papers.”

“I see him,” said Laddie.  “Look!  He’s waving to us!  Let’s go over and see what he wants.”

Mr. Hurd was driving down a cross road, and waited for the boys to come up to him.