“Come on out, kittie!” called Margy.  “Come on out!  I won’t hurt you!  I like kitties, I do!  Come on out and let me rub you!”

She stooped lower down to see under the edge of the fruit stand.  By this time Mrs. Bunker had seen what had happened, and she called: 

“Margaret Bunker, get right up off your knees this instant.  You’ll spoil your clean white stockings!  Get up!  We’ll miss the boat!”

But Margy paid no heed.  She could see the kitten now, back in a dark corner under the stand, and she wanted to get it out.

“Come on, kittie!” called the little girl.  “Come on out, and I’ll take you to Cousin Tom’s with us and you can play in the sand!  Come on, I’ll rub you nice and soft!”

“Mew!  Mew!” said the kitten, but it did not come out.

And then Margy did a very queer thing.

With a sudden wiggle and a twist she crawled all the way under the fruit stand, her little legs, in the white stockings, being the last to disappear.

“Oh, catch her!  Quick!  Catch her!” cried Mrs. Bunker.  But it was too late.  Margy was out of sight under the fruit stand after the little kitten.

CHAPTER VI

AT COUSIN TOM’S

When Mr. Bunker heard his wife calling as she did, he stopped and looked back, for he was walking on ahead with Russ and Laddie.  Then all the other Bunkers stopped, too, and gathered around the fruit stand.  All except Mr. Bunker and the two boys knew what had happened, for they had seen Margy crawl under.

The man who owned the stand, who had gone away from it a moment to talk to the man who kept a socks-and-suspender stand next to him, had not seen the kitten crawl under his pile of fruit, nor had he seen Margy go after it.  But when he saw the seven Bunkers gathered in a group he at once thought they wanted to buy some apples, pears, or oranges.

“Nice fruit!  Nice fruit!” said the man, who was an Italian.  “Very nice good fruit and cheap.”

“No, we don’t want any fruit now,” said Mrs. Bunker.  “I want my little girl.”

“Lil’ girl?  Lil’ girl!” exclaimed the Italian.

“No got lil’ girls.  Only got fruit, banan’, orange, apple!  You want to buy?  Good nice fruit cheap!”

“No, I want Margy!” cried Mrs. Bunker.

“Where is she?” asked Mr. Bunker, who, as I have told you, had not seen where Margy went.

“She’s under the stand,” explained his wife.

“She went to get a kitten,” added Rose.

“No got kittens nor cats needer,” said the Italian.  “Only got fruit.  Nice fruit, cheap!”

Mr. Bunker stooped down to look under the stand.

“No fruit there!” the owner said.  “All fruit on top.  Nice fruit, cheap!”

“I am looking for my little girl,” explained Mr. Bunker.  “She crawled under there—­under your stand—­after a kitten.”

And just then could be heard a loud: