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Updated: June 29, 2025
"And we are the six little Bunkers everybody calls us that. 'Course Laddie and I are only two Bunkers there're four more at home Rose, Vi, Margy and Mun Bun." "What's Mun Bun?" asked the gate-man. Nearly every one asked this on hearing the funny name. "Mun Bun is our littlest brother," explained Russ, who was doing all the talking. "His right name is Munroe, but we call him Mun Bun for short."
His fond and foolish mother had thus ingenuously sought to placate the two old Uncle Bunkers; unsuccessfully, be it added, for each had affected to believe that he took second place in the name. But the three B's were there; did they not point psychically to the golden bees of the Corsican?
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.
Don't you remember that bat we caught that time? Its wings didn't have feathers at all. It was covered with fur." "Oh, well," sighed Laddie. "Then my riddle isn't any good." "Not much, I am afraid," said Russ kindly but firmly. However, Laddie and the other little Bunkers did not have many disappointing things happen to them on this lovely Christmas Day. Mr. and Mrs.
"It must be something else. There is no wind." There was a little, but not enough to blow the snow about. It had been blustery so cold and blowy, in fact, that the six little Bunkers could not go out to play. But now the sun had gone down, and, as often happens, the wind died down with it. The night was going to be still and cold. "No, I don't believe it was the wind," said Grandpa Ford.
It was rather a tight squeeze to get all six of the little Bunkers inside, and not have the place burst and fall apart. But they managed it, and then they sat under the seaweed roof and ate the cookies, having a fine time. "My, this is cozy!" cried Cousin Tom, as, with Daddy Bunker, he came down to see what the children were doing.
There was just one shower, out of the trees, or out of the clouds." "What was Jessie doing all this time?" I ventured to ask him. "Why, what was any one doing? She wasn't an anxiety of my department. I suppose she was there for the only reason I had because she asked for it. It was the same next day, except that instead of more arrows we found a python in the bunkers.
"Have you really got bread and jam?" asked Vi. "Yes, indeed, my dear, I have!" laughed Grandma Ford, hugging and kissing her, and then hugging and kissing, in turn, the other five little Bunkers. "Wait till you hear my riddle," began Laddie. "What kind of a tree would you like " And just then a loud noise sounded through the house. It was as if a giant had uttered a deep groan. "O-u-g-h-m!"
But Mother Bunker, who understood her little Bunkers very well indeed, in a flash knew all about it. She cried: "The poor boy! Bring him back! He did look cold and wet." "Oh, he's just a tramp," objected Aunt Jo. "He's poor, Josephine, and unfortunate," answered Mother Bunker, as though that settled all question as to what they should do about the colored boy.
In that last book, "Six Little Bunkers at Cowboy Jack's," they had enjoyed themselves so much that they were always talking about it. And now, as Vi managed to crawl out from under the wreck of the Eskimo igloo, she announced: "That iggilyoo isn't half as nice to live in as Chief Black Bear's wigwam was at Cowboy Jack's. You 'member that wigwam, Russ?"
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