door leading on to the porch, where she had heard the crashing noise.
Those were the first things the mother of the six little Bunkers always
asked whenever anything unusual happened.

"What is the matter?" she cried.

Then she saw. Lying on the porch, under the hammock, was Russ. He was
huddled in a heap, and he was doing his best not to cry. Mrs. Bunker
could tell that by the way his face was wrinkled up. Near him stood
Rose, and she looked startled.

"What's the matter?" repeated Mrs. Bunker. "Are you hurt, Russ?"

"No'm--that is, not very much. I--I fell out of the hammock."

"Yes, I see you did. What made you? Did you swing too high? I've told
you not to do that."

"What does it all mean?" asked Daddy Bunker, while Grandpa Ford looked
on. "Were you trying to do some circus tricks in the hammock, Russ?"

"No. I--I was just climbing up, like a sailor when he goes up a rope,
you know, and----"

"I call that a circus trick!" interrupted Mr. Bunker. "I wouldn't try
those, if I were you, Russ. You aren't hurt much this time, I guess, but
you might be another time. Don't try any tricks until you get older."

"Well, it wasn't exactly a trick," explained Russ, and then he saw Rose
looking at him in a queer way and he stopped.