"But you shooted my doll, and knocked her over, and maybe she's broken!"
sobbed Margy.

By this time Mrs. Bunker had reached the seat where the little girl and
her brother had been sleeping. The mother picked the Japanese doll up
from where it had fallen to the floor of the car, and said:

"Don't cry any more, Margy. Your doll isn't hurt a bit. But Mun Bun
mustn't shoot at her any more, with corks or anything else. Munroe Ford
Bunker! where did you get the popgun?" his mother asked, as she saw that
he really did have a small one.

"Out of the basket," he answered. "When Margy and I went to get a drink
of water I saw the popgun in the train boy's basket, and I took it out.
I thought maybe I'd want to shoot at a snow man me and Grandpa are going
to make, so I kept the gun. Daddy can give the train boy a penny for
it. I hid it in the seat. Then I saw Margy's doll on the seat in front,
and she was asleep--Margy was--and I shot at the doll, but I didn't mean
to make her fall."

"Oh, dear! Such a boy!" cried Mrs. Bunker. "To take the gun without
asking! Here comes the boy now. You must give it back."

"Oh, let him keep it," said Grandpa Ford. "I'll buy it for him. We may
want to shoot the snow man," he said with a laugh.

So Mun Bun got his popgun after all, though, of course, he did not do
right in taking it from the train boy's basket. Nor was it quite right,
I suppose, to shoot Margy's doll. But Mun Bun was a very little boy.