me distance
away, the rattle of a drum.

"Another queer noise!" exclaimed Grandma Ford in dismay. "What will
happen next?"

CHAPTER XXI

MR. WHITE

Rattle and bang-bang and rattle sounded the noise of the drum in Grandpa
Ford's house, and yet, as the grown folks downstairs in the sitting-room
looked at one another, they could not imagine who was playing at
soldier. And yet that is what it sounded like--children beating a drum.

"Are any of those little ones up?" asked Mother Bunker. "Could they have
gotten out of their beds to beat a drum?"

"I didn't know they had a drum with them," said Daddy Bunker.

"They didn't bring any from home," returned his wife.

"There is an old drum up in the attic," said Grandpa Ford. "It used to
belong to Mr. Ripley, I think. Could Russ or Laddie have gone up there
and be beating that?"

"The noise has stopped now," remarked Grandma Ford. "Let's go up and see
which of the six little Bunkers did it," and she smiled at Mrs. Bunker.

It took only a glance into the different rooms to show that all six of
the little Bunkers were in bed. Margy and Mun Bun had not been awakened
by the drumming or the talk, but the other four were now waiting with
wide-open eyes to learn what had happened.

"There it goes again!" exclaimed Daddy Bunker.

Surely enough the rub-a-dub-dubbing sounded again, this time more loudly
than before, because the grown folks were nearer the attic.

"We must see what it is," said Grandpa Ford.

"We surely must," at once agreed Daddy Bunker.

As he and Grandpa Ford started up the stairs to the attic the drumming
noise stopped, and all was quiet when the two men went into the attic.
It was not dark, as Daddy Bunker took with him his electric flashlight,
which he flashed into the different corners.

"Where is that drum you spoke of, Father?" he asked of Grandpa Ford.

"I don't see it now," was the answer. "It used to hang up on one of the
rafters. But maybe the children took it down."

Daddy Bunker flashed his light to and fro.

"Here it is!" he cried, and he pointed to the drum standing up at one
side of the big chimney, which was in the center of the attic. "The
children did have it down, playing with it.

"But I don't see what would make it rattle," went on Daddy Bunker.
"Unless," he added, "a rat is flapping its tail against the drum."

The noise had stopped again, but, all of a sudden, as Grandpa Ford and
Daddy Bunker stood looking at the dr