HE PIRATE BUNGALOW

The mother of the six little Bunkers was used to having things happen to
them. She did not have half a dozen children without knowing that,
nearly every day, some one of them would fall down and bump a nose, cut
a finger, get caught in a fence, or have something like that happen to
make trouble. So, in a way, Mrs. Bunker was used to calls for help.

"But this seems different," she said to herself, as she ran along. "I'm
afraid something has happened to Rose."

And something had. As Mrs. Bunker came within sight of Russ and his
sister, where they had gone to dig their sand house, their mother saw
her oldest boy dancing about on the beach.

"Where is Rose?" called Mrs. Bunker. "What have you done with Rose?"

"I didn't do anything to her, Mother!" answered Russ. "But she's in the
sand house and she can't get out!"

Mrs. Bunker kept on running toward the children; at least toward Russ.
Rose she could not see.

"She can't get out of the sand house 'cause it fell down on her,"
explained Russ. "I tried to pull her out, but I couldn't, so I hollered
for you, Mother!"

"Something dreadful must have happened! I wish I had stopped for Daddy!"
thought Mrs. Bunker.

By this time she was close beside Russ, who was capering about like an
Indian doing a war dance. But Russ was not doing it for fun. He was just
excited, and couldn't keep still.

"Where is your sister?" asked Mrs. Bunker.

"There!" answered Russ, pointing.

Then Mrs. Bunker understood why she had not seen Rose before. It was
because the little girl was hidden behind a pile of sand. But there was
more than this the matter. For Rose was down in a hole, and the sand had
caved in on her feet and legs, covering her up almost to her waist. Rose
was held fast in a heap of sand, and, wiggle and twist though she did,
she could not get out.

"Oh, dear! Oh, dear!" sobbed the little girl, tears streaming down her
cheeks. "I'm all fast and I can't get out!"

"I'll get you out! There! Don't cry any more," said Mrs. Bunker. "I'll
soon have you out. Get a shovel, and help me dig Rose loose," she called
to Russ.

"All right," answered the little boy. He had stopped jumping about now.

"Where are your shovels, Russ?" asked his mother, looking about for
something with which to dig.

"We didn't have any. We used big clam shells," he answered. "Here's one,
and I'll get another."

The large clam shells were pretty good to use as shovels, though Mr