letters-box, and if you’ll help me up all we’ve got to do is to sit here till the letter-man comes by.”
Poor Cecco climbed up first, by the help of a vine that twined about the post, and with a little pushing and pulling they were soon all three seated up there, safe and sound, with their legs dangling over the edge.
Jensina set up the flag, to be sure the letter-man would stop for them, while Bulka, leaning over, peered into the box.
“I don’t see any lettuce!” he cried.
“Where?” Jensina asked.
“In the box. You said it was a lettuce-box!”
“It’s not that kind of lettuce,” explained Jensina. “I said letters-box, where they post the letters!”
“There’s only one kind,” returned Bulka, offended. “I see the post all right, but there’s no lettuce. I'm hungry! I’m going back to look for huckleberries again.”
“You can’t!” cried Jensina, and she caught him by one leg just as he was getting ready to slide down. “You musn’t be hungry, Bulka. We’re going home!”
At the word “home” Bulka ceased to resist, and sat down again beside them. For safety Jensina made him sit in the middle with the address label across his tummy, and then, taking a piece of pink string she had picked up by the roadside, she bound them all three firmly together, in case, as she explained, they might get separated on the journey.
