“Come on in,” invited Flossie. “We’re having a make-believe ride, and you can ride too. Can’t she, Freddie?”
“Yep. An’ I’m going to drive—make-believe. Come on, Helen. When Bert comes I’ll ask him to take us to help find the gypsies and get back your doll.”
Helen hurried in and took her place in the wagon, and the three children had lots of fun pretending they were going on a long trip. They did not really go, for the goat was tied to a post.
“I wish Bert would hurry back,” said Flossie, after a bit. “I’m tired of staying in one place so long.”
“So’m I,” said Freddie. Then he got out of the wagon and began loosening the strap by which the goat was fastened to the post.
“What’re you doing?” Flossie asked.
“I—I just want to see what Whisker’ll do,” answered the little boy. “Maybe he’s tired of standing still.”
Indeed, the goat seemed to be, for no sooner had Freddie got into the wagon again than off Whisker started, walking slowly toward the back of the yard, where there was a gate to a rear street which led to the woods.
“Whoa!” cried Freddie, but he did not say it very loudly. “Whoa, Whisker! Where you going?”
“Oh, he’s runnin’ away!” cried Helen. “Let me out! He’s runnin’ away!”
“No, he’s only walking,” said Freddie. “It’s all right. As long as he walks, you won’t get hurt. I guess I’d better drive him, though.”
“Can’t you stop him?” asked Flossie. “Bert won’t like it to have us take him away.”
“We aren’t taking him away; he’s taking us away,” said Freddie. “I can’t make him stop. Look!” Again he called: “Whoa!” but the goat did not obey.
On and on went Whisker, slowly at first, then walking a little faster and pulling after him the wagon with the children in it.
“Oh, he’s going to the woods!” cried Flossie, as she saw the goat heading for the patch of trees at the end of the back street. “Stop him, Freddie!”
“Maybe he wants to go there,” said Freddie. “He won’t stop for me.”
“But it—it’s such a bumpy road,” said Helen, the words being fairly jarred out of her. “It’s all—all bu-bu-bumps and hu-hu-humps.”
“That’s ’cause we’re in the woods,” said Freddie, for by this time the goat had drawn the wagon into the shade of the woods, not far from the Bobbsey home. It was indeed a bumpy place, Whisker pulling the children over tree roots and bits of broken wood. But the wagon was stout, and the goat was strong. Then, suddenly, Freddie had an idea.
“Oh, Helen!” he cried, “I guess Whisker is taking us to find your lost doll!”
CHAPTER VI
Jolly News
Whisker, the big white goat, seemed to know exactly what he was doing, whether or not it was taking the two smallest Bobbsey twins and Helen Porter to the woods to find the lost doll. For the goat stepped briskly along, pulling after him the wagon in which the children rode. They were bumped about quite a bit, for the path through the woods was anything but smooth.
In some places there was no path at all, but this did not seem to worry Whisker. He went along anyhow, now and then stopping to nibble at some green leaves, and again turning to one side to crop some grass.
“Do you really think he’s taking us to my doll?” asked Helen eagerly.
“I—I hope so,” answered Flossie, somewhat doubtfully.
“Maybe he is,” said Freddie. “Anyhow, the gypsies that took your doll Mollie came to the woods, and we’re in the woods, and maybe the doll is here and maybe we’ll find her.”
That was as much as Freddie could think of at one time, especially as he had to hold the reins that were fast to the bit in Whisker’s mouth. For the goat was driven just as a horse or pony is driven, and Freddie was doing the driving this time.
At least the little boy thought he was, and that was very near the same thing. But Whisker went along by himself pretty much as he pleased, really not needing much driving by the leather reins. And he never needed to be whipped—in fact, there was not a whip in the wagon, for the Bobbsey children never thought of using it. They were kind to their goat.
“Oh, I’m falling out!” suddenly cried Helen, as the wagon went over a very rough, bumpy place in the path.
“Hold on tight like me,” said Flossie. “Anyhow,” she went on, as she looked out of the wagon, “if you do fall you won’t get hurted much, ’cause there’s a lot of soft moss and leaves on the ground.”
“But I’ll get my dress dirty,” said Helen.
“Then we’ll go down to the lake and wash it off,” said Freddie, for the woods in which they now were led down to the shore of the lake.
“Well, I don’t want to fall, anyhow,” said Helen. “’Most always when I fall I bump my nose, an’ it hurts.”
“It’s smoother now, and I guess the wagon won’t tip over,” observed Freddie, a little later.
They had come now to a wider path in the woods, where it was not so bumpy, and the wagon rolled easily over the moss and leaves as Whisker pulled it along.
“It’s nice in here,” said Flossie, looking about her.
“Yes, I’m glad Whisker took us for a ride,” said Freddie.
“He wouldn’t have if you hadn’t unhitched his strap,” remarked Flossie. “What’ll Bert say?”
“Well, Whisker was tired of standing still,” went on her brother. “And, anyhow, Helen wanted to come for a ride to find her doll; didn’t you?” he asked their little playmate.
“Yep, I did,” she answered. “I want my doll Mollie awful much.”
“Then we’ll look for her,” Freddie went on. “Whoa, Whisker!”
Whether the goat really stopped because Freddie said this word, which always makes horses stop, or whether Whisker was tired and wanted a rest, I can not say. Anyhow, he stopped in a shady place in the woods, and the children got out.
“I’ll tie the goat to a tree so he can’t go off and have a ride by himself,” said Freddie, as he took the strap from the wagon.
But Whisker did not seem to want to go on any farther. He lay down on some soft moss and seemed to go to sleep.
“We’ll leave him here until we come back,” said Freddie. “And now we’ll look for Helen’s doll.”
Perhaps the children had an idea that the gypsies may have left the talking doll behind in the woods when they were driven away by the police. For, though they were not near the place where the dark-skinned men and women had camped, Flossie, Freddie and Helen began looking under trees and bushes for a trace of the missing Mollie.
“Do you s’pose she can talk and call to tell you where she is?” asked Flossie, when they had hunted about a bit, not going too far from the goat and wagon.
“I don’t know,” Helen answered. “Sometimes, when I wind up the spring in her back she says ‘Mamma’ and ‘Papa’ without my pushing the button. My father says that’s because something is the matter with her.”
“Well, if she would only talk now, and holler out, we’d know where to look for her,” added Freddie.
“Let’s call to her,” suggested Flossie.
“All right,” agreed Helen.
So the children called:
“Mollie! Mollie! Where are you?”
Their voices echoed through the trees, but there was no other answer—at least for a while. Then, when they had walked on a little farther, and found a spring of water where they had a cool drink, they called again:
“Mollie! Mollie! Where are you?”
Then, all at once, seemingly from a long way off, came an answering call:
“Wait a minute. I’m coming!”
“Oh, did you hear that?” gasped Flossie.
“It was somebody talking to us,” whispered Helen.
“And it wasn’t the echo, either,” went on Flossie.
“Maybe it was your doll,” suggested Freddie. “Did it sound like her voice?”
“A—a little,” said Helen slowly.
“We’ll call again,” suggested Flossie, and once more the children cried aloud:
“Mollie! Mollie! Where are you?”
“Wait a minute. Stand still so I can find you! I’m coming!” was the answer.
The three little ones looked at one another in surprise, and they were, moreover, a little frightened. Was it possible that the missing, talking doll was really in the woods and had answered them? That it could talk, because it had a phonograph inside, they all knew. But would it answer when spoken to?
“It didn’t sound like Mollie,” whispered Helen, after a bit. “Her voice wasn’t as loud as that.”
“Oh-o-o-o-o!” suddenly gasped Flossie. “Maybe it was—the gypsies!”
That was something the children had not thought of before. Suppose it should be the same gypsy man who had taken away the doll?
“It couldn’t be the gypsies,” said Freddie, looking around him. “They all went away. Daddy said so.”
“But maybe there was one left,” suggested his sister.
“Pooh! I’m not afraid of one gypsy,” declared Freddie. “If he bothers me, I’ll sic Whisker on him.”
“You can’t sic a goat—they can’t bite or bark like a dog,” retorted Flossie.
“No, but Whisker can butt with his horns!” cried Freddie. “That’s what I’ll do! If it’s a gypsy I’ll sic Whisker on him!”
Just then the children heard the voice again, calling:
“Where are you? I want to find you!”
Once more they looked at one another rather afraid. And then came a loud “Baa-a-a-a-a!” from Whisker.
“Come on!” cried Freddie. “Maybe they’re trying to take our goat away!”
He started on a run through the woods toward the place where they had left Whisker and the wagon, now out of sight behind some bushes.
“Wait! Wait for me!” cried Flossie, who was left behind with Helen. “Don’t run off without us, Freddie!”
“Oh, excuse me,” he said, politely enough. “But we don’t want those gypsies to take Whisker.”
“Whisker’ll butt ’em,” said Flossie. “Wait for us.”
“Yes, I guess our goat won’t let anybody take him,” went on Freddie, walking now, instead of running. “Come on, Flossie and Helen! Maybe it’s your doll talking and maybe it isn’t. But we’ll soon see!”
Together the three children hurried on, soon coming within sight of the goat. There was Whisker peacefully lying down, still asleep. And running toward him, along the woodland path, was Bert, who, as he caught sight of Freddie and the others, called:
“Oh, there you are! I’ve been looking everywhere for you. Didn’t you hear me calling?”
“Was that you?” asked Freddie. “We thought maybe it was a gypsy man.”
“Or Helen’s doll,” added Flossie. “Her doll, Mollie, can talk, you know, Bert. And Whisker gave us a ride here so we looked for the doll.”
“Yes, and then I had to come looking for you,” said her brother. “But never mind. I’ve found you and I’ve got jolly news.”
“Do you mean jolly news because you found us?” asked Freddie.
“No, it’s jolly news about something else,” Bert said. “But I’ve got to hurry home with you so mother won’t worry. Then I’ll tell you.”
CHAPTER VII
Where Is Snap?
“How did you youngsters come to run away?” asked Bert, when he was driving the goat wagon back through the woods again, taking a path that was not quite so bumpy as the first one. “My goodness! I came back from daddy’s office to find mother and Nan looking everywhere for you. How did you happen to run away?”
“We didn’t runned away,” said Flossie, who was so excited over what had happened that she forgot to speak the way her teacher in school had told her to. “Whisker runned away with us.”
“I guess he didn’t go without being told, and without some one’s taking off his hitching strap,” said Bert, with a smile.
“Anyhow, we didn’t run much, Whisker just walked most of the time,” said Freddie.
“Well, it’s all the same,” returned Bert. “I had to chase after you to find you. Didn’t you hear me calling?”
“Yes, but we thought it was gypsies or Helen’s doll,” answered Flossie. “We were looking for Mollie, you know.”
“You’ll not find her unless you find that band of gypsies,” said Bert. “Anyhow, you mustn’t come off to the woods alone, you little children.”
“We had Whisker with us,” Freddie declared. “And if any of the gypsy men had come he’d have butted ’em with his horns.”
“He might, and he might not,” went on Bert. “Anyhow, I guess you had a nice ride.”
“We did,” said Flossie. “Only we’re sorry we couldn’t find Helen’s doll. How did you find us, Bert?”
“Oh, I could see by the wheel and hoof marks in the soft dirt which way Whisker had taken the wagon, and I just followed.”
“But what is the jolly news?” Freddie demanded. “Are we going back to New York?”
“Better than that!” answered Bert. “We’re going camping!”
“Camping?” cried the two little Bobbsey twins in the same breath. “Where?” asked Freddie. “When?” asked Flossie.
“It isn’t all settled yet,” answered Bert. “You know daddy and mother talked about it when we were in the big city. And today, when I was down at the lumberyard I heard daddy speaking to a man in there about some of the islands in Lake Metoka. Daddy wanted to know which one was the best to camp on.”
“And did the man say which was a good one?” asked Freddie.
“I didn’t hear. But I asked daddy afterward if we were going to camp this summer, and he said he guessed so, if mother wanted to.”
“Does mother want to?” asked Flossie eagerly.
“She says she does,” answered Bert. “So I guess we’ll go to camp this summer all right. Isn’t that jolly news?”
“Um,” said Freddie, not opening his mouth, for in one pocket of his little jacket he had found a sweet cracker he had forgotten, and he was now chewing on it, after having given his sister and Helen some.
“Oh, I wish we could go now and take Whisker with us!” cried Flossie.
“If we go we’ll take the goat cart!” decided Bert.
“And we’ll take our dog Snap, and our cat Snoop, too!” announced Freddie. “They’ll like to go camping.”
Mrs. Bobbsey and Nan were anxiously waiting for Bert to come back with the runaways, and when he came in sight, driving the goat cart, the children’s mother hurried down the back road to meet them.
“Oh, my dears! you shouldn’t go away like that!” she called.
“Whisker wanted to go,” said Freddie. “And we had a nice ride even if it was bumpy. And we thought we heard Mollie’s doll calling, but it was Bert.”
“Well, don’t do it again,” said Mrs. Bobbsey. She always said that, whenever either set of twins did things they ought not to do, and each time they promised to mind. But the trouble was they hardly ever did the same thing twice. And as there were so many things to do, Mrs. Bobbsey could not think of them all, so she could not tell Nan and Bert, Flossie and Freddie not to do them.
“When are we going camping?” asked Freddie, as he got out of the goat cart.
“And what island are we going on?” asked Flossie.
“Oh, my! I see you have it all settled so soon!” laughed Mrs. Bobbsey. “Your father and I have yet to talk it over.
“We’ll do that tonight,” she went on. “And now you children come in and get washed, and Dinah will give you something to eat. You must be hungry.”
“We are,” said Flossie. “And Helen’s hungry, too. Aren’t you, Helen?” she asked.
“Um—yes—I guess so.”
“Well, we’ll soon find out,” laughed Mrs. Bobbsey. “I think your mother won’t mind if I give you a little lunch with Flossie and Freddie. Nan can tell her that you are here and are all right. She doesn�
�t know you had a runaway ride in the goat wagon.”
“It was a bumpy ride, too,” explained Flossie. “And we didn’t find Mollie the talking doll.”
“Well, maybe you will some day,” said Mrs. Bobbsey kindly.
And while Flossie, Freddie and Helen ate the nice little lunch, fat, black Dinah got ready for them, Bert and Nan went for a ride in the goat wagon, stopping at Mrs. Porter’s house to tell her that Helen was safe in the Bobbsey home.
“And now let’s talk about camping!” cried Bert that night after supper when the family, twins included, were gathered in the dining-room, the table having been cleared. “When can we go?”
“I think as soon as school closes,” said his father. “Summer seems to have started in early this year, and I want to get you children and your mother off to some cool place. An island in the middle of the lake is the best place I can think of.”
“It will be fine!” cried Bert. “Which island are we going to camp on?”
“There are two or three that would do nicely,” answered Mr. Bobbsey. “I talked to some friends who own them, but I think one called Blueberry Island would suit us best.”
“It has a nice name,” said Nan. “I like—Blueberry Island! It sounds just as if it were out of a book.”
“Is it a fairy island?” Freddie wanted to know, for he liked to have fairy stories read to him.
“Well, maybe it will turn out to be a fairy story,” said Mr. Bobbsey with a laugh. “It’s the largest island in the lake, and several other parties are going there camping, so Mr. Ames, the man who owns it, told me.”
“Why do they call it Blueberry Island?” asked Mrs. Bobbsey.
“Because there are many blueberries on it,” answered her husband. “And if we go there I shall expect you children to pick plenty of blueberries so Dinah can make pies. I’m very fond of blueberry pie.”
“I like it, too,” said Freddie. “We’ll take Whisker with us, and he can haul a whole wagon load of blueberries.”
“I wouldn’t ask you to pick as many as that,” said his father with a laugh. “Two or three quarts would be enough for a pie, wouldn’t they, Mother?”
“I should hope so! But do you really mean we are to go camping on Blueberry Island?”
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