The Bobbsey Twins on Blueberry Island

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But though the twins had fun, they never gave over thinking that, some
day, they would find Snap and Snoop again.

"And maybe Helen's doll, too," said Flossie. "We'll hunt for her some
more."

"But it's easier to hunt for Snoop," said Freddie, "'cause he can holler
back when you holler at him."

"How can a cat holler?" asked his sister.

"Well, he can go 'miaou,' can't he?" Freddie asked, "an' ain't that
hollerin'?"

"I--I guess so," Flossie answered. "Oh, Freddie, I know what let's do!"
she cried suddenly.

"What? Make mud pies again? I'm tired of 'em. 'Sides, Momsie just put
clean things on us."

"No, not make mud pies--I'm tired of that, too. Let's go off by
ourselves and hunt Snoop. You know every time we've gone very far from
camp we've had to go with Nan and Bert; and you know when you hunt cats
you ought to be quiet, an' two can be more quiet than three or four."

"That's right," agreed Freddie, after thinking it over.

"Then let's just us two go," went on Flossie. "We won't get lost."

"Nope, course not," said Freddie. "I can go all over the island, and I
won't let you be lost. Snoop knows us better than he does Nan and Bert
anyhow, 'cause we play with him more."

"And if we find him," went on Flossie, "and he's too tired to walk home
we'll carry him. I'll carry his head part an' you can carry his tail."

"No, I want to carry his head."

"I choosed his head first!" said Flossie, "The tail is nicest anyhow."

"Then why don't you carry that?"

"'Cause it's so flopsy. It never stays still, and when it flops in my
face it tickles me. Please you carry the tail end, Freddie."

"All right, Flossie, I will. But we had better go now, or maybe Momsie
or Nan or Bert or Dinah might come out and tell us not to go. Come on!"

So, hand in hand, now and then looking back to make sure no one saw them
to order them back, Flossie and Freddie started out to search for the
lost Snoop. They wandered here and there about the island, at first not
very far from the camp. When they were near the tents they did not call
the cat's name very loudly for fear of being heard.

"We can call him loud enough when we get farther away," said Freddie.

"Yep," agreed his sister. "Anyhow he isn't near the tents or he'd've
come back before this."

So the two little twins wandered farther and farther away until they
were well to the middle of the island, and out of sight of the white
tents.

"Snoop! Snoop! Snoop!" they called, but though they heard many noises
made by the birds, the squirrels and insects of the woods, there was no
answering cry from their cat.

After a while they came to a place where a little brook flowed between
green, mossy banks. It was a hot day and the children were warm and
tired.

"Oh, I'm goin' in wading!" cried Freddie, sitting down and taking off
his shoes and stockings.

"You hadn't better," said Flossie. "Mamma mightn't like it."

"I'll tell her how nice it was when I get home," said the little fellow,
"and then she'll say it was all right. Come on, Flossie."

"No, I've got clean white stockin's on and I don't want to get 'em all
dirty."

"Huh! They've got some dirt on 'em now."

"Well, they aren't wet and they'd get wet if I went in wading."

"Not if you took 'em off."

"Yes they would, 'cause I never can get my feet dry on the grass like
you do. You go in wading, Freddie, and I'll sit here an' watch you."

So Freddie stepped into the cool water and shouted with glee. Then he
waded out a little farther and soon a queer look came over his face.
Flossie saw her brother sink down until the brook came up to the lower
edge of his knickerbockers, wetting them, while Freddie cried:

"Oh, I'm caught! I'm caught. Flossie, help me! I'm caught!"

CHAPTER XVIII

FLOSSIE IS TANGLED

Flossie Bobbsey, who had been sitting on the cleanest and dryest log she
could find near the edge of the stream to watch Freddie wade, jumped up
as she heard him cry. She had been wishing she was with him, white
stockings or none.

"Oh, Freddie, what's the matter?" she cried. "What's happened?"

"I--I'm caught!" he answered. "Can't you see I'm caught?"

"But how?" she questioned eagerly. "You aren't caught in a trap like
Snap was, are you?"

"No, it isn't a trap--it's sticky mud," Freddie said. "My feet are stuck
in the mud!"

"Oh--oh!" said Flossie, and a queer look came over her face. "You are
stuck in the mud! How did you do it, Freddie?"

"I didn't do it! It did it! I just stepped in a soft place, and now
when I pull one foot out the other sticks in deeper. Can't you help me
out, Flossie?"

"Yes, I'll help you out!" she cried, and she ran down to the edge of the
stream, as though she intended to wade out to where poor Freddie was
trying to pull his feet loose from the sticky mud.

"Oh, don't come in! Don't come in!" cried Freddie, waving her back with
his hand. "You'll be stuck, too!"

Flossie stood still on the edge of the little brook. She looked at
Freddie, who was in the middle of the stream, too far out for Flossie to
reach with her outstretched hands, though she tried to do so.

"Can't you pull your feet out?" she asked.

"Nope!" answered Freddie. "I can't, for I've tried. As soon as I get one
foot up a little way the other goes down in deeper."

"Then I'll go and call mamma!"

"No, don't do that!" begged Freddie. "Maybe if you would get a long
stick, Flossie, and hold it out to me, I could sort of pull myself
out."

"Oh, I know. It's like the picture in my story book of the boy who fell
through the ice, and his sister held out a long pole to him and he
pulled himself out. Wait a minute, Freddie, and I'll get the stick. I'm
glad you didn't fall through the ice, though, 'cause you'd get cold
maybe."

"This water is nice and warm," said Freddie. "But I don't like the mud
I'm stuck in, 'cause it makes me feel so tickly between the toes."

"I'll help you out," said Flossie. "Wait a minute."

She searched about on the bank until she found a long smooth branch of a
tree. Holding to one end of this she held the other end out to her
brother. Freddie had to turn half around to get hold of it as his back
was toward Flossie, and she could not cross the brook.

"Now hold tight!" cried the little boy. "I'm going to pull!"

Flossie braced her feet in the sand on the bank of the brook and her
brother began to pull himself out of the mud. His feet had sunk down to
quite a depth, and when he first pulled he made Flossie slide along the
ground until she cried:

"Oh, Freddie, you're going to make me stuck, too! Don't pull me into the
water!"

Freddie stopped just in time, with the toes of Flossie's shoes almost in
the water.

"Did you pull loose a little bit?" she asked.

"Yes, a little. But I don't want to pull you in, Flossie. If you could
only hold on to a tree or a rock, then I wouldn't drag you along."

"Maybe I can hold to this tree," and Flossie pointed to one near by. "If
I can stretch my arms I can reach it."

"Look for a longer tree branch to hold out to me," said Freddie, and
when his sister had found this she could reach one end to her brother,
keep the other end in her right hand, and with her left arm hold on to a
small tree. The tree braced Flossie against being pulled along the bank,
and when next Freddie tried, he dragged his feet and legs safely from
the sticky mud, and could wade out on the hard, gravelly bottom of the
brook.

"I guess that was a mud hole where some fish used to live," said the
little fellow, as he came ashore, a little bit frightened by what had
happened.

"Your feet are all muddy," said Flossie, "and you are all wet around
your knees."

"Oh, that'll dry," said Freddie. "And I can wash the mud off my feet. It
was awful sticky."

It certainly seemed to be, for it took quite a while to wash it off his
bare feet and legs, though he stood for some time in the brook, where
there was a white, pebbly bottom, and used bunches of moss for a bath
sponge.

But at last Freddie's legs were clean, though they were quite red from
having been rubbed so hard with the moss-sponge. Flossie, too, having
helped her brother scrub himself, had gotten some water on her shoes and
stockings, and a little mud, too.

"But we can walk through places where the grass is high," said Freddie,
"and that will brush the mud off, and the sun will dry your stockin's
same as it will my pants."

"And we'll keep on calling for Snoop," said Flossie.

Freddie having put on his stockings and shoes, the two children set out
again, wandering here and there, calling for the black cat. But either
he did not hear them or he would not answer, and when, after an hour or
two, they got back to camp, they had not found their pet.

"Where have you two been?" asked Mrs. Bobbsey. "I was just getting
anxious about you."

"We've been looking for Snoop," said Flossie.

"And I went in wadin' an' got stuck in the mud, and my pants got a
little wet, and Flossie's shoes and stockin's got wet an' muddy, but we
waded in tall grass and we're not very muddy now," said Freddie, all out
of breath, but anxious to get the worst over with at once.

"Oh, you shouldn't have gone in wading!" cried Mrs. Bobbsey.

"You didn't tell me not to--not to-day you didn't tell me," Freddie
defended himself.

"No, because I didn't think you'd do such a thing," replied his mother.
"I can't tell you every day the different things you mustn't do--there
are too many of them."

"But there are so many things we can do too--oh, just lots of them."

"Yes, and the things we may do and the things we're not to do are just
awful hard to tell apart sometimes, Momsie," put in Flossie.

"Yes'm, they are," added Freddie. "And how is a feller and his sister to
know every single time what they're to do and what they're not to do?"

"Suppose you try stopping before you do a thing to ask yourselves
whether you ought to do it or not, and not wait until after the thing is
done to ask yourselves that question," suggested Mrs. Bobbsey. "That
might help some."

"Well, I won't go wading any more to-day," promised the little fellow.
"But I didn't think I'd get stuck in the mud."

Mrs. Bobbsey wanted to laugh, but she did not dare let the two small
twins see her, for they would think it only fun, and really they ought
not to have gotten wet and muddy.

"And so you couldn't find Snoop," remarked Mr. Bobbsey at supper that
night. "Well, it's too bad. I guess I'll have to get you another dog and
cat."

"No, don't--just yet, please," said Nan. "Maybe we'll find our own, and
we never could love any new ones as we love Snap and Snoop."

"Nope, we couldn't!" declared Flossie, while Freddie nodded his head in
agreement with her.

"But you could get us some new go-around bugs," the little girl went on.
"We haven't found ours yet."

"That's so," remarked Mr. Bobbsey. "It's queer where they went to. Well,
I'll see if I can get any more, though I may have to send to New York.
But you two little ones must not go off by yourselves again, looking for
Snoop."

"Could we go to look for Snap?" asked Freddie, as if that was different.

"No, not for Snap either. You must stay around camp unless some one goes
with you to the woods."

It was a few days after this, when Mrs. Bobbsey, with the four twins,
went out to pick blueberries, that they met a number of women and
children who also had baskets and pails. But none of them was filled
with the fruit which, now, was at its best.

"What is the matter with the berries?" asked Mrs. Bobbsey. "We have been
able to pick only a few. The bushes seem to have been cleaned of all the
ripe ones."

"That's what they have," said Blueberry Tom, who was with the other
pickers. "And it's the gypsies who's gettin' the berries, too."

"Are you sure?" asked Mrs. Bobbsey. "We haven't seen any gypsies on the
island."

"They don't stay here all the while," said Tom. "They have their camp
over on the main shore, and they row here and get the berries when
they're ripest. That's why there ain't any for us--the gypsies get 'em
before we have a chance. They're pickin' blueberries as soon as it's
light enough to see."

"Well, I suppose they have as much right to them as we have," said Mrs.
Bobbsey. "But I would like to get enough for some pies."

"I can show you where there are more than there are around here,"
offered Tom. "It's a little far to walk, though."

"Well, we're not tired, for we just came out," said Mrs. Bobbsey. "So if
you'll take us there, Tom, we'll be very thankful."

"Come on," said the boy, whose face was once more covered with blue
stains. "I'll show you."

The other berry pickers, who did not believe Tom knew of a better place,
said they would stay where they were, and, perhaps, by hard work they
might fill their pails or baskets, and so Tom and the Bobbseys went off
by themselves.

Tom, indeed, seemed to know where, on the island, was one spot where
grew the largest and sweetest blueberries, and the gypsies, if the
members of the tribe did come to gather the fruit, seemed to have passed
by this place.

"Oh, what lots of them!" cried Bert, as he saw the laden bushes.

"Yes, there's more than I thought," said Tom. "I'll get my basket full
here all right."

Soon all were picking, though Flossie and Freddie may have put into
their mouths as many as went in their two baskets. But their mother did
not expect them to gather much fruit.

They had picked enough for several pies, and Mrs. Bobbsey was looking
about for the two smaller twins who had wandered off a little way, when
she heard Flossie scream.

"What is it?" asked her mother quickly. "Is it a snake?" and she started
to run toward her little girl.

"Maybe she's stuck in the mud, as Freddie was!" exclaimed Bert.

"Mamma! Mamma!" cried Flossie. "Come and get me!"

"She--she's all tangled up in a net!" cried the voice of Freddie. "Oh,
come here!"

Mrs. Bobbsey, Nan, Bert and Tom ran toward the sound of the children's
voices.

CHAPTER XIX

THE TWINS FALL DOWN

Again Flossie cried:

"I'm all tangled! I'm all tangled up! Come and help me get out!"

"What in the world can she mean?" asked Mrs. Bobbsey.

"I'm sure I don't know," answered Bert.

"What did Freddie say about a net?" asked Nan, as she stumbled and
spilled her blueberries. She was going to stop to pick them up.

"Never mind them," her mother said. "Let them go. We must see what the
matter is with Flossie."

They saw a few seconds later, as they turned on the path. On top of a
little hill, in a place where there was a grassy spot with bushes
growing all around it, they saw Flossie and Freddie.

Freddie was dancing around very much excited, but Flossie was standing
still, and they soon saw the reason for this. She was entangled in a net
that was spread out on the ground and partly raised up on the bushes. It
was like a fish net which the children had often seen the men or boys
use in Lake Metoka, but the meshes, or holes in it, were smaller, so
that only a very little fish could have slipped through. And the cord
from which the net was woven was not as heavy as that of the fish nets.

"Flossie's caught! Flossie's caught!" cried Freddie, still dancing
about.

"Come and get me loose! Come and get me loose!" Flossie begged.

"Mother's coming! Mother's coming!" answered Mrs. Bobbsey. "But how in
the world did it happen?"

She did not wait for an answer, but, as soon as she came near, she
started to rush right into the net herself to lift out her little girl.
But Bert, seeing what would happen, cried:

"Look out, Mother! You'll get tangled up, too. See! the net is caught on
Flossie's shoes and around her legs and arms. She must have fallen
right into it."

"She did," said Freddie. "We were walking along, picking berries, and
all of a sudden Flossie was tangled in the net. I tried to get her out,
but I got tangled, too, only I took my knife and cut some of the cords."

"And that's what we've got to do," said Mrs. Bobbsey. "The net is so
entangled around Flossie that we'll never get her out otherwise. Have
you a knife, Bert?"

"Yes, Mother. Stand still, Flossie!" he called to his little sister.
"The more you move the worse you get tangled."

With his mother's help Bert soon cut away enough of the meshes of the
queer net so that Flossie could get loose. She was not hurt--not even
scratched--but she was frightened and she had been crying.

"There you are!" cried Mother Bobbsey, hugging her little girl in her
arms. "Not a bit hurt, my little fat fairy! But how in the world did you
get in the net, and what is it doing up on top of this hill in the midst
of a blueberry patch?"

"I--I just stumbled into it," said Flossie, "same as Freddie got stuck
in the mud, only I didn't wade in the water."

"No, there isn't any water around here," returned Nan. "I can't see what
a net is doing here. I thought they only used them to catch fish."

"Maybe they put it up here to dry, as the fishermen at the seashore dry
their nets," said Mrs. Bobbsey.

"No," announced Tom, who had been looking at the net, "this ain't for
fishes."

"What is it for then?" asked Bert.

"It's for snarin' birds. I've seen 'em before. Men spread the nets out
on the grass, and over bushes near where the birds come to feed, and
when they try to fly they get caught and tangled in the meshes. I guess
this net ain't been here very long, for there ain't any birds caught in
it."

"But who put it here?" asked Mrs. Bobbsey. "I think it's a shame to
catch the poor birds that way. Who did it?"

Tom looked carefully around before he answered. Then he said:

"I think it was the gypsies."

"The gypsies!" cried Bert.

"Yes. They're a shiftless lot. They don't work and they take what don't
belong to 'em. They're too lazy to hunt with a gun, so they snare birds
in a net. Why, they'll even eat sparrows--make a pie of 'em my mother
says. And when they get robins and blackbirds they're so much bigger
they can broil 'em over their fires. This is a bird-net, that's what it
is."

"I believe you're right," said Mrs. Bobbsey, when she had looked more
closely at it. "It isn't the kind they use in fishing. But do you really
think the gypsies put it here, Tom?"

"Yes'm, I really do. They put 'em here other years, though I never seen
one before. You see the gypsies sometimes camp here and sometimes on the
mainland. All they have to do is to spread their net, and go away. When
they come back next day there's generally a lot of birds caught in it
and they take 'em out and eat 'em."

"Well, they caught a queer kind of bird this time," said Bert, with a
smile at his little sister. "And it didn't do their net any good," he
added, as he looked at the cut meshes.

"I'm sorry to have destroyed the property of any one else," said Mrs.
Bobbsey, "but we had to get Flossie loose. And I don't believe those
gypsies have any right to spread a net for birds."

"My mother says they haven't," replied Tom. "It's agin the law."

"Let's take the net away," suggested Bert.

"No, we haven't any right to do that," said his mother, "but we can tell
the man who has to enforce the laws against hunting birds. I'll speak to
your father about it. Are you all right now, Flossie?"

"Yes, Momsie. But it scared me when I was in the net."

"I should think so!" exclaimed Nan, petting her sister. "Did you just
stumble into it?"

"Yep. I was walkin' along, and I saw a bush with a lovely lot of
blueberries on it. I ran to it and then my foot tripped on a stone and I
fell into the net. First I didn't know what it was, and when I tried to
get up I was all tangled. Then I hollered."

"And I helped her holler," said Freddie.

"Indeed, you did, dear. You were a good little boy to stay by Flossie.
But you're both all right now, and next time you come berrying stay
closer by mother."

"You've got lots of berries," said Flossie, looking at Bert's basket.

"Yes. Tom showed us this good place. And now I guess we'd better go,"
said Bert. "Maybe those gypsies might come to look in their net."

He glanced around as he spoke, but though it was lonely on this part of
Blueberry Island there were no signs of the dark-skinned men with rings
in their ears who had set the bird net.

Dinah made enough blueberry pie to satisfy even the four twins, and when
Mr. Bobbsey heard about the net he told an officer, who took it away.
Whether or not the gypsies found out what had happened to their snare,
as the net is sometimes called, the Bobbseys did not hear, nor did they
see any of the wandering tribe, at least for a while.

Jolly camping days followed, though now and then it rained, which did
not make it so nice. But, take it all in all, the Bobbseys had a fine
time on Blueberry Island. Mr. Bobbsey got Flossie and Freddie some new
"go-around" bugs, and the small twins had lots of fun with them. The old
ones they did not find.

Snoop was not found either, though many blueberry pickers, as well as
the Bobbseys themselves, looked for the missing black cat. Nor was Snap
located, though an advertisement was put in the papers and a reward
offered for him. But Whisker did not go away, nor did any one try to
take him, and he gave the twins many a fine ride.

"And I'm glad the gypsies didn't get Whisker," observed Flossie. "I like
him. Maybe not so much as I like Snap and Snoop, but awfully well I like
him."

"Yes, he's a nice goat. Nicer'n Mike's goat that we 'most bought, but
didn't. I'm glad now that we didn't get Mike's goat, aren't you,
Flossie?"

"Yes, I am."

The Bobbseys had been camping on the island about a month, when one day
Mrs. Bobbsey went over to Lakeport to do some shopping, taking Nan and
Bert with her, and leaving Flossie and Freddie in charge of their
father. Of course Dinah and Sam stayed on the island also.

But you can easily imagine what happened. After Mr. Bobbsey had played a
number of games with the small twins he sat down in a shady place to
rest and read a book, thinking Flossie and Freddie would be all right
playing near the big tent.

The two little ones were making a sand city. They made a square wall of
sand, and inside this they built sand houses, railroads, a tunnel and
many other things, until Freddie suddenly said:

"Oh, if we only had some of the clam shells that are down by the lake we
could make a lot more things."

"So we could!" cried Flossie. "Let's go and get some!"

So, never thinking to ask their father, who was still reading, away
rushed the two twins, after "clam" shells. They were not really shells
of clams, but of fresh water mussels, but they were almost like the
shells of the soft clams one sees at the beach. The mussels are brought
up on shore by muskrats who eat the inside meat and leave the empty
shells. The small twins often used the shells in their play and games.

The place where the mussel shells were usually to be found was not far
from the tents, but like most children in going to one place Flossie and
Freddie took the longest way. They were in no hurry, the sun was shining
brightly, and it was such fun to wander along over the island. So,
before they knew it, they were a long distance from "home," as they
called Twin Camp.

"Maybe we oughtn't to've come," said Flossie, as she stopped to pick
some blueberries.

"We're not so far," said Freddie. "I know my way back. Oh, Flossie! look
at that butterfly!" he suddenly called, making a grab for the fluttering
creature. The butterfly flew on a little way and Freddie raced after it,
followed by Flossie.

"Now I'm goin' to get it!" the little boy cried. With his hat he made a
swoop for the butterfly, and then suddenly he and Flossie, who was
close behind him, tumbled down through a hole in the ground, which
seemed quickly to open at their very feet, between two clumps of bushes.

"Oh!" cried Freddie, as he felt himself falling down.

"Oh, dear!" echoed Flossie.

Then they found themselves in great darkness.

CHAPTER XX

THE QUEER NOISE

Freddie Bobbsey sat down with a thump. Flossie Bobbsey sat down with a
bump. This was after they had fallen down the queer hole. And yet it had
not been so much of a fall as it was a slide.

Both of them being fat and plump--much fatter and plumper since they had
come to Twin Camp than before--the thump and the bump did not hurt them
very much.

They had slid down into the hole on a sort of hill of sand, and if you
have ever slid down a sandy hillside you know the stopping part doesn't
hurt very much. And, after all, the part of a fall that hurts, as the
Irishman said, is not really the falling, it's the stopping so suddenly
that causes the pain.

"Freddie! Freddie!" called Flossie, a few seconds after she and her
little brother had fallen down the hole. "Freddie, are you there?"

"Yep, I'm here, Flossie," was Freddie's answer, "only I dunno 'xactly
where it is. I can't see."

"Nor me neither. But are you been hurted, Freddie?"

"No, are you?"

The children were forgetting all about the right way to use words, which
their mother had so often told them, but as they were excited, and a
little frightened, perhaps we must excuse them this time.

"I--I just sort of--of bumped myself, Flossie," said Freddie. "Are you
all right? And where are you?"

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