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.

The Bobbsey Twins on Blueberry Island. Page 63]

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.”