Without waiting for his mother to tell him that he might, Freddie slipped off his cot and went scurrying over the board floor of the tent toward Mrs. Bobbsey’s bed.

“I’m coming, too!” said Flossie, who generally went everywhere her small brother did.

“Did something hit you, too?” asked Freddie, turning to his sister.

“No, but it might.  If you are afraid I’m afraid, too.”

“Oh, you children!” said Mrs. Bobbsey with sigh.  “I believe you only dreamed it, Freddie.”

“No, Momsie, I didn’t!  Really I didn’t!  Somethin’ bumped me from outside the tent.  It hit me in the back ­not hard, but sort of soft like, an’ ­an’ I woked up.  I want to sleep with you!”

“What’s it all about?” asked Daddy Bobbsey.  Then Freddie had to explain again, and Flossie also talked until Nan and Bert were awakened.

“It might have been Whisker,” said Bert.  “If he got loose and brushed against the tent and Freddie had rolled with his back close against the side it would be like that.”

Just then there sounded in the night the “Baa-a-a-a-a!” of the white goat.

“There he is!” cried Bert.

“But it sounds as though he were still safely tied up,” said Mr. Bobbsey.  “I’ll have a look outside.  Too bad we haven’t Snap with us.  He’d give the alarm in a minute if anything were wrong.”

The goat bleated again, but the sound did not seem near the tent, as it would have done if Whisker has been loose.  Putting on his bath robe and slippers, Mr. Bobbsey took a lantern and went outside.  Bert wanted to come with his father, but Mrs. Bobbsey would not hear of it.

“We want a little man in here to look after us,” she said, smiling.

“Ain’t I almost a man?  I can make my fire engine go,” Freddie said, forgetting his fright, now that the “big folks” were up, and the light in the tent was turned higher.

They could hear Mr. Bobbsey walking around outside, and they heard him speaking to the goat who bleated again.  Mr. Bobbsey was as fond of animals as were his children, and Whisker was almost like a dog, he was so tame and gentle.

“Was the goat loose, Daddy?” asked Nan, when her father came back into the tent.

“No, he was tied all right in his little stable.  It wasn’t Whisker who brushed against Freddie, if, indeed, anything did.”

“Something did!” declared the small boy.  “Didn’t I wake up?”

“Well, you might have dreamed it,” said Nan.  “You often talk in your sleep, I know.”

“I did feel something bump me,” declared Freddie, and nothing the others could say would make him change his idea.

“Did you see anything?” asked Mrs. Bobbsey in a low voice of her husband when the twins were in their beds again.  Flossie’s and Freddie’s cots were moved over nearer to those of their parents’, and they had dropped off to slumber again, after getting drinks of water.

“Well, I rather think I did,” answered Mr. Bobbsey in a low voice.

“You did!  What?”

“I don’t know whether it was a horse or a man, but it was something.  It was so dark I couldn’t see well, and the trees and bushes come up around the tents.”

“How could it be a horse?”

“It might have been the one that belongs to Mr. Dalton.  If the horse were walking around, cropping grass wherever he could find it, he might have brushed past the side of the tent and so have disturbed Freddie.”

“Yes, I suppose so,” agreed Mrs. Bobbsey.  “But couldn’t you tell a horse from a man?”

“No, it was too dark.  I only just saw a shadow moving away from the tents as I stepped out.”

“And was Whisker all right?”

“Yes, though I guess he was lonesome.  He tried to follow me back here when I left him.”

“I suppose Whisker misses the children,” said Mrs. Bobbsey.  “But do you think it could be a man who was wandering about our tents?”

“It could be ­yes.”

“One of the gypsies?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say as to that.  In fact, I don’t believe the gypsies are anywhere around here.  The children have that notion in their heads, but I don’t believe in it.  Perhaps it was a blueberry picker who was lost.”

“But if he was lost, and saw our tents, he’d stop and ask to be set on the right road,” went on Mrs. Bobbsey.  “Besides, blueberries won’t be ripe for another week or so, and nobody picks them green.”

“No, I suppose not,” agreed her husband.  “Well, I’m sure I don’t know who or what it was, but I saw a dark shadow moving away.”

“Shadows can’t do any harm.”

“No, but it takes some one or something to make a shadow, and I’d like to know what it was.  I’ll take a look around in the morning,” said Mr. Bobbsey.  “We don’t want Twin Camp spoiled by midnight scares.”

“Maybe we’d better get another dog, if Snap doesn’t come back,” suggested his wife.

“I’ll think about that.  We can’t very well train Whisker to keep watch.  Besides, he can’t bark,” and Mr. Bobbsey laughed as he got back into bed.

There was no more disturbance that night and the twins did not again awaken.  Mr. Bobbsey remained awake for a while, but he heard nothing, and he believed that if it was a man or an animal that had brushed against the tent where Freddie was sleeping, whoever, or whatever, it was had gone far away.

Dinah had a fine breakfast ready for the twins and the others the next morning.  There were flap-jacks with maple syrup to pour over them, and that, with the crisp smell of bacon, made every one so hungry that there was no need to call even Nan twice, and sometimes she liked to lie in bed longer than did the others.

“Did you find what it was that bumped me, Daddy?” asked Freddie, as he, as last, pushed back his plate, unable to eat any more.

“No.  And we don’t need to worry about it.  Now we must finish getting Twin Camp in order to-day,” went on Mr. Bobbsey, “and then we will begin to have fun and enjoy ourselves.”

“Are we going to catch any fish?” asked Bert.  “Always, when you read of camps, they catch fish and fry them.”

“Yes, we can go fishing after we get the work done,” said his father.  “Work first and play afterward is a rule we’ll follow here, though there won’t be much work to do.  However, if we’re to go fishing we’ll have to dig some bait.”

“I can dig worms!” cried Freddie.  “Worms are good for bait, aren’t they, Daddy?”

“For some kinds of fish, yes.  We’ll fish part of the time with worms and see what luck we have.  Bert, you and Freddie can dig the bait.”

“I want to help,” said Flossie.  “I helped Nan get out my dolls and toys, and now I want to dig worms.”

“All right, little fat fairy!” laughed Bert.  “Come along.”

“Mercy, Flossie, digging bait is such dirty work!  What do you want to do that for?” asked Nan.

“I don’t care if it is dirty, it’s fun.”

“You might have known, Nan,” laughed Mrs. Bobbsey, “that Flossie would not object to dirt.”

With a shovel for turning up the dirt, and a tin can to hold the worms, Bert and the two smaller twins were soon busy.  But they did not have as good luck as they expected.  Earthworms were not plentiful on the island.  Perhaps they could not swim over the lake from the main shore, Freddie suggested.

“Aren’t bugs good for bait?” asked Freddie, when he had looked in the tin can and found only a few worms wiggling about after more than half an hour’s digging on the part of himself and Bert.

“Some kinds of bugs are good for fishing; yes,” Bert answered, and, hearing that, Freddie started back for the tent where the trunks were stored.

“What are you going to do?” Bert called after his little brother.

“I’m going to get the go-around bugs.  We can use them for bait.  Water won’t hurt ’em ­the store man told me so.  We can use the go-around bugs.”

“Oh, they’re no good ­they’re tin!” laughed Bert.

But Freddie was not listening.  He had slipped into the tent and was searching for the toys he had bought in New York.  Bert kept on digging for worms, now and then finding one, which Flossie picked up for him, until he heard another call from Freddie.  The little fellow came running from the tent with an empty and broken box in his hand.

“Look!  Look!” cried Freddie.  “My go-around bugs comed alive in the night and they broke out of the box.  Oh, dear!  Now I can’t have ’em to catch fish with!  The go-around bugs broke out of the box and they’ve gone away!”