I
was so hungry I had to have something. I didn't find many ripe ones at
that, and I guess I got as much outside of me as I did inside," and he
laughed again, showing his white teeth.

"Where do you folks live?" Tom asked, as he took a piece of cake Nan
offered him.

"We're camping on this island."

"You don't mean to say you are gypsies, do you?" asked the blueberry boy
in surprise.

"No, of course not!" Bert answered. "We live in Lakeport--Bobbsey is our
name and----"

"Oh, does your father have a lumberyard?"

"Yes."

"Oh! Well, then you're all right! My father drives one of your father's
lumber wagons. He just got that job this week--been out of work a long
while. I heard him say he had a place in the Bobbsey lumberyard, but I
never thought I'd meet you. I thought maybe you was gypsies at first."

"That's what I thought you were," said Nan.

"We're going to be gypsies when we get older--Freddie and me," announced
Flossie.

"No, we're not, Flossie. We're going to be in a circus."

"Oh, yes! And I'm going to ride a horse standing up."

"And I'm going to be a clown----"

"And he'll have his little fire engine----"

"And squirt water on the other clowns and----"

"And the folks'll holler and laugh. And I'm going to have a
glittery----"

"Dear me, Flossie and Freddie, we've heard all about that at least a
dozen times lately," protested Bert.

"But Tom hasn't heard about it. He's int'rested," declared Freddie.

"I knew a feller once that had been in a circus," said Tom. "He said
they had to work awful hard. There's the show every afternoon and every
night and the parade in the mornin' and the practisin' and gettin'
ready. He said too that the fellers at the head of the show was awful
strict about how everybody behaved themselves. It wasn't much fun, he
said, and it was lots of work."

"My!" gasped Freddie. "I--I guess we'll be gypsies. I don't like to
work--much."

"That is, not very much," agreed Flossie.

"Are there any gypsies here?" asked Bert, for he thought it would be a
good chance to find out what he wanted to know.

"Yes, there are some," was Tom's unexpected answer. "They had a camp on
the lower end of the island last week. I expected to see some of 'em
to-day. They're great blueberry pickers, and that's one reason I came
early. Most always the gypsies get the best of the blueberries 'fore we
white folks have a chance."

"Are there gypsies on this island now?" asked Nan, looking