first, I
did!"

Mr. Bobbsey nodded his head thoughtfully when the twins, taking turns,
told him what Tom had told them.

"Gypsies on the island, eh?" remarked Mr. Bobbsey. "Well, I suppose they
think they have a right to camp here. But I'll see about it. Maybe some
of them are all right, but I don't like the idea of staying here if the
place is going to be overrun with them. I must see about it."

For the next few days and nights a close watch was kept about Twin Camp,
but no gypsies were seen. Nor did any more blueberry-pickers come.
Indeed, the fruit was not ripe enough, as the Bobbseys could tell by
looking at some bushes which grew near their tents.

It was about a week after this, when Mr. Bobbsey had gone to Lakeport
one morning on business, that Flossie and Freddie went down to the shore
of the lake not far from their camp.

As they looked across the water they saw drifting toward the island an
empty rowboat. There was no one in it, as they could tell, and the wind
was sending it slowly along.

"It's got loose from some dock," said Freddie, who knew more about boats
than most boys of his age.

"Maybe it'll come here and we can get it," said Flossie. "Let's throw
stones at it."

"No, that would only scare it away," said Freddie. "Wait till it gets
near enough, and then I'll wade out and poke it in with a stick."

So the two little twins waited on shore for the drifting boat to come to
them.

CHAPTER XIII

IN THE CAVE

"Look out, Freddie! Don't you go wadin' too far!" cried Flossie, as she
saw her little brother kick off his low shoes, quickly roll off his
stockings, and start out toward the boat which now a strong puff of wind
had blown quite close to the island shore.

"I'll be careful," he answered. "Mother said I could wade up as far as
the wig-wag cut on my leg, and I'm not there yet."

Freddie had several scars and scratches on his legs, reminders of
accidents he had suffered at different times. One scar was from a cut
which he had got when he had fallen over the lawn mower about a year
before. It was the biggest cut of all, and was near his right knee. He
called it his "wig-wag" cut, because it was a sort of wavy scar, and
when he wanted to go in wading his mother always told him never to go
in water that would come above that cut, else he would get his
knickerbockers wet.

So now he was careful not to go out too far. He watched the water rising
slowly up on his bare legs as he