“That’ll be fun,” agreed Freddie.
They crawled about in the hay, looking here and there for nests with white eggs in them. Suddenly Flossie gave a cry as she felt herself slipping on the smooth hay into a hole.
“What’s the matter?” asked Freddie, who was in another part of the barn. “Did you find a nest?”
Flossie answered “yes,” for she had found a nest. She had slid right into one containing nearly a dozen eggs. She had sat down on them, smashing the eggs and covering herself with broken shells and sticky whites and yellows.
“Oh, you’d better call mother!” sighed Flossie, when she saw what had happened.
“This is worser than when the jug-turkle caught me by the toe!” shouted Freddie, as he dashed for the house.
“Oh, my goodness, what will happen next?” sighed Mrs. Bobbsey, when she saw the woeful sight of Flossie, very dirty, sitting in the nest, for right there the little girl had stayed, waiting for her mother to come to her. She took the little girl into the house to clean her, and when Flossie had on dry clothes her mother said:
“Now you and Freddie stay on the porch until bedtime.”
“Do you think Daddy and Bert will come back soon?” asked Freddie.
“Perhaps,” said their mother. “At any rate, I hope so.”