"There's no better fun than camping out," said Mr. Whipple. "I used to do it when I was a boy, and I made up my mind that if ever I kept a store, which I always wanted to do, I'd sell camping things in it. And that's just what I'm doing," he added with a laugh.
"Doesn't this place make you think of our woods at home?" asked Nan of Bert.
"Yes, it does look like the woods around Lake Metoka," was his answer.
"And it's just like the place where Uncle Jack has his camp!" cried Freddie.
"Have the children an uncle who is a camper?" asked Mr. Whipple.
"No," answered Mr. Bobbsey, "but there is an old woodchopper, who lives in a log cabin near our town of Lakeport. He makes a living by chopping firewood. He lives all alone, and really sort of camps out. Every one calls him Uncle Jack. He was very good to Flossie and Freddie one day when they fell out of Bert's ice-boat.
"Poor Uncle Jack!" went on Mr. Bobbsey, with a sigh. "I am sorry to say I have bad news about him," he went on to his wife, but the children heard, though he spoke in a low voice.
"Uncle Jack!" cried Nan. "I hope he isn't dead!"
"No," answered her father, "but he is very ill, and he must go to a hospital, I am told. It's too bad about him."