It was about the middle of the night that Mrs. Bobbsey, who slept in the same room with Flossie and Freddie, felt herself being shaken in bed. She roused up to see, in the dim light, Freddie standing near her, and shaking her with his chubby hands.
"What is it, dear?" asked Mrs. Bobbsey, sleepily.
"Fire!" hoarsely whispered Freddie. "The house is on fire, and it's real, too, this time!"
CHAPTER XVIII
THE ORIENTAL CHILDREN
At first Mrs. Bobbsey was too sleepy, from having been so quickly awakened, to really understand what Freddie was saying. She turned over in bed, so as to get a better look at the small boy, who was in his night gown, and with his hair all tousled and frowsled from the pillow. There was no mistake about it—Mrs. Bobbsey was not dreaming. Her little boy was really standing beside her and shaking her. And once more he said:
"Wake up, Momsie! There's a real fire! This house is on fire, and we've got to get out. I can hear the fire engines!"
"Oh, Freddie! you're walking in your sleep again," said his mother as she sat up, now quite awake—"You have been dreaming, and you're walking in your sleep!"
Freddie had done this once or twice before, thought not since he had come to Washington.
"The excitement of going to Mount Vernon, and your ringing of the fire bell on the boat has made you dream of a fire, Freddie," his mother went on. "It isn't real. There isn't any fire in this hotel, nor near here. Go back to sleep."