Every one grew quiet while Mr. Bobbsey opened the message.
“Well, it is bad news—of a sort,” he said.
“What?” asked his wife.
“Uncle Rossiter is very ill,” answered Mr. Bobbsey. “He wants you and me, Mary, to come to him at once. I think we’ll have to go. It may be his last illness. We’d better start in the morning.”
“Oh, will you take us with you?” begged Nan. “I remember Uncle Rossiter. Can’t we go with you?”
“Take us! Take us!” begged Flossie and Freddie.
Mr. Bobbsey shook his head.
“No,” he answered slowly, “it would be out of the question to take you twins. You’ll have to stay at home and keep house by yourselves. Mother and I will need to leave in a hurry. We can’t take you.”
Sad looks were on the faces of all the Bobbsey twins.