"What do you mean by that, Flossie?" asked her mother.
"I mean I was prayin' that they shouldn't take our goat," said the little girl.
"I want to pray that, too!" cried Freddie, who had hopped into bed. "Why didn't you tell me you were going to pray that, Flossie?"
"'Cause it just popped into my head. But you stay in bed, an' I'll pray it for you," and she added: "Please, Freddie says the same thing!"
Then she covered herself up and almost before Mrs. Bobbsey had left the sides of the cots both children were fast asleep.
"Poor little tykes!" said the mother softly. "They do miss their pets so! I hope the cat and dog can be found, and Helen's doll, too. It's strange that so many things are missing. I wonder who Flossie meant by 'they,' I must ask her."
And the next morning the little girl, when reminded of her petition the night before and asked who she thought might take the goat, said:
"They is the gypsies, of course! They take everything! Blueberry Tom said so. And I didn't want them to get Whisker too."
"Who in the world is Blueberry Tom?" asked Mrs. Bobbsey.
"He's the boy who was so hungry," explained Freddie. "He came to the island to pick early blueberries only there wasn't any."