CHAPTER XVIII
FLOSSIE IS TANGLED
Flossie Bobbsey, who had been sitting on the cleanest and dryest log she could find near the edge of the stream to watch Freddie wade, jumped up as she heard him cry. She had been wishing she was with him, white stockings or none.
"Oh, Freddie, what's the matter?" she cried. "What's happened?"
"I—I'm caught!" he answered. "Can't you see I'm caught?"
"But how?" she questioned eagerly. "You aren't caught in a trap like Snap was, are you?"
"No, it isn't a trap—it's sticky mud," Freddie said. "My feet are stuck in the mud!"
"Oh—oh!" said Flossie, and a queer look came over her face. "You are stuck in the mud! How did you do it, Freddie?"
"I didn't do it! It did it! I just stepped in a soft place, and now when I pull one foot out the other sticks in deeper. Can't you help me out, Flossie?"
"Yes, I'll help you out!" she cried, and she ran down to the edge of the stream, as though she intended to wade out to where poor Freddie was trying to pull his feet loose from the sticky mud.