"Her name is Molly, Daddy," said Flossie, who, with the other Bobbsey twins, was listening to her father talk over the telephone. "I mean the doll's name is Mollie, not Helen's name."
"I understand," said Mr. Bobbsey with a laugh, and he told the chief the name of the doll and also the name of the little girl who owned it.
"Well, what is to be done?" asked Mrs. Bobbsey, as her husband hung up the receiver.
"I think I'll go with the policeman and see what I can find out about the gypsies," said Mr. Bobbsey. "If they are going to take things that do not belong to them they may pay a visit to my lumberyard, if they have not done so already. I think I'll go out to the gypsy camp."
"Oh, let me come!" begged Bert, always ready for an adventure.
"I wouldn't go—not at night, anyhow," remarked Nan.
"Nor I," added Freddie, while Flossie crept up into her mother's lap.
"Oh, I'm not going until morning," said Mr. Bobbsey. "Then I'll take you, Bert, if you'd like to go. We'll see if we can find Helen's big, talking doll."
"She must feel bad at losing it," said Nan.
"She does," said Bert. "Though how any one can get to like a doll, with such stupid eyes as they have, I can't see."