“He went down those stairs,” said Flossie, pointing to a flight that led to the motor room, where the engine was chug-chugging away, sending the Swallow over the waves. “He went down there.”
The engine room of the motor boat was a clean place, not like the engine room on a steamboat, filled with coal dust and a lot of machinery, and Mrs. Bobbsey knew it would be all right for her and Flossie to go down there and see what Freddie was doing.
“Now don’t cry any more,” Flossie’s mother told her, giving the little girl a handkerchief on which to dry her tears. “We’ll get your doll back, and I’ll have to scold Freddie a little, I think.”
“Maybe you can’t find him,” said Flossie.
“Oh, yes I can,” her mother declared.
“You can’t find him if he is hiding away.”
“I don’t think he will dare hide if he hears me calling him.”
“Maybe he will if he’s got my doll,” pouted Flossie.
“Now, Flossie, you mustn’t talk that way. I don’t believe Freddie meant to be naughty. He was only heedless.”
“Well, I want my doll!”