THE BROKEN BRIDGE

“Aren’t you glad, Nan?  Aren’t you terrible glad?”

“Why, of course I am, Flossie!”

“And aren’t you glad, too, Bert?” Flossie Bobbsey, who had first asked this question of her sister, now paused in front of her older brother.  She looked up at him smiling as he cut away with his knife at a soft piece of wood he was shaping into a boat for Freddie.  “Aren’t you terrible glad, Bert?”

“I sure am, Flossie!” Bert answered, with a laugh.  “What makes you ask such funny questions?”

“Well, if you’re glad why doesn’t you wiggle like I do?” asked Flossie, without answering Bert.  “I feel just like wigglin’ and squigglin’ inside and outside!” she added.

“Well, wiggle as much as you please, dear, but don’t get your dress dirty, whatever you do,” advised Nan, with the air of a little mother, for she felt that she must look after her smaller sister, since Mrs. Bobbsey was not there to do it.

“Oh, I won’t get my dress dirty!” laughed Flossie. “’Cause if I do——­”

“’Cause if you do you can’t go to the picnic!” finished Freddie, who was so interested in watching brother Bert make the little wooden ship that he forgot all about talking.

“I’m just goin’ to wiggle standin’ up,” Flossie said, and she did so, squirming about in delight at the fun which was soon to come.

“Don’t forget your ‘g’ letters!” called Nan, shaking her finger at her sister.  “You must say ‘going’ and ‘standing’ not ‘goin’,’ my dear, or ‘standin’,’ you know.”

“Yes, I know.  But when you feel like wigglin’—­I mean wigglING,” and Flossie said the last syllable very loudly, “why, then you don’t think about ‘g’ letters; do you, Freddie?”

“I don’t guess so,” he answered, not taking his eyes off the knife that was flashing in Bert’s hand, making the white slivers of wood scatter over the green grass.

“Oh, I just can hardly wait till the auto truck comes; can you, Nan?” asked Flossie, dancing over the lawn like a fairy in a play.  “Oh, I’m so glad it doesn’t rain!” and she looked anxiously up at the sky as if some cloud might float across the wonderful blue and spoil the day of pleasure.

“Yes, the weather is lovely,” agreed Nan.  “And if you don’t think so much about it, Flossie, the truck will get here all the sooner.”

“But I like to think about it!” cried Flossie.  “It’s the same as Christmas!  The more you think about it the more fun it is!  Oh, I’m going to look down the road and see if the truck is coming!”

Down toward the front gate she skipped, the big bow of ribbon on her hair flapping up and down like the wings of some great blue butterfly.

“Be careful about climbing on the gate!” warned Nan.  “If you get rusty spots on your white dress they won’t come out!”

“I’ll be careful,” Flossie promised, calling back over her shoulder, and, as she tripped along she sang:  “We’re going to a picnic!  We’re going to a picnic!”