“Do you think so?” asked Mrs. Bobbsey.

“Oh, you’ll get her hat back again, ma’am, I’m sure,” the man said.  “There’s lots of boys and young men who stay around the monument, hoping for a chance to earn a stray dime or so by showing visitors around or carrying something.  One of them probably saw the hat flutter out of the window, and somebody will pick it up.”

“Well, let’s go down and see,” suggested Mr. Bobbsey.  “I think we have had all the view we want.”

“Don’t cry, Flossie,” whispered Nan consolingly, as she took her little sister by the hand.  “We’ll get your hat back again.”

“And the roses, too?” Flossie asked.

“Yes, the roses and everything,” her mother told her.

“If I were a big, grown-up fireman, I could climb down and get Flossie’s hat,” said Freddie.  “That’s what firemans do.  They climb up and down big places and get things—­and people,” the little boy added after a moment of thought.

“Well, I don’t want my little fireman climbing down Washington Monument,” said Mr. Bobbsey.  “It’s safer to go down in the elevator.”

And, a little later, the Bobbsey twins and their father and mother were back on the ground again.  Once outside the big stone shaft, they saw a boy come running up with Flossie’s hat in his hand.

“Oh, look!  Look!” cried the little girl.  “There it is!  There it is!”

“Is this your hat?” the small boy wanted to know.  “I saw it blow out of the window, and I chased it and chased it.  I was afraid maybe it would blow into the river.”

“It was very nice of you,” said Mr. Bobbsey, and he gave the boy twenty-five cents, which pleased that small chap very much.

Flossie’s hat was a little dusty, but the pink roses were not soiled, and soon she was wearing it again.  Then, smiling and happy, she was ready to go with the others to the next sight-seeing place.

“Where now?” asked Bert, as they started away from the little hill on which the Monument stands.

“I think we’ll go to the Smithsonian Museum,” said his father.  “There are a few things I want to see, though you children may not be very much interested.  Then I want to take your mother to the art gallery and after that—­well, we’ll see what happens next,” and he smiled at the Bobbsey twins.

“I know it will be something nice!” exclaimed Nan.

“I hope it’s something good to eat!” murmured Bert.  “I’m hungry!”

“I’d like to see a fire!” cried Freddie.  “Do they ever have fires in Washington, Daddy?”

“Oh, yes, big ones, sometimes.  But we really don’t want to see any, because a fire means danger and trouble for people.”

“And wettings, too,” put in Flossie.  “Sometimes when Freddie plays fire he gets me wet.”

“Well, I’m goin’ to be a fireman when I grow up,” declared Freddie.  “And I wish I had my little fire engine now, ’cause I don’t like it not to have any fun.”