Of course Mr. and Mrs. Bobbsey were interested in the place where the wonderful man had lived, and they looked about the grounds where he had once walked, and they visited the house where he had lived.  But, really, the children did not care much for it.

“When are we going back?” asked Freddie several times.

“Don’t you like it here?” asked his mother.  “Just think of what a wonderful and beautiful place this is!”

“Well,” said Freddie slowly, “I didn’t see any fire engines yet.”

Mrs. Bobbsey tried not to laugh, but it was hard work.

“I think we’d better go back to Washington,” she said to her husband.

“I think so, too,” he answered, and back to Washington they went.  This time they rode on a trolley car, and there was no danger of Freddie’s sending in an alarm of fire.

And on the way home something quite wonderful happened.  At least it was wonderful for Freddie.

He was looking out of the window, when suddenly he gave a yell that startled his father and mother, as well as Nan, Bert, Nell and Flossie, and that made the other passengers sit up.

“Oh, look!  There’s a fire engine!  There’s a fire engine!” cried the little chap, pointing; and, surely enough, there was one going along the street.  It was bright and shiny, smoke was pouring from it and the horses were prancing.

The other Bobbsey twins turned to look at it, and Bert said: 

“Pooh, that’s only coming back from an alarm.”

“That’s so,” agreed Mr. Bobbsey.  “The horses are going too slowly to be running to a fire, Freddie.  They must be coming back.”

“Well, it’s a fire engine, anyhow,” said Freddie, and every one had to agree with him.  Freddie watched the shiny engine until it was out of sight, and then he talked about nothing else but fires on the way home.

Tired, but well satisfied with their trip, the Bobbsey’s reached their hotel, and the Martin children went to their home, promising to meet the following day and see more Washington sights.

It was about the middle of the night that Mrs. Bobbsey, who slept in the same room with Flossie and Freddie, felt herself being shaken in bed.  She roused up to see, in the dim light, Freddie standing near her, and shaking her with his chubby hands.

“What is it, dear?” asked Mrs. Bobbsey, sleepily.

“Fire!” hoarsely whispered Freddie.  “The house is on fire, and it’s real, too, this time!”

CHAPTER XVIII

THE ORIENTAL CHILDREN

At first Mrs. Bobbsey was too sleepy, from having been so quickly awakened, to really understand what Freddie was saying.  She turned over in bed, so as to get a better look at the small boy, who was in his night gown, and with his hair all tousled and frowsled from the pillow.  There was no mistake about it—­Mrs. Bobbsey was not dreaming.  Her little boy was really standing beside her and shaking her.  And once more he said: