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:
"Wake up, Momsie! There's a real fire! This house is on fire, and we've
got to get out. I can hear the fire engines!"
"Oh, Freddie! you're walking in your sleep again," said his mother as
she sat up, now quite awake--"You have been dreaming, and you're walking
in your sleep!"
Freddie had done this once or twice before, thought not since he had
come to Washington.
"The excitement of going to Mount Vernon, and your ringing of the fire
bell on the boat has made you dream of a fire, Freddie," his mother went
on. "It isn't real. There isn't any fire in this hotel, nor near here.
Go back to sleep."
"But, Momsie, I'm awake now!" cried Freddie. "And the fire is real! I
can see the red light and I can hear the engine puffin'! Look, you can
see the light!"
Freddie pointed to a window near his mother's bed.
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