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Updated: June 25, 2025
Bert and Nan took turns sitting next to the window, until the train boy came through with some magazines, and then the older twins were each allowed to buy one, and this kept them busy, looking at the pictures and reading the stories. It was a rather long trip from Lakeport to New York, and it was evening when the train arrived in the big city.
"I can get an old bed-sheet for a sail, if you will get your father to give you the lumber." "I'll try," answered Bert, and it was agreed that the ice-boat should be built during the following week, after school. Christmas was now but four weeks away, and the stores of Lakeport had their windows filled with all sort of nice things for presents.
"I don't know any one of that name in Lakeport though. Where does your father live?" Tommy Todd did not answer at once, and Freddie was surprised to see tears in the eyes of the strange boy. "I I guess you folks don't ever come down to our part of Lakeport," he said. "We live down near the dumps. It isn't very nice there." Freddie had heard of the "dumps."
Besides the two sets of Bobbsey twins, there was Mr. Richard Bobbsey, and his wife Mary. They lived in an Eastern city called Lakeport, on Lake Metoka, where Mr. Bobbsey had a large lumber business.
He jumped out and hurried into the drug store. "Flossie! Freddie!" he cried. "We were so worried about you! What happened?" "Oh, we just got lost," said Freddie, calmly, "and this nice man found us." "We found each other," said the stranger, with a smile, "and now that I have done all I can, I think I will go on my way. I came to Lakeport to find my mother and my son.
The Bobbseys lived in an Eastern city called Lakeport, near Lake Metoka, on the shore of which Mr. Bobbsey had a large lumber yard. Once this had caught fire, and Freddie had thought he could put the blaze out with his little toy fire engine. Ever since then Mr. Bobbsey had called the little chap "fireman." Dinah Johnson was the Bobbsey's cook. She had been with them many years.
"Oh, I think New York is just the nicest place in the world," said Nan one afternoon, after a trip she and Bert had had on top of a Fifth avenue automobile stage, Frank and Helen Porter having gone with them. "Yes, it is nice," agreed Bert "But it's nice in Lakeport, too. You can't have fun riding down hill here, and the skating isn't as good as on our Lake Metoka.
Whipple and Laddie were in the hotel rooms of the Bobbseys, paying a visit, when a telegram was brought up for Mr. Bobbsey. "It's from Lakeport," he said, as he opened it and saw the date and the name of the place from which it had come. "From Lakeport?" asked Mr. Whipple, as Mr. Bobbsey was reading the message. "That's where the old woodsman lives, isn't it?" "Yes," answered Mrs. Bobbsey.
A dozen miles from Lakeport, not far from the shore of the lake, the whole mountain side along which the stage-road runs is covered for several miles with splinters and fragments of obsidian or volcanic glass, so that it looks as though millions of bottles had been broken there in some prodigious revelry; and where the road cuts into the side of the mountain you see the osidian lying in huge masses and in boulders.
"I'd like to be back in Lakeport," said Bert, "but we're having such a good time here in New York I don't want to leave. Guess I'll write and tell Tommy so." After dinner Mr. Whipple showed the Bobbseys and Laddie about the big store, and each of the children was allowed to pick out a simple gift to take away.
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