will be there," went on Freddie. "I'd like to see him again."
"I'll take you around to his fire house some time," promised Mr. Whipple. "Won't that do as well?"
Freddie thought it would, and then he noticed a street piano, on top of which perched a monkey.
"Maybe that's the one who tore your hat, Flossie," he said.
"No, this is a bigger one," returned the little girl. "Besides, if he is the same one I don't want to see him. I feel sorry about the nice cherries on my hat."
"Don't you like the one you and your brother bought in my store?" asked Mr. Whipple, with a laugh.
"Oh, yes, it's awful nice," said Flossie. "But it hasn't any cherries on it. But I like it just as well," she went on quickly, thinking, I suppose, that it might not be polite to say she did not.
"And now for the woodland camp!" cried Mr. Whipple, as they got out of his automobile in front of his store. "You see," he ex-
