reddie did not know what to do; whether or not to jump.
He looked down, but neither James nor any other man was in sight; and
the office, where Freddie's father was working, was far on the other
side of the yard.

"Oh dear!" cried Freddie again.

And then, with a crash, the top of the lumber pile slid over, carrying
Freddie with it. A cloud of dust arose and the little Bobbsey chap could
see nothing for a few seconds. And when he did open his eyes, after
feeling himself come down with a hard bump, he found himself in a queer
little house.

It really was a sort of house in which Freddie found himself--a little
play-house, almost. The lumber had fallen about him in such a way that
Freddie had not been hurt or squeezed by it in the least. The boards had
piled up over his head, in a peak, like the peaked roof of a real house.
Other boards were on the sides and in front, and there Freddie was, in a
queer play-house that had made itself when the lumber slid over.

"Well!" thought Freddie, "this is funny! But I wonder how I can get
out."

It was not dark in the queer play-house, for light came in between the
cracks among the boards and planks. But though the cracks and openings
were large enough to let in the light, they were not large enough to let
Freddie get out.

The little boy pushed here and there, but the lumber was too heavy for
him to move. Then he happened to think that if he did move one board it
might loosen others which would fall down on his head.

"I'm in a little house," thought Freddie, "and I guess I'd better call
my father to come and get me out. He'll know how to lift off the boards.
I'll call daddy or James."

Freddie began to call. But as several lumber wagons were rattling up and
down the yard just then, the little boy's voice was not heard. James,
having finished helping the man load his wagon, came back to where he
had left Freddie.

"Well, shall we start to make a little ship now?" asked the watchman.
But no Freddie was in sight near the shingle pile.

"Humph! He got tired of waiting, I guess," thought James, "and went back
to his father's office. Well, if he comes back I'll help him. He's a
queer little chap, wanting to build a ship. A queer little chap."

And James never thought of going to look for Freddie, for the lumber
pile, which had fallen and made itself into a sort of play-house was
some distance away from the bundle of shingles. So James sat there in
the sun, waiting, and, far