He lifted up one of the boards.  As he did so the little boy noticed that the pile of lumber was swaying a little from side to side as he moved about.

“I guess I’d better get down off here,” Freddie said.  “This is too jiggily.”  He had been told to keep off “jiggily” lumber piles, as they were not safe.

Freddie dragged to the edge the board he had picked out for the watchman to make smaller.  The little boy was just going to slide it over the edge of the pile to the ground, when, all at once Freddie felt himself falling.

“Oh dear!” he cried.  “Something is going to happen!”

And something did happen.  The lumber pile with Freddie on top, was falling over.  Freddie 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.”