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 off, Freddie was calling for help.  For he wanted to get out, very much.

CHAPTER XII

TOMMY IS REWARDED

Freddie Bobbsey was a wise little chap, even if he was only about five years old, and when he found that he was shut up in the queer play-house, and could not get out, he did not cry.  He stopped calling for help, when he found no one answered him, and sat down to think what was best to do.

“It would be nice in here, if Flossie could be with me to play,” he said to himself.  “But she couldn’t get in unless some way was opened, or unless one of the cracks was made bigger.  There ought to be a door and some windows to this place.  Then we could go in and out, and have fun.  And we ought to have something to eat, too,” Freddie went on.

But there was nothing to eat under the pile of lumber, and Freddie had not thought to put a piece of cake or an apple in his pocket as he sometimes did when he went to visit his father.

That morning he had thought of nothing much but about making a ship to go sailing with Tommy Todd to look for Tommy’s father.  And all Freddie had put in his pockets were the nails and bits of string.  He could not eat them, and, anyhow, they were back by the pile of shingles where he had been talking to James.

“Maybe James will come and find me after a bit,” Freddie thought.  “I’ll just stay here and wait.”

He called as loudly as he could once or twice more, but no one answered him.  Freddie made himself as easy as he could in the queer little lumber play-house, and, as it was warm with the sun shining down, pretty soon he felt sleepy.  How long he slept Freddie did not know, but, all of a sudden he was awakened by hearing a scratching sound near his ear.  Some one was scratching away at the lumber.

“Who is there?” Freddie cried, sitting up.

No one answered but Freddie again heard the scratching.

“Oh—­oh!” he exclaimed, shrinking back in one corner.  “I wonder if that is a big rat?  Rats scratch and gnaw.”

Once more came the funny sound, and then Freddie heard: 

Mew!  Mew!

“Oh!  Now I know that isn’t a rat!” cried the little boy.  “Rats can scratch, but rats can’t mew.  Only cats can do that!  Here, pussy!” he called.  “Come in and see me!”

Once more there was a scratching and a mewing and up through one of the larger cracks same a big gray cat, that lived in the lumber yard.  Freddie knew her quite well, for he had often seen her in his father’s office.

“Oh Sawdust!” he called joyfully.  Sawdust was the cat’s name; a very good name for a lumber yard cat, I think.  “I’m so glad it’s you, Sawdust!” cried Freddie.