But, as it happened, Mr. Bobbsey reached the bottom of the flight of stairs in time to catch Freddie before the little fellow reached the last step.
“Well, well, what’s all this?” cried Mr. Bobbsey, holding Freddie in his arms. “Is my little fireman trying to make a rescue?” Mr. Bobbsey often spoke of Freddie as a “fireman,” since the little fellow was so fond of playing that game. He had a toy fire engine that spouted real water, too. And Flossie’s pet name was “little fat fairy.”
“Is he hurt?” asked Mrs. Bobbsey, coming down the stairs.
“No—I’m all right!” protested Freddie. “I—now—I just slipped—that’s all. I was in a hurry.”
“I should say you were!” laughed his father. “But you are so fat and the stairs are so thickly carpeted, that you aren’t hurt a bit!”
Freddie was set upon his feet, and, with the others, made a circle about Mr. Bobbsey and the mysterious box. Then, for the first time, the lumber merchant appeared aware of the bulky package in the lower hall.
“What’s this?” he asked.
“Something for you, it seems,” answered his wife.
“It’s for your birthday!” cried Nan.
“It came by express!” added Bert.