Some of the hay dust got up his nose, too, and made him want to sneeze. He gave one little sneeze—making a queer sound cooped up as he was—and then he cried:
"Oh, I'm stuck again, Nan! I started sliding and now I'm stuck again!"
"Wiggle some more," advised his sister.
She had set down the basket of eggs and was looking toward a dark side of the barn where she could see the lower ends of several wooden chutes. Some were for oats and others for hay. She did not know just which wooden chute Freddie would slide down. The chutes did not come all the way to the floor, there being room under each one to set a box or bushel basket.
"Wiggle some more, Freddie!" again advised Nan.
"I will!" came the answer. "I'll wiggle hard and I'll—Oh—kerchoo!"
That was Freddie sneezing, and he sneezed so hard that it did more good than his wiggling, for it sent him sliding down with a mass of hay to the bottom of the chute.
"Here I am!" he cried, and with a thump he landed on the barn floor, so wrapped and tangled in a clump of hay that he was not in the least hurt. "I'm all—kerchoo—right—kerchoo—Nan!" he said, talking and sneezing at the same time.
"Well, I'm glad we found you, anyhow!" laughed his sister. "How did it happen?"
"Oh, it just happened," was all Freddie could say. "I was looking for eggs, and I slipped. I'm glad I didn't slip in a hen's nest, else I'd 'a' broken a lot of eggs."