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Whenever they liked they could bring some of their young companions home from the School-house in the evening; and then the Bear-mother would seat herself on a tree-stump and play tunes for them to dance to for Fru Bjornson was highly educated, and had learnt the concertina in all its branches.
"A telescope may be a wonderful thing for those who haven't any eyes, but really I think I see better without it." At this moment, through the trees, an extraordinary procession came in sight; which caused the Bear-mother to jump up from her seat with a cry of joy.
Fru Bjornson attempted to carry out the directions, but the space was so small there was scarcely room to move in it. The air seemed to get colder and colder; Ingold's fur turned frost-white, and she twined her apron round her head to prevent herself from being frost-bitten. "Oh, this is awful," quaked the Bear-mother. "We shall all die or be turned into icicles if we can't get out before long!"
Close by stood Ingold, with one eye tightly screwed up, and an old-fashioned telescope in her hand, trying in vain to adjust the focus. "What do you see now?" enquired the Bear-mother, leaning forward. "A great fog with snakes in it!" replied the servant truthfully. "Why, those are trees, of course!" said Fru Bjornson. "Turn the screw a little more, and it will become as plain as possible."
By opening a crack in the small trap-door, which was level with the ground, they were able to see all that went on in the garden; and the steps afforded them a place to sit down upon, without touching the great blocks of ice that looked white and ghostly as the thin streak of daylight struggled in upon them. "Is anyone coming?" whispered the Bear-mother nervously.
"I can't see anything moving," growled Herr Bjornson. "Keep back, Mother. I can't help treading upon you. Dear me! How cramped we are here!" "It's terribly cold," said the Bear-mother shivering. "I can feel myself freezing in every hair." "Wrap your shawl round you, and stamp about a little."
Ingold twisted her hand several times rapidly, and again applied her eye to the end. "It doesn't seem like snakes now, does it?" asked the Bear-mother triumphantly. "Oh, no! It's turned to milk with green splashes in it," said Ingold. "You don't see anything of my darling children, then?" enquired Fru Bjornson. "Nothing at all, ma'am," said Ingold.
They soon discovered, however, that lozenges were utterly powerless to keep out that biting air, and the Bear-mother seated herself resignedly on an ice-block. "It's no good struggling against fate," she murmured. "We shall be found by the children, I suppose. You'd better keep your arms down straight, father; and freeze as narrow as possible.
In the salon, Herr Bjornson, with a pucker on his forehead, was adding up his Bee accounts for he kept a number of hives in the garden and fields belonging to him. Suddenly the alarm bell sounded loudly, and in rushed the Bear-mother, with the jam-ladle in her hand, her hair almost erect with terror. "They have found us at last! What shall we do? Where shall we fly to?" she cried distractedly.
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