CHAPTER II.
Fru Bjornson was busily employed in her kitchen, stirring up some liquid in a large saucepan. It was cranberry jam for the winter, and on the floor stood a long row of brown jars into which it was to be poured when the boiling was thoroughly completed.
The servant, a little thin light-brown Bear, in a large apron, waited close by, ready to poke the fire, or give any other assistance that was required of her.
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.
"Into the ice-cellar," cried Herr Bjornson, "come, Ingold. Everyone follow me!" and he threw his papers down on the ground and ran out at the back door.
Fortunately the ice-cellar was near the house, and the frightened family were soon safely in its shelter.
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.