"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."
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!"
The Bear-father had put up his coat-collar and tied his bandanna pocket-handkerchief over his ears. His hair was also covered with white crystals, and he was seized with an attack of coughing which obliged him to borrow the Bear-mother's shawl to bury his head in, so that the sound might not be heard outside.
"This is painful in the extreme," he said in a choked voice as he emerged gasping. "A cough lozenge at this moment might be the saving of us!"
"What shall we do if the enemy hears us!" cried Fru Bjornson. "Here! I have just found a peppermint-drop in my pocket. Let us divide it into three. It may be some slight assistance."
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.