“Oh, dear! How cold I am! Oh, I am almost frozen!”
“Oh, the poor thing!” exclaimed Beckie. “That’s a poor little birdie in the snowbank, Neddie. You must get him out and we’ll warm him.”
“How?” asked the little bear boy. “How can you warm him?”
“Oh, I’ll find a way,” said Beckie.
“All right. Then I’ll dive into the snowbank again,” said Neddie. And into the snow he went, scattering it carefully about with his paws until, down near the bottom, on the ground, covered with the white flakes, and almost frozen, was a poor little birdie.
“Oh, the dear little thing!” cried Beckie, as Neddie brought out the birdie in his paws, holding it carefully so as not to squeeze it.
“Cheep! Cheep!” went the cold little birdie. That was all it could say.
“Quick, Neddie!” exclaimed Beckie. “You run home and get me some nice warm milk in a bottle. Aunt Piffy will heat it for you. Bring it back here to me, and some bread crumbs, too, I’ll feed the little birdie.”
“But why don’t you bring it home with you?” Neddie wanted to know.
“Because I don’t want to carry it through the cold air,” answered Beckie. “I’m going to warm the birdie in my fur while you are gone after the milk.”