It did not take poor Wilby long to realize that he was in no little danger. As he could do nothing with his snow-shoes, he took them off, and tried to get along without them; but the snow was so dry and soft that he sank right into it, and could make no advance at all.
His only hope seemed to be to shout at the top of his voice on the small chance of somebody hearing him. So he called for help with all his might.
Oscar was much puzzled by his master's conduct, and circled impatiently around him, as if to urge him onward.
For quite a long time Wilby shouted, until what between cold and weariness there was no more shout left in him. Presently he felt an intense longing to sleep stealing over him. He strove desperately hard to shake it off, for he knew well what it meant; but in spite of all his efforts the deadly drowsiness crept steadily and surely over his senses, and he was just lapsing into unconsciousness when there was a crashing in the underbrush ahead, and before he had time to ask himself what it could be, the small trees in front of him parted violently, and out stepped a great white bear.
"What do you mean by all this shouting?" he demanded rather crossly.
Curiously enough, Wilby was not quite so terrified as he expected he would be if a white bear happened along, and found courage to say very humbly,—
"Please, Mr. Bear, I hope I didn't disturb you. But, you see, I've sprained my ankle badly, and I was shouting for some one to come and help me."
"Ho, ho! you are hurt, are you?" was the reply, in rather a gentler tone. "Well, I'll look after you."
And so saying, the bear picked the big boy up in his arms as though he had been a little baby, and marched off with him through the woods at a rapid rate.
Wilby knew resistance was vain, so he just made up his mind to take things as quietly as possible; which, under the circumstances, was a very wise thing to do.