"Some farmer's son, Max," answered the Major, at the same time gently depositing his load on a couch near the fire. "I found him 'most frozen to death in a snow-drift.. I guess we can make him all right again."
"Of course we can," exclaimed another voice, much livelier in tone than the first speaker's, and a third bear, quite as white but not so tall as either of the others, emerged into the firelight from a dark corner, where he had been attending to some household duty.
"Of course we can, if you say so, Minor," growled the one called Max, good-humouredly. "We'll begin by giving him a good dinner, at all events."
By the way, I forgot to mention that the full names of Wilby's new friends were Ursa Minor, Ursa Major, and Ursa Maximus, but for convenience' sake they called one another simply Minor, Major, and Max.
Feeling surprisingly at his ease, in view of his strange surroundings, Wilby stretched himself out on his comfortable couch, and almost forgot the pain from his sprained ankle in his delight at his novel experience.
"What a lot I'll have to tell them at home!" he said exultingly to himself. "They won't believe one-half of it, I know."
Maximus was evidently head of the household, and superintended in a dignified way, while Major and Minor bustled about getting dinner ready.
In a little while all the preparations were complete, and Major, who seemed to feel especially responsible for Wilby, brought him a steaming bowl of something which the hungry boy was not long in sampling. And it proved to be such delicious rabbit-stew that he could not help exclaiming,—
"My sakes, but this is fine! Mother couldn't make a better stew herself,"—which compliment pleased Minor, who had prepared the stew, so much that he filled Wilby's bowl up again before it was fairly empty.
Besides the stew there were roast partridges and baked potatoes, and also apples and nuts, so that Wilby had just about as much as he could comfortably eat—in fact, perhaps a little more. At all events, his waistband began to remind him it was there.