And the snow fell thicker and faster, while it grew colder and colder, but Billy didn't mind that for he was nice and warm. Then the snow suddenly stopped, and looking beneath him Billy saw a great white field of snow with here and there mountains of ice and occasional patches of blue, cold-looking water. And there by the water's edge sat a white bear: indeed he seemed almost to be sitting in the water, so close to the edge was he, his face turned toward the land. As soon as Billy struck the ground, which he did within a few feet of the bear, he recognized him as an old, old friend, Fuzzy White.
"Why, hello Fuzzy White, what are you doing here?"
"Fishing," said Fuzzy, "don't talk, please, I've just had a nibble."
"Where's your line," asked Billy in surprise, for he couldn't see any line or pole, and certainly Fuzzy was not faced the right way for fishing so far as Billy could see.
"Sh! h—," said Fuzzy, raising a paw in warning, "there I've got him," and turning around quickly he showed a can of sardines clinging tightly to his button of a tail.
"Is that your line?" asked Billy.
"Certainly, line, bait, and pole—it gets cold sometimes hanging one's tail in the water for an hour or two, but one must eat."
"But that's a can of sardines," said Billy.
"Yes, and I hope they are the best French, with pure olive oil. This isn't a good season for the fine sardine cans to bite; though the big Maine Mustard variety are very easy to catch—ah-h-h, these are the good ones." And Fuzzy with great eagerness opened the can with his claw and gulped down the contents.
"Do you really catch canned sardines?"