At length his nervousness got so much the better of him that walking seemed altogether too slow, and he started off on the hard run. Only two miles of the distance to Aunt Matilda’s was left at this time, and one of these soon disappeared as Wilby hurried onward, with Oscar bounding joyfully beside him. Ten minutes more at the farthest, and they would be safe at their destination. Already Wilby thought he could catch through the trees a gleam of light from the kitchen window, when suddenly something unfortunate happened. It had been hard work keeping to the wood path, so buried was it under the snow; and he must have strayed a little from it, for he found his way barred by a huge tree-trunk, which certainly ought not to have been there. The wisest thing, of course, would have been to retrace his steps a bit; but instead of that, Wilby rashly tried a running leap over the obstacle, and it was not a success. Without snow-shoes he might have cleared it easily; but with these encumbrances on his feet, he not only made a very poor attempt, but in some way or other they got entangled together, and in a violent effort to keep his balance, he sprained his right ankle so badly that, to his great dismay, he found he could no longer bear any weight upon it. Here was a pretty state of affairs indeed! A whole mile from Aunt Matilda’s, not yet clear of the woods, not a living soul within reach of his voice, his right leg utterly useless and hurting awfully, and the cold growing more intense every minute! 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,—