For half an hour, Creamy and Lennie worked steadily: Creamy easing out bits of netting from the pile on the sand and passing them up to Lennie; Lennie fixing the net to the posts stuck in the sand.

‘I say, Creamy, could you speed up a bit?’ Lennie called out suddenly. He had happened to look round and found Creamy sitting back, up to his armpits in the netting, gazing dreamily out to sea.

Creamy sat up quickly. ‘Sorry, Lennie, was just thinking of a nice big portion of pistachio ice-cream – the colour of the sea over there - with lots of cream on top, all fluffy just like the wave crests, and a stick of….’

‘OK, OK! I get the picture; and the sooner we finish this work, the sooner you can have your ice-cream. So come on, buck up!’

‘Right-o,’ cried Creamy eagerly and leapt to his feet – or rather he didn't, for as soon as he was up, the netting tightened around him, and he lost his balance and fell.

‘Stupid thing,’ he muttered, struggling to get up again. But the more he struggled, the tighter the netting seemed to shrink around him. In the end, he fell face down into the tangled mess.

‘Oh, no!’ gasped Lennie horrified, ‘Do be careful, Creamy, or you'll tear those nets to pieces! Keep still, I'm coming!’

But Lennie was not the only one coming. The fishwoman had also spotted Creamy's frantic efforts to get out of the netting. She dropped the bucket she was carrying and picking up a paddle, broke into a run, yelling as she went:

‘My nets! Leave my nets alone! Help! Help! Get that dratted bear away from my nets!’ she shrilled.

The shouting of the fishwoman, and most especially being called a bear, seemed to send Creamy into a frenzy. He got up on all fours and threw himself this way and that, biting and tearing at the netting till it split. In an instant, he was on his feet, slightly dazed, but free. He stepped out of the thick tangle of netting, and glared round angrily.

Lennie, who had got to him just in time to see the netting rip, threw up his paws in despair. ‘Now, see what you've done, Creamy!’ he howled, stealing anxious glances at the fishwoman running fast towards them. ‘What are we going to do?’

‘Sorry, Lennie,’ mumbled Creamy, and bending down started to pick up bits of the torn netting lying all around him on the sand.

Lennie, however, was not listening. His eyes were again on the fishwoman bearing down on them fast. But it was the sight of the two caps sprinting up the beach to join her, armed with large paddles, that made up his mind for him. ‘Run, Creamy, run!’ he yelled. Then he turned round and fairly flew up the sand dunes, making for the forest grove behind them.