HOW I KILLED A BEAR. 103 



sion of the wish to see one in the woods, and much specu- 

 lation as to how a person would act, if he or she chanced 

 to meet one. But bears are scarce and timid, and appear 

 only to a favored few. 



3. It was a warm day in August, just the sort of day 

 when an adventure of any kind seemed impossible. But 

 it occurred to the housekeepers of our cottage to send me 

 to the clearing, on the mountain back of the house, to 

 pick blackberries. It was rather a series of small clear- 

 ings, running up into the forest, much overgrown with 

 bushes and briers, and not unromantic. Cows pastured 

 there, penetrated through the leafy passages from one 

 opening to another, and browsing among the bushes. I 

 was kindly furnished with a six-quart pail, and told not 

 to be gone long. 



4. Not from any predatory instinct, but, to save ap- 

 pearances, I took a gun. It adds to the manly aspects of 

 a person with a tin pail, if he also carries a gun. It was 

 possible I might start up a partridge ; though how I was 

 to hit him, if he started up instead of standing still, puz- 

 zled me. I prefer the rifle : it makes a clean job of 

 death. The rifle was Sharp's an excellent weapon, be- 

 longing to a friend of mine, who had intended, for a good 

 many years back, to kill a deer with it. He could hit a 

 tree with it if the wind did not blow, and the atmosphere 

 was just right, and the tree was not too far off nearly 

 every time. Of course, the tree must have some size. 



5. In this blackberry-patch, bears had been seen. The 

 summer before, our colored cook, accompanied by a little 

 girl, was picking berries there one day, when a bear came 

 out of the woods, and walked toward them. The girl 

 took to her heels and escaped. Aunt Chloe was paralyzed 

 with terror. Instead of attempting to run, she sat down 

 on the ground, and began to weep and to scream, giving 



