AN OPEN WELL. ^9 



the second, shriller, more unearthly scream. 

 The path was no longer plain, nor she sure- 

 footed. Pitching recklessly forward, the berries 

 were bounced by handfuls from the basket, and 

 it finally, as a dragging weight, was thrown aside. 

 And, still sounding through the swamp, the ter- 

 rible screeching of that angry bear ! The cottage 

 at last was seen through the thick-set trees, but 

 not so plainly the tortuous path. The frightened 

 woman was moved by but one thought to reach 

 her home ; and, escaping until now all other dan- 

 gers, she took one misstep, almost at her jour- 

 ney's end, and sank waist-deep in yielding mud. 

 There was strength left for but one despairing 

 cry, which fortunately fell not upon deaf ears. 

 In a moment her husband came to her rescue. 

 Such was her story, but by no means as she told 

 it a quaint narrative that invariably concluded 

 with the pathetic remark, " And to think I lost 

 all them beautiful berries ! " The old lady had 

 heard the first screech of a locomotive that 

 awoke the echoes in the Nottingham swamps. 



All the while her patient husband sits by the 

 fire, giving vent to his feelings by a vicious poke 

 at the smouldering back-log. For fifty years he 

 has been her audience, and the story is now a tri- 

 fle monotonous so much so that, no sooner has 

 she finished, at least when I was present, than he 

 remarks, " If you tell the lad that story any more, 



