Mooween the Bear. 1 89 



distance. But if surprised and friglitened, he dashes 

 headlong through the brush with crash of brandies, 

 and bump of fallen logs, and volleys of dirt and dead 

 wood flung out behind him as he digs his toes into 

 the hillside in his frantic haste to be away. 



In the first startled instant of such an encounter, 

 one thinks there must be twenty bears scrambling up 

 the hill. And if you should perchance get a glimpse 

 of the game, you will be conscious chiefl)' of a funny 

 little pair of wrinkled black feet, turned up at you so 

 rapidly that they actually seem to twinkle through a 

 cloud of flying loose stuff. 



That was the way in which I first met Mooween. 

 He was feeding peaceably on blueberries, just stuffing 

 himself with the ripe fruit that tinged with blue a 

 burned hillside, when I came round the turn of a deer 

 path. There he was, the mighty, ferocious beast — 

 and my only weapon a trout-rod ! 



We discovered each other at the same instant. 

 Words can hardly measure the mutual consternation. 

 I felt scared ; and in a moment it flashed upon me 

 that he looked so. This last observation was like a 

 breath of inspiration. It led me to make a demon- 

 stration before he should regain his wits. I jumped 

 forward with a flourish, and threw my hat at him. — 



Boo ! said I. 



Hoof, woof ! said Mooween. And away he went 



