When The Blueberries Are Ripe





THE steep, rounded, rock-scarred face of Bald Mountain, for all its

naked grimness, looked very cheerful in the last of the warm-coloured

sunset. There were no trees; but every little hollow, every tiny

plateau, every bit of slope that was not too steep for clinging roots

to find hold, was clothed with a mat of blueberry bushes. The berries,

of an opaque violet-blue tone (much more vivid and higher in key than

the same berries can show when picked and brought to market) were so

large and so thickly crowded as to almost hide the leaves. They gave

the austere steeps of "Old Baldy" the effect of having been dyed with

a wash of cobalt.



Far below, where the lonely wilderness valley was already forsaken

by the sun, a flock of ducks could be seen, with long, outstretched

necks rigid and short wings swiftly beating, lined out over a

breadth of wild meadow. Above the lake which washed the foot of

the mountain,--high above the water, but below the line of shadow

creeping up the mountain's face,--a single fish-hawk circled

slowly, waiting for the twilight coolness to bring the big trout to

the surface to feed. The smooth water glimmered pallidly, and here

and there a spreading, circular ripple showed that the hungry fish

were beginning to rise.



Up in the flood of the sunset, the blueberries basked and glowed, some

looking like gems, some like blossoms, according to the fall of the

light. Around the shoulder of the mountain toward the east, where the

direct rays of the sun could not reach, the light was yet abundant,

but cool and tender,--and here the vivid berries were beginning to

lose their colour, as a curved moon, just rising over the far, ragged

rim of the forest, touched them with phantom silver. Everywhere

jutting rocks and sharp crevices broke the soft mantle of the

blueberry thickets; and on the southerly slope, where sunset and

moonrise mingled with intricate shadows, everything looked ghostlike

and unreal. On the utmost summit of the mountain a rounded peak of

white granite, smoothed by ages of storm, shone like a beacon.






The only berry-pickers that came to these high slopes of Bald Mountain

were the wild kindreds, furred and feathered. Of them all, none were

more enthusiastic and assiduous than the bears; and just now, climbing

up eagerly from the darkening woods below, came an old she-bear with

two half-grown cubs. They came up by easy paths, zigzagging past

boulder and crevice, through the ghostly, noiseless contention of

sunlight and moonlight. Now their moving shadows lay one way, now the

other; and now their shadows were suddenly wiped out, as the two

lights for a moment held an even balance. At length having reached a

little plateau where the berries were particularly large and

close-clustered, the old bear stopped, and they fell joyously to their

feeding.



On these open heights there were no enemies to keep watch against, and

there was no reason to be wary or silent. The bears fed noisily,

therefore, stripping the plump fruit cleverly by the pawful, and

munching with little, greedy grunts of delight. There was no other

food quite so to their taste as these berries, unless, perhaps, a

well-filled honey-comb. And this was their season for eating, eating,

eating, all the time, in order to lay up abundant fat against the long

severity of winter.



As the bushes about them were stripped of the best fruit, the shaggy

feasters moved around the shoulder of the mountain from the gold of

the sun into the silver of the moon. Soon the sunset had faded, and

the moon had it all her own way except for a broad expanse of

sea-green sky in the west, deepening through violet to a narrow streak

of copper on the horizon. By this time the shadows, especially on the

eastern slope, were very sharp and black, and the open spaces very

white and radiant, with a strange transparency borrowed from that

high, pure atmosphere.



It chanced that the little hollow on which the bears were just now

revelling,--a hollow where the blueberries were unbelievably large and

abundant--was bounded on its upper side, toward the steep, by a narrow

and deep crevice. At one end of the cleft, from a rocky and shallow

roothold, a gnarled birch grew slantingly. From its unusual situation,

and from the fact that the bushes grew thick to its very edge, this

crevice constituted nothing less than a most insidious trap.



One of the cubs, born with the instinct of caution, kept far away from

the dangerous brink without having more than half realized that there

was any danger there whatever. The other cub was one of those

blundering fellows, to be found among the wild kindreds no less than

among the kindreds of men, who only get caution hammered into them by

experience. He saw a narrow break, indeed, between the berry patch and

the bare steep above,--but what was a little crevice in a position

like this, where it could not amount to anything? Had it been on the

other side of the hollow, he would have feared a precipice, and would

have been on his guard. But, as it was, he never gave the matter a

second thought, because it did not look dangerous! He found the best

berries growing very near the edge of the crevice; and in his

satisfaction he turned his back to the height and settled himself

solidly upon his haunches to enjoy them. As he did so the bushes gave

way behind him, he pitched abruptly backwards, and vanished with a

squeal of terror into the narrow cleft of darkness.



The crevice was perhaps twelve feet deep, and from five to eight in

width all the way to the bottom. The bottom held a layer of earth and

dead leaves, which served to ease the cub's fall; but when he landed

the wind was so bumped out of him that for a minute or two he could

not utter a sound. As soon as he recovered his voice, however, he

began to squeal and whine piteously for his mother.



The old bear, at the sound of his cry as he fell, had rushed so

hastily to his aid that she barely escaped falling in after him.

Checking herself just in time, by digging all her mighty claws into

the roots of the blueberries, she crouched at the brink, thrust her

head as far over as she could, and peered down with anxious cries. But

when the cub's voice came back to her from the darkness she knew he

was not killed, and she also knew that he was very near,--and her

whinings changed at once to a guttural murmur that must have been

intended for encouragement. The other cub, meanwhile, had come

lumbering up with ears wisely cocked, taken a very hasty and careful

glance over the edge, and returned to his blueberries with an air of

disapproval. It was as if he said he always knew that blundering

brother of his would get himself into trouble.



For some minutes the old bear crouched where she was, straining her

eyes to make out the form of her little one. Becoming accustomed to

the gloom at last, she could discern him. She could see that he was

moving about, and standing on his hind legs, and striving valiantly to

claw his way up the perpendicular surface of smooth rock. She began to

reach downwards first one big forepaw and then the other, testing the

rock beneath her for some ledge or crack that might give her foothold

by which to climb down to his aid. Finding none, she again set up her

uneasy whining, and moved slowly along the brink, trying every inch of

the way for some place rough enough to give her strong claws a chance

to take hold. In the full, unclouded light of the white moon she was a

pathetic figure, bending and crouching and straining, and reaching

down longingly, then stopping to listen to the complaints of pain and

terror that came up out of the dark.



At last she came to the end of the crevice where grew the solitary

birch tree,--the frightened captive following exactly below her and

stretching up toward her against the rock. At this point, close beside

the tree, some roots and tough turf overhung the edge, and the old

bear's paws detected a roughness on the face of the rock just below.

This was enough for her brave and devoted heart. She turned around and

let her hind quarters carefully over the brink, intending to climb

down backwards as bears do. But beyond the first unevenness there was

absolutely nothing that her claws could take hold of. Her great body

was half way over, when she felt herself on the point of falling.

Making a sudden startled effort to recover herself, she clutched

desperately at the trunk of the birch tree with one arm, at the roots

of the berry-bushes with the other,--and just managed to regain the

level.



For herself, this mighty effort was just enough. But for the

birch-tree it was just too much. The shallow earth by which it held

gave way; and the next moment, with a clatter of loosened stones and a

swish of leafy branches, it crashed majestically down into the

crevice, closing one end of it with a mass of boughs and foliage, and

once more frightening the imprisoned cub almost out of his senses.



At the first sound of this cataclysm, at the first rattle of loose

earth about his ears, the cub had bounced madly to the other end of

the crevice, where he crouched, whimpering. The old bear, too, was

daunted for some seconds; but then, seeing that the cub was not hurt,

she was quick to perceive the advantage of the accident. Standing at

the upturned roots of the tree, she called eagerly and encouragingly

to the cub, pointing out the path of escape thus offered to him. For

some minutes he was too terrified to approach. At last she set her own

weight on the trunk, testing it, and prepared to climb down and lead

him out. At this, however, the youngster's nerve revived. With a

joyful and understanding squeal, he rushed forward, sprawled and

clawed his way over the tangle of branches, gained the firm

trunk,--and presently found himself again beside his mother among the

pleasant, moonlit berry-bushes. Here he was fondled and nosed and

licked and nursed by the delighted mother, till his bruised little

body forgot its hurts and his shaken little heart its fears. His

cautious brother, too, came up with a wise look and sniffed at him

patronizingly; but went away again with his nose in the air, as if to

say that here was much fuss being made over a very small matter.





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