ead the ooze for a couple of
yards ahead of them, the mother could no longer discriminate as to
what lay beneath it. She could do nothing now but dash ahead blindly.
Catching up the cub between her jaws, in a grip that made him squeal,
she launched herself straight toward shore, hardly daring to let her
feet rest an instant where they touched. Fortune favoured her in this
rush. She got ahead of the tide. She gained upon it, perhaps twice her
body's length. Then she paused, to drop the cub. But the pause was
fatal. She began to sink instantly. She had come upon a "honey-pot" of
stiffer consistency than the rest, which had sustained her while she
was in swift motion, but now, in return for that support, clutched her
in a grip the more inexorable. With all her huge strength she strained
to wrench herself clear. But in vain. She had no purchase. There was
nothing to put forth her strength upon. In her terror and despair she
squealed aloud, with her snout high in air as if appealing to the
blank, blue, empty sky. The cub, terror-stricken, strove to clamber
upon her back.

That harsh cry of hers, however, was but the outburst of one moment's
weakness. The next moment the indomitable old bear was striving
silently and systematically to release herself. She would wrench one
great fore arm clear, lift it high, and feel about for a solid
foundation beneath the ooze. Failing in this, she would yield that paw
to the enemy again, tear the other loose, and feel about for a
foothold in another direction. At the same time she drew out her body
to its full length, and lay flat, so that she might gain as much
support as possible by distributing her weight. Because of this
sagacity, and because the mire at this point had more substance than
in most of the other "honey-pots," she made a good fight, and almost,
but not quite, held her own. By the time the tide had once more
overtaken her she had sunk but a little way, and was still far from
giving up the unequal struggle.

Yet for all the great beast's strength, and valour, and devotion,
there could have been but one end to that brave battle, and mother and
cub would have disappeared, in a few minutes more, under the stealthy,
whispering onrush of the flood, had not the whimsical Providence--or
Hazard--of the Wild come curiously to their aid. Among the jetsam of
those restless Fundy tides almost anything that will float may appear,
from a matchbox to a barn. What appeared just now was a b