Little Pine was half asleep by the time he got home. But he revived as he shared supper with his mother and told her about all the adventures his day had held.
Every day was an adventure, of course. You never knew when you got up in the morning what the hours would hold. But Festival season seemed to overflow with surprises.
Mother Pine laughed at her son’s stories. He was having such a happy time meeting and greeting all the guests as they arrived. She was proud of him, too, for taking time to help the elves before he went to meet the bears. He had a good heart, she thought, a heart full of kindness.
By the time he finished telling her about Penelope the Pony, Little Pine was yawning. His mother gave him a small maple leaf candy for dessert and then tucked him in for the night, kissing his forehead and wishing him sweet dreams.
He fell instantly asleep.
Then, long about midnight, he woke to a moonless sky glistening with stars. As he lay there gazing at their beauty and thinking about how marvelous it was just to be alive, a faint sound of music floated across the pond. It was quiet, but very rich, and like nothing he had ever heard before.
It went on for a while and then stopped. His mind was still trying to figure out what it was and where it was coming from when it began again. Drawn by its haunting beauty, he decided to follow it to its source. He stood at the edge of the pond and listened. It seemed to be coming from Grandfather Pine’s end of the pond, from the bears’ encampment. As he headed in that direction, he almost felt as if he were floating on the enchanting sound.
Then it stopped again. And he stood still, wondering if he was really awake or if this was a dream. No, he was pretty sure he was awake. He kept walking toward the camp and after a short while a new song started. He was even more curious now about what it could be.
When he got to the camp, he saw a light gleaming from the big clearing behind the main cave. Quietly, he tiptoed toward it, all the while lost in the wonder of the sound. At the edge of the clearing, he stopped and parted the branches of a tree just as the music stopped again. And what he saw astonished him.
Dozens of bears were seated in a big semi-circle, quiet, and gently smiling. Sugar Bear stood before them with a wand of some kind in her paw. “Very good,” she was saying to them. “You’re getting better with every song.” The bears’ smiles broadened and their eyes twinkled at her praise.
“For this next one, I’d like the younger girl bears to sing with just a bit more volume so their part sounds as if its dancing atop the rest. Let’s imagine that their notes are snowflakes falling, and that the older girl bears are the treetops, and the boys are the woods, the earth and its waters.”
She smiled at them, tapped her wand on a little log in front of her, then raised it in the air. Every bear was watching her intently. When she began to move the wand, the young girl bears began to sing a high, sparkling line of music. Then softly, the others chimed in and the song grew in depth and richness. It was a song about peace, and comfort, and joy—a perfect song for bears to sing, Little Pine thought.
He stood perfectly still, listening, and his heart filled with sweetness and love.
When the song finished, he turned to tiptoe away, casting one last glance in Sugar Bear’s direction. He could hear her voice giving the choir more direction and he thought she sounded like the brook in springtime as it danced over the pebbles.
His eyes were filled with happy tears as he once again returned to sleep. This was the best Festival season ever, he thought, and he fell asleep with a smile on his face and the sound of distant singing floating through his boughs.