COMING SHADOWS.
A FEW evenings after this conversation, Matthew having finished his
task somewhat earlier than usual, little Bessie, who generally acted as
spokeswoman, ventured to approach him, and ask timidly whether he had
ever seen a wolf.
"I can't say that I ever did," replied her father.
Bessie looked wistfully into his face with round wondering eyes.
"Don't tease her any more, Matthew," pleaded Mrs. Reardon. "Tell her
what you meant."
"I'm not teasing her; am I, Bess? Why, I thought that you would have
forgotten all about the wolf long ago."
"We only wanted to know what it was like, father," said Bessie.
"Don't you trouble your head about that, little one," replied Matthew;
"you'll know soon enough."
But the children were not so easily satisfied.
"Suppose we ask teacher on Sunday," suggested Polly. "You ask, Bessie."
Accordingly, when Sunday came, the children, having waited till the
lessons were over and Miss Maberley was at leisure to attend to them,
Bessie asked her if she would have the kindness to tell them what a
wolf was like.
Miss Maberley smiled as she looked down upon their little eager faces.
It was a strange question, she thought; but then Bessie was one of
those children who are continually asking those strange child's
questions to which it is frequently so very difficult to reply. Not,
that there was any difficulty about this one. It was a pity Miss
Maberley did not ask them why they wanted to know. It might have saved
those poor children much after-suffering. But she never thought of
doing so.
"The wolf," she said, "is something like the dog, only the head is more
square. They have, indeed, been called by some writers wild dogs. Their
hair is generally of a grey colour, except in very cold countries,
where it is white. It has large teeth, and a harsh loud bark, while the
expression of the face, besides being fierce and cruel, is very cunning
and crafty. Some day, if you remind me, I will bring a picture of one
to show you."
"Do wolves eat people up?" asked little Bessie, in a frightened tone.
"I am afraid they do when they are hungry. They are said to come forth,
for the most part, on dark and cloudy days, in order to escape the more
easily."
"Where do the wolves go?" asked little Bessie, trembling with fear.
"Home, I suppose, to their dens," replied Miss Maberley, with a smile.
"Please, teacher, is there anything about the wolves in the Bible?"
asked Polly, in a whisper.
"Yes," answered Miss Maberley. "Jeremiah and other speak of them as the
evening wolves, probably from their being more hungry, and therefore
more dangerous, then. There is also mention made of the blessed time
when the wolf shall dwell with the lamb, and Messiah shall reign over
the whole earth. But you are too young to understand that at present.
St. John mentions the wolf in connection with the hireling and the good
shepherd. But you had better go home now. It is growing late, and your
mother will wonder what has become of you."
With a timid glance at the fast-gathering twilight, the children
thanked their kind teacher, and taking each other by the hand, ran
quickly through the gloomy streets and up the wide staircase, without
pausing to take breath, until they found themselves in their own room,
where Matthew and his wife sat dozing over the little bit of fire,
which looked as if it had gone to sleep also.
"Hulloa!" exclaimed the former, starting awake as the children burst
into the room. "Who's that?"
"It's only Polly and me, father," replied Bessie, in a trembling voice.
"What a noise you made. I declare I thought it was the wolf."
"Oh, Matthew," interposed his wife, as she stirred the fire into a
cheerful blaze.
"Well, we won't say any more about him; will we, little ones?"
The children tried to smile as they gathered round the dim fire.
"How the evenings draw in," observed Mrs. Reardon. "You are later, too,
than usual."
"Yes, mother," said Polly. "We stayed to talk to Miss Maberley."
"What did she want to say to you?"
"It was we who wanted to say something to her," answered Polly.
"What could that be?" said their mother.
Polly hesitated, and looked at her little sister.
"Come, Bess, out with it," exclaimed Matthew. "Let us hear this
wonderful secret."
"It is no secret, father," replied the child. "Polly and me only wanted
to ask her about the wolf."
"The wolf again," exclaimed Matthew, much amused. "It was Bess who
began it this time, mother. Well, and what did she say?"
"I can't remember all, father," answered the child, gravely, "and I
don't think I want to—only that it was something like a dog, with grey
hair, and large teeth, and a terrible voice."
"Grey hair," repeated her father. "I suppose by that it must have been
an old wolf she was describing."
"I don't know that," said Polly reflectively, "for she told us
afterwards that in cold countries the hair was white."
"Quite venerable, I declare," continued Matthew; "the cold in all
probability causing them to live to a good old age."
"You would not have laughed, father, if you had heard all that Miss
Mahoney said," observed Polly, earnestly.
"Shouldn't I? What was it, Polly?"
"About the wolves being so cruel and cunning, and coming out on dark
days, or in the evening, as hungry as could be, and eating up every one
who came in their way. You tell, Bessie; you always remember the best."
"I don't want to remember," repeated the child, shuddering. "But do you
really think it is true, father?"
"Quite true. When the dark days come, yes, that's the time for them to
be prowling about. And let the wolf once get his feet over a poor man's
threshold, and there is little chance of escape. What, tears!" added
he, as the child laid her head against his knees, and began to cry. "He
shan't get in here to hurt my little Bessie while her father's alive.
Well keep him out, never fear."
Mrs. Reardon was not one of those wives who are always saying to
their husbands, "I told you how it would be." All she did was to make
haste and get the tea ready, together with the unwonted addition of a
plate of buttered toast, over which the children soon grew cheerful,
forgetting for the time all their fears and troubles as children only
can.
Neither did she refer to the subject afterwards when they had gone to
bed in the little closet before mentioned, leaving Matthew and his wife
sitting out the dim fire, apparently occupied by their own thoughts, or
occasionally exchanging a few words—but never reading, or praying, or
once remembering that it was the Lord's day, and not theirs, which was
now quietly drawing to a close.
Presently Mrs. Reardon asked her husband whether he was ready to go to
bed.
"Not just yet," was the reply.
His wife flung a shawl over her shoulders, and shivered with the cold.
After a time she spoke again.
"It must be nearly eleven o'clock, Matthew."
"What's the use of going to bed?" demanded her husband. "I'm all right
here, but the moment I lie down, I begin to cough."
"I think your cough seems worse than usual of late," said Mrs. Reardon,
anxiously.
"I don't know about its being worse, but it's bad enough. The end of it
will be that I shall have to sit up all night."
"I hope not. But this cold room will not do it any good."
"I wish I knew what would do it good," said Matthew.
"Does it hurt you?" asked Mrs. Reardon.
"Not very much; but it hinders me from sleeping, and unfits me for my
work next day. Not that I should mind the pain in my head and side if
it did not make my hand shake so. I have been expecting them to find
fault with my writing every time I take it back."
"Could you not have some advice about your cough?"
"Plenty, I dare say, if I had only the money to pay for it. Or I might
go to some hospital or dispensary, and make it worse, perhaps, waiting
about hour after hour in the cold, besides losing a day's work."
"You have had your cough a long time, Matthew," said his wife.
"Long enough to get used to it," was the reply; "anyhow, grumbling
won't mend it. It will have to go as it came."
Several times that night, the frightened children in their little bed
awoke with a start at the sound of that deep hollow cough, and fancied
that they heard the wolf at the door.