stories."
"Well," said Ralph, slowly. "I've been a little afraid of some of them
myself. He _couldn't_ pull up a tree he was in, _could_ he, grandma?"
"I don't believe he could, unless he pulled pretty hard. I remember _my_
uncle Henry used to tell a wolf story when I was a little girl. He said
that one day, when he lived in Vermont, two wolves came after him, and
he ran as fast as he could. By-and-by he began to get tired. Just then
he came to a big rock, half as big as a house, and leaped upon it. The
wolves were close behind, and so furious that they were almost or quite
blind. One rushed around the rock one way, and the other the other way.
They met on the farther side, and each thought he had caught Uncle
Henry, and they began to fight like cats and dogs. Pretty soon they
stopped to rest, and saw their mistake, and Uncle Henry said he never
saw two wolves look so disgusted."
"Do you believe _that_ story?" asked Ralph.
"Well," answered grandma, "it does seem to have its hard points. I think
he may have stretched it a little."
"Tell me a true wolf story, grandma," pleaded Ralph.
"I'm afraid I don't know any more wolf stories--except the one about
Little Red Riding-hood. Once on a time--"
"Oh, I've heard that, grandma. Tell me another about your uncle Henry."
"Well, another time, when Uncle Henry was living in Vermont a long time
ago, two wolves came and sat down on his door-step. His house was a
little log cabin with only one door. It was a very cold winter, with
deep snow, so there wasn't much for wolves to eat. These two wolves were
pretty hungry, and they thought that they would wait on the door-step
till Uncle Henry came out, and just eat him for dinner, and perhaps stir
around and get the stage-driver for supper, and depend on luck for
breakfast the next morning.
"Uncle Henry happened to look out of the window and saw the two wolves
sitting on the door-step; so he just staid in and said nothing. He staid
in and kept on saying nothing for two whole days, and still those wolves
sat there and waited for dinner to serve itself. They were friendly for
a long time, and sat facing each other, discussing the weather and other
things, I suppose; but after a while, when they began to get pretty
hungry, they had a little tiff, and turned their backs on each other.
Then Uncle Henry took a clothes-pin, reached through the crack under the
door, and slipped it on their tails where they crossed just as cool as
if he had been pinning a wet stocking on a clothes-line. It held their
tails together like a vise. 'Stop pinching my tail,' said one wolf.
'You--'"
"Now, grandma!" broke in Ralph, reprovingly.
"I'm telling this story just as Uncle Henry told it to me when I was a
little girl. I don't suppose he meant that the wolf really _said_ that
out loud, but _thought_ it, and _looked_ it. 'Let go my tail,' said one
wolf; and he scowled over his shoulder at the other. 'Quit pinching _my_
tail,' said the other; and _he_ looked over _his_ shoulder and scowled.
Then they sprang at each other, and began to fight as hard as they knew
how. Uncle Henry said he never heard such a noise in his life. But after
a while it became all still, and he went out; but he couldn't find
anything except a little wolf fur floating about in the air, and the
clothes-pin; so he concluded that they had either fought each other
completely out of existence, or got tired out and gone off."
H. C.