ost heart.

At last, in spite of all his efforts to keep awake, the weary child was
dropping off to sleep, when his ear, as yet but half closed, was caught
by a dog-trot sort of a noise in the leaves quite near at hand. Rousing
with a start and looking out, the boy saw there a wolf--gray, grim and
gaunt, with eyes that glared upon him through the dusky shades, like
balls of red fire, rather than eyes. Sprigg was on the point of
screaming again to pap for help, when he bethought him of the moccasins,
and glancing down and perceiving that they had turned their toes toward
the monster, he choked himself into silence. Though he still feared
them, he had, by this time, learned to trust the red moccasins, and now
felt assured that they would defend him against the wolf as they had
done against the bull and the cat. Nor was he mistaken. Just as Wild
Tray of the Woods would have made his spring and sprang on the boy, the
moccasins made their spring and sprang on the wolf, driving directly at
his ugly eyes, with a kick into each, which brought the red fire
flashing out into the darkness. Back, with a terrified howl, cowered the
monster, and spinning swiftly 'round, vanished like the bison and the
wild-cat, with a blind leap over the precipice. But this time, when the
moccasins came back, a voice came with them; a new voice, whose tones,
gentle and kind, reminded the poor boy of his mother's, and thus the new
voice spoke:

"Now our Sprigg must feel assured he may trust us. Then sleep, poor boy!
You are weary, faint and sick at heart, and have but too much need of
rest! A friend is here, who will watch over you and keep you safe from
harm. Then, sleep, poor child, sleep!" And with these words the forlorn
little castaway felt a tiny hand laid upon his head, and with a touch so
gentle that a gush of soft, warm, grateful tears came welling up from
his overburdened heart; and straightway a sense of rest and slumber
stole over his spirit, and he sank into a deep sleep. Just then the moon
wheeled up from behind the forest-bound East, and shot her first silver
arrows, long-and level, against the shaggy breast of the giant hill.
Round-faced, she was, and as bright as moon could well be, not to make
day of night; for, be it borne in mind, that it was still the first of
June, though gone the joyous sun, who had been blazing the thing to the
world the livelong day.

The boy had slept but an hour or so, when he was aroused by a voice,
whos