he little one, whose name was Ailbe, lived with the
baby wolves, sharing their breakfast and dinner and supper, playing and
quarreling and growing up with them. The wolf-mother took good care of
him and saw that he had the best of everything, for she loved him dearly
indeed. And Ailbe grew stronger and stronger, taller and taller,
handsomer and handsomer every day, living his happy life in the wild
woods of green Ireland.

Now one day, a year or two after this, a hunter came riding over the
mountain on his way home from the chase, and he happened to pass near
the cave where Ailbe and the wolves lived. As he was riding along under
the trees he saw a little white creature run across the path in front of
him. At first he thought it was a rabbit; but it was too big for a
rabbit, and besides it did not hop. The hunter jumped down from his
horse and ran after the funny animal to find out what it was. His long
legs soon overtook it in a clump of bushes where it was hiding, and
imagine the hunter's surprise when he found that it had neither fur nor
horns nor four feet nor a tail, but that it was a beautiful child who
could not stand upright, and whose little bare body ran on all-fours
like a baby wolf! It was little Ailbe, the wolf-mother's pet, who had
grown so fast that he was almost able to take care of himself. But he
was not quite able, the hunter thought; and he said to himself that he
would carry the poor little thing home to his kind wife, that she might
take care of him. So he caught Ailbe up in his arms, kicking and
squealing and biting like the wild little animal he was, and wrapped him
in a corner of his great cloak. Then he jumped on his horse with a
chirrup and galloped away out of the woods towards his village.

But Ailbe did not want to leave his forest home, the wolf-den, and his
little wolf brothers. Especially he did not want to leave his dear
foster mother. So he screamed and struggled to get away from the big
hunter, and he called to the wolves in their own language to come and
help him. Then out of the forest came bounding the great mother wolf
with her four children, now grown to be nearly as big as herself. She
chased after the fleeting horse and snapped at the loose end of the
huntsman's cloak, howling with grief and anger. But she could not catch
the thief, nor get back her adopted son, the little smooth-skinned
foundling. So after following them for miles, the five wolves gradually
dropped further an