little woodman and his dog Caesar,
felt that we too, for aught we knew, were to pass through a time of
terror, as did he.

In an instant the incidents of that story rose before me like living
pictures. The death of little William's father, his cruel brothers
banding together, and taking him three days' journey into the forest,
just to be free of him, to let him die of hunger or what not, shutting
up his only friend, his trusty dog Caesar, at home. Their stealing away
on the third night while he slept, his awakening, his long, weary
waiting for their return during the day, his terror at nightfall. Then I
saw him praying, as the weird sounds of the wood made his little heart
quake. Then followed the unmistakable howl of the wolves, his flight
hither and thither, his climbing a tree to be safe from the hideous
animals, and his seeing a light while there. Next, I saw him rushing
toward it, a wolf on his track, the glare of fiery eyes behind him, the
pat of feet, the panting breath; the river which barred his progress,
and stayed his flying, stumbling, uncertain feet; the leaping of the
animal on his back, which proved to be his dear little dog Caesar, broke
loose from home, and come to find him; Caesar's fight with a wolf which
followed, and, oh, joy! his coming upon his grandmother's cottage, to
home and safety. Tears rushed to my eyes as it all rose before me.

"Let us hide away in the copse," said I, for I fancied that growling,
wailing sound came sweeping up to us from over the downs.

"I think if we could get out on the other side, that would be our way
home," said I to my wee brother, as we groped and threaded our way.

But the other side of the copse was like this side, a tangle, a mystery;
we were like two birds caught in a net. We sat down and cried bitterly.

And now there was a stirring among the bushes, and that howling,
moaning, fearful sound seemed now upon us, now afar, till it lost itself
in space. Crash, crash, crash, came something through the brambles and
bushes, and, as by instinct, we leaped to our feet and ran. None but a
child knows a child's terror: so weak, so puny, so unaccustomed to rely
on itself for protection, for a means to escape from danger and peril.
Hand in hand, we rushed forward like the wandering babes in the wood;
now we fell, tripped up by a root of a tree; now that moan swept over
us, that terrible moan more like a roar, and we were on our feet,
scudding on as before.

On, on,