Soon he leaped in at the door, the little red sleigh bouncing after
him. The dog was in shafts and harness. Over the sleigh was a
tiny cover of sail-cloth shaped like that of a prairie schooner.
Bouncing over the door-step had waked its traveller, and there was
a loud voice of complaint in the little cavern of sail-cloth.
Peering in, they saw only the long fur of a gray wolf. Beneath it
a very small boy lay struggling with straps that held him down.
Allen loosed them and took him out of the sleigh, a ragged but
handsome youngster with red cheeks and blue eyes and light, curly
hair. He was near four years of age then, but big and strong as
any boy of five. He stood rubbing his eyes a minute, and the dog
came over and licked his face, showing fondness acquired they knew
not where. Mrs. Allen took the boy in her lap and petted him, but
he was afraid--like a wild fawn that has just been captured--and
broke away and took refuge under the bed. A long time she sat by
her bedside with the candle, showing him trinkets and trying to
coax him out. He ceased to cry when she held before him a big,
shiny locket of silver, and soon his little hand came out to grasp
it. Presently she began to reach his confidence with sugar. There
was a moment of silence, then strange words came out of his
hiding-place. "Anah jouhan" was all they could make of them, and
they remembered always that odd combination of sounds. They gave
him food, which he ate with eager haste. Then a moment of silence
and an imperative call for more in some strange tongue. When at
last he came out of his hiding-place, he fled from the woman. This
time he sought refuge between the knees of Allen, where soon his
fear gave way to curiosity, and he began to feel her face and gown.
By and by he fell asleep.