So John prattled eagerly, laying the little creature in the old man's
arms. But the Hermit looked at it and looked again. Then he smiled at
John.

"Ah, Son!" he said. "This will never be a dog like Brutus. You have
brought home a baby wolf!"

"A wolf!" cried John. "He looks quite like a puppy, and he is gentle,
too!"

"They are much alike," said the Hermit. "You saved this poor little
cub in good time, John. He is very weak. Probably his mother was
killed by some hunters, who left her little ones there to starve. That
is what they do, John, never stopping to think what suffering they
cause. But let us now feed this little fellow with warm milk, and we
shall soon have him as gay as ever. I am glad that you brought him,
John. We needed a wolf-brother in our kingdom."

"But, Father! a wolf!" cried John, with a shudder. He had not
forgotten the horror of his first night alone in the forest, and the
long howl which had made him lose his senses. "Oh, will he not grow
big and eat us up, my father? Yes; that was why Brutus acted so
strangely. He knew it was no puppy, although I told him so."

"It is quite safe to keep him, John," said the Hermit. "We cannot turn
him out to starve, for he is too young to care for himself. You will
see to-morrow that he will play like any puppy. Brutus and he will be
great friends,--they are relatives already. Once upon a time Brutus
had a wolf for his ancestor. And as we ourselves know not from whom we