continued to rock and heave--and that was all. After a little, Baree
drew himself back into the bushes and went on.

It was about three o'clock in the afternoon, and the sun should still
have been well up in the sky. But it was growing darker steadily, and
the strangeness and fear of it all lent greater speed to Baree's legs.
He stopped every little while to listen, and at one of these intervals
he heard a sound that drew from him a responsive and joyous whine. It
was a distant howl--a wolf's howl--straight ahead of him. Baree was not
thinking of wolves but of Kazan, and he ran through the gloom of the
forest until he was winded. Then he stopped and listened a long time.
The wolf howl did not come again. Instead of it there rolled up from
the west a deep and thunderous rumble. Through the tree-tops there
flashed a vivid streak of lightning. A moaning whisper of wind rode in
advance of the storm. The thunder sounded nearer; and a second flash of
lightning seemed searching Baree out where he stood shivering under a
canopy of great spruce.

This was his second storm. The first had frightened him terribly, and
he had crawled far back into the shelter of the windfall. The best he
could find now was a hollow under a big root, and into this he slunk,
crying softly. It was a babyish cry, a cry for his mother, for home,
for warmth, for something soft and protecting to nestle up to. And as
he cried, the storm burst over the forest.

Baree had never before heard so much noise, and he had never seen the
lightning play in such sheets of fire as when this June deluge fell. It
seemed at times as though the whole world were aflame, and the earth
seemed to shake and roll under the crashes of the thunder. He ceased
his crying and made himself as small as he could under the root, which