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CHAPTER XV.—THE GRAY WOLVES.
“That’s what I heard,” exclaimed the Boy at the Valley Farm. “Wolves! Imagine! I didn’t suppose they ever came into these woods.”
“It’s been an unusual winter,” his father assured him, stepping out into the snowy barn-yard. “I saw them once when I was ten years old. But I thought they had been driven away for good. I suppose the rabbits all froze, up where they come from, and they got so starved they were driven to it. They’ve certainly been chasing these deer.”
For as their eyes became accustomed to the snowy darkness, they could once more see the shadowy forms of Fleet Foot and the fawns by the hay-mow.
“It must have been those wolves that I heard ten minutes back,” said the Farmer, rubbing his unmittened hands together.
“Just see how hollow these poor things look!” exclaimed the Boy. “They must be starving. Let’s go back inside, so they won’t be afraid.”
They met the Hired Man just starting forth with his gun. “I’m going for those wolves,” he hastened to explain.