“They hear him, ma’am, and if we were to let them out, would soon be at him. No, no, John, sit still and put down your rifle: we can’t afford to hurt wolves; their skins won’t fetch a half-dollar, and their flesh is not fit for a dog, let alone a Christian. Let the vermin howl till he’s tired; he’ll be off to the woods again before daylight.”
“There is certainly something very melancholy and dreadful to me in that howl,” said Emma; “it frightens me.”
“What, Emma, afraid?” said Alfred, going to her; “why yes, really she trembles; why, my dear Emma, do you recollect how frightened you and Mary were at the noise of the frogs when you first came here; you got used to it very soon, and so you will to the howl of a wolf.”
“There is some difference, Alfred,” replied Emma, shuddering as the howl was repeated. “I don’t know how it is,” said she, rallying her spirits, “but I believe it was reading Little Red Riding Hood when I was a child, which has given me such a horror of a wolf; I shall get over it very soon, I have no doubt.”
“I must say, that it does not create the most agreeable sensation in my mind,” observed Mrs Campbell, “but I was aware of what we were to encounter when we came here, and if it is only to be annoyed with the cry of a wild beast, we may consider that we get off very cheaply.”
“I should feel much more at ease, if all the rifles were loaded,” said Mary Percival, in her usual quiet way.
“And I too,” said Emma.
“Well, then, if that will at all relieve your minds, it is easily done,” said Mr Campbell; “let us all load our rifles, and put them back in their rests.”
“Mine’s loaded,” said John.