“The Wolf-Maiden returned no more to the Indian village; retaining her wolf form, she abode with her own mother. But all through the cold of the terrible winter, the wolves brought down the game, and supplied the wants of the children; and when the winter was gone, and the birds sang on the ridgepoles of the tepees, the Wolf-King, his mother, sister, and tribe removed far to the north land. Ever after, the wolf was venerated in the tribe and was chosen as their totem.”
X.
HE WAS A PRINCE.
The rain had poured down steadily all day. Max was tired and depressed, for a slight cold made going out into the rain impossible. All the books had been read and re-read. There was no one to amuse him but Candace, the nurse, a mulatto woman of dignified and solemn mien, who always reminded him of Thorwaldsen’s “Africa,” for her large eyes had a far-away look, “As if she were remembering things,” Max said.
She was kind, but seldom talked to him; and as Max had no mother to tell his thoughts to, they would sit for an hour at a time, dreaming their own dreams, neither speaking to the other.
As the afternoon wore on, Max grew more and more restless and his sighs more frequent. Nurse Candace glanced up from her sewing, but said nothing.
Just then the great white cat, “Necho” by name, rose up from his dark red velvet cushion, yawned wearily, stretched himself, and stepped with stately grace from the room.
“Why! he walks like a prince,” said Max.
“He is a prince at night,” said Candace.
“Is he? How do you know?” eagerly asked Max.