"It was not long before we arrived at the house of the sick woman, and as Carry said she was not cold, and would rather not get out, I left her to hold the horse while I took the basket into the house. There was no one in the house but the man and his wife, who was a poor, feeble, sickly creature, but very good and industrious. I had often carried them provisions before, and knew them very well. Indeed, the man worked for my grandfather, but he had not been down for three or four days, and we supposed his wife must be worse."
"'She has been very bad for two or three days,' said John, in answer to my question, 'and I think she is out of her head. She has got the notion that the Cedar swamp is full of wolves, and nothing can drive it out of her. I am afraid to leave her for fear she should go into fits.'"
"'Poor thing!' said I. 'What a pity she should have taken such a fancy!' I spoke in a low tone, but the sick woman heard me."
"'It is no fancy!' said she, raising herself upon her elbow and looking earnestly at me. 'I tell you I have heard them for two nights, coming nearer and nearer—nearer and nearer—through the swamp. I know what they want, well enough—they smell a death in the house.'"
"'Well, well, Huldah, don't you worry about it,' said John, tenderly. 'We have got plenty of firewood, and powder and ball, and I won't leave you a moment till you feel better. You see how it is,' he added, in a low voice, following me to the door. 'I can't possibly leave her, till there is a change somehow. I wish, if it isn't too much, you would ask the old lady to ride up and see her. I am afraid she isn't long for this world.'"
"'I am sure grandmother will come,' said I. 'She talked of doing so to-day, but we have company. But you don't really think Huldah hears the wolves, do you?'"
"'O no! It is just possible she might, though. The snow is very deep up north, and the wolves may have driven down the deer. But we have had no wolves to signify in this neighborhood since the hard winter five years ago.'"
"'But I should think you would have heard them if she did,' I remarked.
"'Well, I don't know. Sick people's ears are apt to be sharp, and I am rather hard of hearing. I expect, however, that what she takes for the noise of wolves is the sighing of the wind through the trees.'"
"I repeated my promise of bringing my grandmother up as soon as possible, and went back to the cutter. I did not myself believe the sick woman had heard the wolves, and I did not mention the matter to Carry at all. She had a kind of superstitious horror of wolves; they seemed to be almost the only thing she was afraid of, and I feared the mere thought of them would spoil her ride. So we chatted on about all sorts of things as we rode from one house to another, and by the time we reached the Jones' settlement, as it was called, I had forgotten all about the matter myself."