"Hulloa, children!" exclaimed Matthew. "How is this? You ought to have been in bed long ago."
"Poor things!" said their mother. "It is not much later than usual. How white you both look, and how cold your hands are—and no fire to warm them," added she, with a sigh.
"They will be warm enough in bed," said Matthew. "Come, off with you, little ones. What is it, Bess?" added he, touched with the earnest and wistful expression of the child's face.
"Oh, father," exclaimed she, nestling closer to him, "do you think that you shall be able to keep it out?"
"Keep what out?"
"The wolf, father," was the whispered reply.
Matthew thought for a moment, and then a strange rare smile passed over his face.
"You have been listening," said he.
"We could not help it, father. The cinders fell out of the fire and woke us up; and then we heard you telling mother that there was a wolf at the door, and that you meant to try hard to keep him out. Was he really at our door, father?"
"I am afraid he was very near it."