"I know a good many. I make them up for Charley sometimes."
"I wish you'd tell me one."
"It will have to be a short one then," said Mr. Joyce, glancing at his watch. "Bright, will you see about having my horse brought round? I must be off in ten minutes or so." Then, turning to Eyebright,—"I'll tell you about Peter and the Wolves, if you like. That's the shortest story I know."
"Oh, do! I like stories about wolves so much," said Eyebright, settling herself comfortably to listen.
"Little Peter lived with his grandmother in a wood," began Mr. Joyce in a prompt way, as of one who has a good deal of business to get through in brief time.
"They lived all alone. He hadn't any other boys to play with, but once in a great while his grandmother let him go to the other side of the wood, where some boys lived, and play with them. Peter was glad when his grandmother said he might go.
"One day in the autumn, he said: 'Grandmother, may I go and see William and Jack?' Those were the names of the other boys.
"'Yes,' she said, 'you can go, if you will promise to come home at four o'clock. It gets dark early, and I am afraid to have you in the wood later than that.'
"So Peter promised. He had a nice time with William and Jack, and at four o'clock he started to go home; for he was a boy of his word.
"As he went along, suddenly, on the path before him, he saw a most beautiful gray squirrel, with a long bushy tail.