They were very willing to hear my adventures, but when I came to the two balls of fire, and the heavy animal who had made himself my blanket, they ventured to laugh out and say I was trying to impose a traveller’s tale on them.
They were still laughing when my eyes fell on my great-coat, which was hanging on a chair, and I at once remarked a number of yellowish brown hairs clinging to it.
This was proof positive, and I was more of a hero than ever.
The next morning, when all of us travellers assembled for our simple breakfast, the young monk who had discovered me—and whom I still look up to, and I am glad he and his companions live high up in the mountains above us all—the young monk had a tale to tell. Out of curiosity he had gone down to the cave, which was a very little way from the convent, and in it he had found an immense wolf frozen and stark dead, for the cold of the night had been intense.
And I am not afraid to tell you that I felt very sorry the poor old wolf was dead, and I don’t think you will think any the worse of me for being sorry.
I went down myself to see the poor old fellow, and I declare he looked as large as a calf; as for his fangs, I do think they would have gone through a deal board.
Well, and now how do you think I am going to end the story?
Why, I’ve got the old fellow now.
Oh no; he was really frozen to death, and didn’t come to life again; but I begged his body of the monks, had him skinned there and then, brought the skin home and had it stuffed; and I can tell you when I come into the room where he has a berth, and the sun is shining on his glass eyes, I often find myself giving a start, as if he were still alive and able to eat me up.