He took the gray body up in his arms and hugged it tenderly, but it made no response.  Then, laying it down again on the leaves, he drew from his basket a crust of bread which he had brought to nibble while he walked. (It is such fun to have something to nibble when one goes for a ramble in the woods!) John ran to the brook which babbled close by, and, dipping the bread in the water until it was soft, returned to put some in the mouth of the little gray thing that lay so pitifully on the leaves.

“Eat, little brother!” said John.

Brutus looked on gravely.  The puppy opened its mouth feebly and swallowed a bit of bread.  After the first taste it grew eager, and began to nibble hungrily.  John gave it all he had, and was overjoyed to see it gradually gain strength.  But still it could not stand on its weak little legs.

“We must take him home, Brutus,” said John.  “We will make him well and strong, then we shall have another little dog to be your baby brother.”

Brutus said nothing, though perhaps he knew better.  Presently he was trotting homeward; tracing backward, as no human being could have done, the winding way by which they had come through the dense forest.  Behind him came John, carrying the little gray creature tenderly in his arms, and with the basket full of flowers on his back.  And so at last they reached the hut, in the door of which stood the Hermit, shading his eyes and looking anxiously for them.

“My son!” he cried gladly when they appeared.  “You were gone so long that I feared you were lost, even with Brutus to guide you.  It is after sundown.  Where have you been, and what do you bring there?”

“We have been—­I know not where,” said John; “farther than I have gone since I came to the forest.  It must be near the homes of men.  For see!  We have found a little dog!  His brothers were lying dead beside him; I think they were starved to death.  But this one lives, and some day I hope he will grow into a big dog like Brutus,—­though indeed he does not look much like him now!”

So John prattled eagerly, laying the little creature in the old man’s arms.  But the Hermit looked at it and looked again.  Then he smiled at John.

“Ah, Son!” he said.  “This will never be a dog like Brutus.  You have brought home a baby wolf!”

“A wolf!” cried John.  “He looks quite like a puppy, and he is gentle, too!”

“They are much alike,” said the Hermit.  “You saved this poor little cub in good time, John.  He is very weak.  Probably his mother was killed by some hunters, who left her little ones there to starve.  That is what they do, John, never stopping to think what suffering they cause.  But let us now feed this little fellow with warm milk, and we shall soon have him as gay as ever.  I am glad that you brought him, John.  We needed a wolf-brother in our kingdom.”

“But, Father! a wolf!” cried John, with a shudder.  He had not forgotten the horror of his first night alone in the forest, and the long howl which had made him lose his senses.  “Oh, will he not grow big and eat us up, my father?  Yes; that was why Brutus acted so strangely.  He knew it was no puppy, although I told him so.”