“Wolf, wolf, wolf!” shouted Jean.  “Wolf, wolf, wolf!” He was only a little boy, but he was brave and his voice rang clear as a bugle call over the valley, and over the hill, “Wolf, wolf, wolf!”

The shepherds and knights and the king himself came running and riding to answer his cry, and as for the gray wolf, he did not even stop to look behind him as he sped away to the forest shades.  He ran so fast and he ran so far that he was never seen in the king’s country again, though the shepherds in the pastures watched for him day after day.

Jean led his flock home at eventide, white sheep and black sheep and frolicsome lambs, not one was missing.

“Was the day long?” asked his mother, who was watching in the doorway for him.

“Are the sheep all in?” called the sick father.

“Did the wolf come?” said the old grandfather; but there is no need for me to tell you what Jean said.  You can imagine that for yourself.

[*] From “More Mother Stories,” by Maud Lindsay.  Used by permission of the author and the publishers—­the Milton Bradley Company.

BABOUSCKA[*]

Russian Legend

It was the night the dear Christ Child came to Bethlehem.  In a country far away from Him, an old, old woman named Babouscka sat in her snug little house by her warm fire.  The wind was drifting the snow outside and howling down the chimney, but it only made Babouscka’s fire burn more brightly.

“How glad I am that I may stay indoors!” said Babouscka, holding her hands out to the bright blaze.  But suddenly she heard a loud rap at her door.  She opened it and her candle shone on three old men standing outside in the snow.  Their beards were as white as the snow, and so long that they reached the ground.  Their eyes shone kindly in the light of Babouscka’s candle, and their arms were full of precious things—­boxes of jewels, and sweet-smelling oils, and ointments.

“We have traveled far, Babouscka,” said they, “and we stop to tell you of the Baby Prince born this night in Bethlehem.  He comes to rule the world and teach all men to be loving and true.  We carry Him gifts.  Come with us, Babouscka!”

But Babouscka looked at the driving snow, and then inside at her cozy room and the crackling fire.  “It is too late for me to go with you, good sirs,” she said, “the weather is too cold.”  She went inside again and shut the door, and the old men journeyed on to Bethlehem without her.  But as Babouscka sat by her fire, rocking, she began to think about the little Christ Child, for she loved all babies.

“Tomorrow I will go to find Him,” she said; “tomorrow, when it is light, and I will carry Him some toys.”

So when it was morning Babouscka put on her long cloak, and took her staff, and filled a basket with the pretty things a baby would like—­gold balls, and wooden toys, and strings of silver cobwebs—­and she set out to find the Christ Child.