Jeanie and Agnes were quite excited over the frolic, for, so far, not many such had come to them. While the men were busy doing their part in establishing the young couple, the women of the community willingly turned their attention to the preparation of the feast, though John’s rifle brought in the bear and venison. Agnes had promised to go over to help the M’Cleans do their part, and had quite looked forward to the day. She was hurriedly putting an end to her morning’s work when she heard a sound outside. The door stood open, and the September sunshine flooded the little dim room. On a bench by the door was a bowl in which were two or three squirrels newly skinned and ready to be cooked. Agnes meant to have them for her father’s supper. She turned to get the bowl, when in at the door was thrust the muzzle of a gaunt wolf, which, scenting the fresh meat, had come to investigate. For a second Agnes was paralyzed with fear, and the next moment, considering discretion the better part of valor, she sprang to the ladder leading to the loft and climbed up, leaving the rifle, which she knew well how to use, below. The squirrels were young and tender and the wolf was hungry, so he made short work of them, yet they were only a mouthful and but whetted his appetite. Agnes, peering below, saw the great, ferocious creature sniffing the ladder and looking up at the loft. He meditated an attack. She tugged at the ladder and presently had it safely drawn up into the loft beside her. There were snarls and growls below, and the wolf began to make fierce springs for his prey. “If I only had my rifle,” murmured Agnes, “I would shoot him. How fine it would be to do that all by myself.” But the rifle was beyond her reach, and she began to feel herself lucky, as the wolf leaped higher and higher, if she could keep beyond the reach of the sharp fangs.