"Well," observed O'Brien, after a pause, "I think we can do no better, so let's be off." We went to the farm-house, and, as we approached the door, were met by the great mastiff. I started back, O'Brien boldly advanced. "He's a clever dog, and may know us again. I'll go up," said O'Brien, not stopping while he spoke, "and pat his head; if he flies at me, I shall be no worse than I was before, for depend upon it he will not allow us to go back again." O'Brien by this time had advanced to the dog, who looked earnestly and angrily at him. He patted his head, the dog growled, but O'Brien put his arm round his neck, and patting him again, whistled to him, and went to the door of the farm-house. The dog followed him silently but closely. O'Brien knocked, and the door was opened by the little girl: the mastiff advanced to the girl and then turned round, facing O'Brien, as much as to say--"Is he to come in?" The girl spoke to the dog, and went in-doors. During her absence the mastiff laid down at the threshold. In a few seconds the woman who had brought us from Flushing came out, and desired us to enter. She spoke very good French, and told us that fortunately her husband was absent; that the reason why we had not been supplied was, that a wolf had met her little girl returning the other day, but had been beaten off by the mastiff, and that she was afraid to allow her to go again; that she heard the wolf had been killed this evening, and had intended her girl to have gone to us early to-morrow morning. That wolves were hardly known in that country, but that the severe winter had brought them down to the lowlands, a very rare circumstance, occurring perhaps not once in twenty years. "But how did you pass the mastiff?" said she; "that has surprised my daughter and me." O'Brien told her; upon which she said, that "the English were really `_des braves_.' No other man had ever done the same." So I thought, for nothing would have induced me to do it. O'Brien then told the history of the death of the wolf with all particulars, and our intention if we could not do better, of returning to Flushing. "I heard that Pierre Eustache came home yesterday," said the woman; "and I do think that you will be safer at Flushing than here, for they will never think of looking for you among the _casernes_, which join their cabaret." "Will you lend us your assistance to get in?" "I will see what I can do. But are you not hungry?" "About as hungry as men who have eaten nothing for two days." "_Mon Dieu! c'est vrai_. I never thought it was so long, but those whose stomachs are filled forget those who are empty. God make us better and more charitable!"