“Ah!” she exclaimed in a soft melodious voice. “You are here and I did not know it.” She quickly opened a little basket standing near her, sprinkled some crumbs upon the ground, and watched with childish delight the liveliness of her tiny companions. Her pleasure, however, was soon marred by a saucy and envious fellow in the little crowd, who pecked his neighbor. Chirping sorrowfully, the victim flew to the maiden’s feet. “Alas! alas! poor little bird!” she exclaimed, the tears coming into her eyes. She took the little fellow in her lap and caressed him. “Wait, now, thou envious ‘wolf,’” she said, addressing the offender. “Did I not scatter crumbs enough for you all? And did you not know I would have doubled the amount if that had not been sufficient? You deserve to be punished for your greediness. Now you shall see how finely this poor little fellow will fare at his own table.” Thereupon she filled her lap from the basket, and the little one ate with a relish, while the “wolf” was not allowed to come near the table, much as he wished to. Suddenly the flock rose and flew into the branches of the tree in manifest alarm. Her sheep, which had been feeding below her, rushed up the hill as fast as they could, and closely huddled together. “What is the matter?” cried the maiden, as she cast a hasty glance at the flying herd. “What has driven you away from the meadow in such fright? Holy Catherine! the cruel wolf must be lurking on the edge of the wood.” She quickly sprang up, seized her crook, and flew to the Bois de Chêne, where a wolf was really lying in wait. One who had seen her then would hardly have recognized the gentle maiden, the dreamer of a moment before, in this resolute heroine, her eyes flashing with courage. Wonderful to relate, the beast fled from her. For an instant it crouched, ready to spring upon her, and then slunk away into the forest. Thereupon the little heroine went to the neighboring chapel, knelt before the image of Saint Catherine, and poured out the thankfulness of her heart in long and fervent prayers. It was her childish belief that her patron saint had performed a miracle. She did not know that the beasts of the wood can be intimidated by the firmness and courage of a fearless person’s glance, and that even the lion himself will not attack such a person unless he is in a frenzy of rage.