large size, is a formidable beast that will not hesitate to attack
a single man. This wolf-track was the largest Christian had ever
seen, and, so far as he could judge, recently made. It led from
under the fir-trees down the slope. Well for him, he thought, was
the delay that had so vexed him before: well for him that he had
not passed through the dark fir-grove when that danger of jaws
lurked there. Going warily, he followed the track.

It led down the slope, across a broad ice-bound stream, along the
level beyond, making towards the farm. A less precise knowledge
had doubted, and guessed that here might have come straying big
Tyr or his like; but Christian was sure, knowing better than to
mistake between footmark of dog and wolf.

Straight on--straight on towards the farm.

Surprised and anxious grew Christian, that a prowling wolf should
dare so near. He drew his knife and pressed on, more hastily, more
keen-eyed. Oh that Tyr were with him!

Straight on, straight on, even to the very door, where the snow
failed. His heart seemed to give a great leap and then stop. There
the track _ended_.

Nothing lurked in the porch, and there was no sign of return. The
firs stood straight against the sky, the clouds lay low; for the
wind had fallen and a few snowflakes came drifting down. In a
horror of surprise, Christian stood dazed a moment: then he lifted
the latch and went in. His glance took in all the old familiar
forms and faces, and with them that of the stranger, fur-clad and