han usual; he had
been unsuccessful, and, as the weather was very severe, and many feet of
snow were upon the ground, he was not only very cold, but in a very bad
humour. He had brought in wood, and we were all three gladly assisting
each other in blowing on the embers to create the blaze, when he caught
poor little Marcella by the arm and threw her aside; the child fell,
struck her mouth, and bled very much. My brother ran to raise her up.
Accustomed to ill-usage and afraid of my father, she did not dare to
cry, but looked up in his face very piteously. My father drew his stool
nearer to the hearth, muttered something in abuse of women, and busied
himself with the fire, which both my brother and I had deserted when my
sister was so unkindly treated. A cheerful blaze was soon the result of
his exertions; but we did not, as usual, crowd round it. Marcella,
still bleeding, retired to a corner, and my brother and I took our seats
beside her, while my father hung over the fire gloomily and alone. Such
had been our position for about half an hour, when the howl of a wolf,
close under the window of the cottage, fell on our ears. My father
started up, and seized his gun: the howl was repeated, he examined the
priming, and then hastily left the cottage, shutting the door after him.
We all waited (anxiously listening), for we thought that if he
succeeded in shooting the wolf, he would return in a better humour; and,
although he was harsh to all of us, and particularly so to our little
sister, still we loved our father, and loved to see him cheerful and
happy, for what else had we to look up to? And I may here observe, that
perhaps there never were three children who were fonder of each other;
we did not, like other children, fight and dispute together; and if, by
chance, any disagreement did arise between my elder brother and me,
little Marcella would run to us, and kissing us both, seal, through her
entreaties, the peace between us. Marcella was a lovely, amiable child;
I can recall her beautiful features even now--Alas! poor little
Marcella."

"She is dead, then?" observed Philip.

"Dead! yes, dead!--but how did she die?--But I must not anticipate,
Philip; let me tell my story.

"We waited or some time, but the report of the gun did not reach us, and
my elder brother then said, `Our father has followed the wolf, and will
not be back for some time. Marcella, let us wash the blood from your
mouth, and then we will l