It looked so dreadful.

'I wonder what the ram thought when they ate him up,' thought Walter
to himself; and just then a cold shiver ran through him from his collar
right down to his boots.

'It is better for me to beat the drum,' he thought to himself again, and
so he began to beat it. But it sounded horrid, and an echo came out
from the kiln that seemed almost like the howl of a wolf. The drumsticks
stiffened in Walter's hands, and he thought now they are coming...!

Yes, sure enough, just then a shaggy, reddish-brown wolf's head looked
out from under the kiln!

What did Walter do now? Yes, the brave Walter who alone could manage
four, threw his drum far away, took to his heels and ran, and ran as
fast as he could back to the mill.

But, alas! the wolf ran after him. Walter looked back; the wolf was
quicker than he and only a few steps behind him. Then Walter ran faster.
But fear got the better of him, he neither heard nor saw anything more.
He ran over sticks, stones and ditches; he lost drum-sticks, sabre,
bow, and air-pistol, and in his terrible hurry he tripped over a tuft of
grass. There he lay, and the wolf jumped on to him....

It was a gruesome tale! Now you may well believe that it was all over
with Walter and all his adventures. That would have been a pity. But do
not be surprised if it was not quite so bad as that, for the wolf was
quite a friendly one. He certainly jumped on to Walter, but he only
shook his coat and rubbed his nose against his face; and Walter
shrieked. Yes, he shrieked terribly!

Happily Jonas heard his cry of distress, for Walter was quite near the
mill now, and he ran and helped him up.

'What has happened?' he asked. 'Why did Walter scream so terribly?'

'A wolf! A wolf!' cried Walter, and that was all he could say.

'Where is the wolf?' said Jonas. 'I don't see any wolf.'

'Take care, he is here, he has bitten me to death,' groaned Walter.

Then Jonas began to laugh; yes, he laughed so that he nearly burst his
skin belt.

Well, well, was that the wolf? Was that the wolf which Walter was to
take by the neck and shake and throw down on its back, no matter how
much it struggled? Just look a little closer at him: he is your old
friend, your own good old Caro. I quite expect he found a leg of the ram
in the kiln. When Walter beat his drum, Caro crept out, and when Walter
ran away, Caro ran after him, as he so often does when Walter wants to
romp and play.

'Down, Caro! yo