like to face a fire.

He got down on his hands and knees. He held the blazing bark in his
hand. He crawled through the small hole into the cave. There was not
room for him to stand up.

At first the cave went downward into the ground. Then it was level a
little way. Then it went upward. At the very back of this part of the
cave was the wolf. Putnam crawled up until he could see the
wolf's eyes.

When the wolf saw the fire, she gave a sudden growl. Putnam jerked the
rope that was tied to his leg. The men outside thought that the wolf
had caught him. They pulled on the other end of the rope.

The men pulled as fast as they could. When they had drawn Putnam out,
his clothes were torn. He was badly scratched by the rocks.

He now got his gun. He held it in one hand. He held the burning
birch-bark in the other. He crawled into the cave again.

When the wolf saw him coming again, she was very angry. She snapped
her teeth. She got ready to spring on him. She meant to kill him as
she had killed his sheep. Putnam fired at her head. As soon as his
gun went off, he jerked the rope. His friends pulled him out.

He waited awhile for the smoke of his gun to clear up. Then he went in
once more. He wanted to see if the wolf was dead.

He found her lying down. He tapped her nose with his birch-bark. She
did not move. He took hold of her. Then he jerked the rope.

This time the men saw him come out, bringing the dead wolf. Now the
sheep would have some peace.

[Illustration]

WASHINGTON AND HIS HATCHET

It was Ar-bor Day in the Mos-sy Hill School, Johnny Little-john had to
speak a piece that had some-thing to do with trees. He thought it
would be a good plan to say some-thing about the little cherry tree
that Washington spoiled with his hatch-et, when he was a little boy.
This is what he said:

[Illustration]

He had a hatch-et--little George--
A hatch-et bright and new,
And sharp enough to cut a stick--
A little stick--in two.

He hacked and whacked and whacked and hacked,
This sturd-y little man;
He hacked a log and hacked a fence,
As round about he ran.

He hacked his father's cher-ry tree
And made an ug-ly spot;
The bark was soft, the hatch-et sharp,
And little George forgot.

You know the rest. The father frowned
And asked the rea-son why;
You know the good old story runs
He could not tell a lie.

The boy that chopped that cher-ry tree
Soon grew to be a youth;
At work and