‘Fire now, friends!’ cried Father Cassimer.  ’We are like to have skins enough for Christmas;’ and bang went all our barrels.  I saw five fall; but, contrary to expectation, the wolves did not retire—­they stood for an instant snarling at us.  The distant howlings continued and came nearer; and then from every glade and alley, down the frozen streams, and through the wide openings of the forest, came by scores and hundreds such a multitude of wolves as we could not have believed to exist in all Lithuania.

‘Hand me my gun, and take the reins, Metski,’ cried Father Cassimer.  ‘Drive for your life!’ he added in an under tone; but every one in the sledge heard him.  Heaven knows how many we killed; but it seemed of no use.  Our pork was swallowed, straw and all.  The creatures were pressing upon us on every side, as if trying to surround the sledge; and it was fearful to see the leaps that some gray old fellows among them would take at Metski and the horses.  Our driver did his part like a man, making a thousand winds and turns through the woods; but still the wolves pursued us.  Fortunately, the firing kept them off, and, thanks to our noble horses, they were never able to get ahead of us; but as far as we could see behind us in the moonlight, came the howling packs, as if rising from the ground of the forest.  We had seen nothing like it, and all did their best in firing, especially Count Theodore; but his shots had little effect, for his hand shook, and I know not if any but myself saw the looks of terrified intelligence which he exchanged with his sister.  Still, she and the Lady Constanza kept up their courage, though the young cousins were as white as snow, and our ammunition was fast decreasing.

‘Yonder is a light,’ said Constanza at last, as the poor horses became unmanageable from fright and weariness.  ’It is from the cottage of old Wenzel, the woodman.’

‘If we could reach that,’ said Father Cassimer, ’and leave the horses to their fate:  it is our only chance.’

No one contradicted the priest’s arrangement, for his last words were felt to be true—­though a pang passed over Constanza’s face at the thought of leaving our brave and faithful horses to the wolves:  but louder rose the howls behind us, as Metski urged on with all his might, and far above all went the shout of Father Cassimer (he had the best lungs in that province):  ’Ho, Wenzel! open the door to us for God’s sake!’

We heard the old man reply, sent one well-aimed volley in among the wolves, and as they recoiled, man and woman leaped from the sledge—­for our Polish girls are active—­and rushed into the cottage, when old Wenzel instantly double-barred the door.  It was woful to hear the cry of pain and terror from our poor horses as we deserted them; the next instant the wolves were upon them.  We saw them from the window, as thick as ever flies stuck on sugar.  How we fired upon them, and with what good-will old Wenzel helped us, praying all the time to every saint