'I met a wolf in the street,' says he, 'a 'normous wolf with a big, red mouf and AWFUL long teeth, Uncle Jim.' 'I didn't know there was any wolves up at the Glen,' says I.

'Oh, he comed there from far, far away,' says Joe, 'and I fought he was going to eat me up, Uncle Jim.' 'Were you scared ?' says I.

'No, 'cause I had a big gun,' says Joe, 'and I shot the wolf dead, Uncle Jim,--solid dead--and then he went up to heaven and bit God,' says he.

Well, I was fair staggered, Mistress Blythe." The hours bloomed into mirth around the driftwood fire.

Captain Jim told tales, and Marshall Elliott sang old Scotch ballads in a fine tenor voice; finally Captain Jim took down his old brown fiddle from the wall and began to play.