TAKE care of that wolf, my son,” said Mrs. Maylie to a boy about twelve years old, who had come from school in a very ill humour with a playmate, and kept saying harsh things about him, which were but oral evidences of the unkind feelings he cherished within.
“What wolf, mother?” asked Alfred, looking up with surprise.
“The wolf in your heart. Have you already forgotten what I told you last evening about the wild beasts within you?”
“But you told us too,” spoke up little Emily, “about the innocent lambs. There are gentle and good animals in us, as well as fierce and evil ones.”
“Oh yes. Good affections are the innocent animals of your hearts, and evil affections the cruel beasts of prey that are lurking there, ever ready, if you will permit them, to rise up and destroy your good affections. Take care, my children, how you permit the wild beasts to rage. In a moment that you know not, they may ravage some sweet spot.”
“But what did you mean by saying that there was a wolf in brother Alfred? Tell us the meaning of that, mother.”
“Yes, do, mother,” joined in Alfred, whose ill humour had already begun to subside. “I want to know what the wolf in my heart means.”
“Do you know anything about the nature of wolves?” asked Mrs. Maylie.
“They are very cruel, and love to seize and eat up dear little innocent lambs,” said Emily.
“Yes, my children, their nature is cruel, and they prey upon innocent creatures. Until now, Alfred, you have always loved to be with your playmate, William Jarvis.”
“Was it not so, my dear?”
“Yes, ma’am; I used to like him.”
“Frequently you would get from me a fine large apple, or a choice flower from the garden, to present to him. But the tender and innocent feelings that prompted you to do this have perished. Some wolf has rushed in and destroyed them. Is it not so?”
Alfred sat in thoughtful silence.
“Think, my son,” continued Mrs. Maylie, “how innocent, like gentle lambs, were your feelings until now. When you thought of William, it was with kindness. When you played by his side, it was with a warm, even tender regard. But it is not so now. Some beast of prey has devoured these lambs—these innocent creatures that sported in your bosom. If the angry, raging wolf has not eaten them up, where are they? Before you permitted yourself to feel anger against William, gentle creatures leaped about happily in your breast; but you feel them no longer—only the wolf is there. Will you let him still rage, and devour your lambs, or will you drive him out?”
“I will drive him out, mother, if I can. How shall I do it?” Alfred said earnestly, and with a troubled look.
“By resisting him even unto the death. You have the power. You have weapons that will prevail. Try to forget the fault of William; try to excuse him; think of his good qualities; and assure yourself of what I know to be true—that he never meant to offend you. If the angry wolf growl in your bosom, thrust bravely at him, as you would, were you, weapon in hand, defending a sheepfold; and he will and must retire, or die at your feet. Then innocent lambs will again be seen, and their sports delight your heart. Then you will feel no more anger towards your young friend, but love instead.”
“I don’t think I am angry with William, mother,” Alfred said.
“But you were just now.”
“Yes; but the wolf is no longer in my heart,” the boy replied smiling. “He has been driven out.”
“And innocent creatures can now sport there unharmed. I am glad of it. Do not again, Alfred, do not any of you, my children, permit ravenous beasts to prey upon the lambs of your flocks. Fly from them in as much terror as you would fly from the presence of a wolf, a tiger, or a lion, were one to meet you in a forest. They are equally hurtful—one injures the body, the other the soul.”
“Tell us now, mother, about the wolf that had nearly killed uncle Harper when he was a little boy no bigger than me,” spoke up Charley, the youngest of Mrs. Maylie’s treasures.
“Oh yes, mother, tell us all about it,” said Alfred.
“I’ve told you that very often,” the mother returned.
“But we want to hear it again. Tell it to us; won’t you, mother?”
“Oh, certainly. Many years ago, when I was a little girl not bigger than Emily, we lived at the foot of a high mountain, in a wild, unsettled country. There were but few neighbours, and they were at great distances from us. At that time bears, wolves, and panthers were in the region where we lived, and often destroyed the sheep of the settlers, and otherwise annoyed them. The men used frequently to go out and hunt them, and kill off these their forest enemies in great numbers.
“One day, when your uncle Harper was about five years old, our father took us in his waggon to visit a neighbour about six miles up among the mountains. This neighbour had a little boy just Harper’s age, and they were together in the garden and about the house all the morning. After dinner, they were dressed up nicely, and again went out to play.
“‘Come,’ said Harper’s companion, ‘let us go and see brother Allen’s bird-trap. He caught three pheasants yesterday. Maybe we’ll find one in it to-day.’
“Harper was very willing to go. And so they started right into the woods; for the forest came up close to the house, and went off quite out of sight. They had not been gone long before a neighbour, who lived about a mile off, came over to say that a very large wolf had been seen a few hours before.
“‘Where is Harper?’ my mother asked quickly, going to the door and looking out.
“‘I saw him a little while ago, playing about here with Johnny,’ some one replied.
“‘But where is he now?’ and our mother went out of doors, looking all around the house and in the garden.
“‘They’ve gone off to my bird-trap, without doubt,’ said Allen, a stout boy about sixteen years of age. ‘Johnny has been there several times within a day or two.’
“‘Do run and see,’ urged our mother. Allen took up his gun and started off quickly towards the place where he had set his bird-trap. Two or three took other directions; for, now that it was known a wolf had been seen, all were alarmed at the absence of the children. In about five minutes after Allen had left the house, we were startled by the sharp crack of a rifle in the direction he had taken. For the next five minutes we waited in dreadful suspense; then we were gladdened by the sight of Allen, bringing home the two children. But when we heard all that had occurred, we trembled from head to foot. Allen had gone quickly towards the place where he expected to find the little truants. When he came in sight of the trap, he saw them on the ground close to it, and was just going to call out to them to take care or they would spring it, when the dark body of a large wolf came quickly in between him and the children. There was not a moment to be lost; if the cruel beast reached them, destruction would be inevitable. Quickly presenting his rifle, he took a steady aim and fired. A fierce howl answered the report: as the smoke arose from before his eyes, he saw the ‘gaunt gray robber’ of the wilderness rolling upon the ground. The bullet had sped with unerring certainty.
“How thankful we were,” added Mrs. Maylie, “when, knowing how great had been the danger, we saw the children safe from all harm!”
“Does uncle Harper remember it?” asked Charley.
“Yes; he says he can just remember something about it; but he was a very little boy then.”
“That was a real wolf,” remarked Emily; “but the wolves, and tigers, and lambs you have been telling us about are not real, are they? Real animals can’t live in us.”
“If there was nothing real about them, could they hurt you, dear?”
“No.”
“But the wolves I spoke about do hurt you. Must they not be real then?”
“Not real like the big hairy wolf I saw at the show?”
“Oh no; not real like that; not clothed in flesh; but still real, so far as power to harm you is concerned: and surely that is reality enough. Don’t you think so?”
“Yes, real that way. But still,” Alfred said, “I can’t understand how a real wolf can be in me; for a wolf is much bigger than I am.”
“But I don’t mean a flesh and blood wolf, but something in you that partakes of the wolf’s cruel nature, and, like the wolf, seeks to destroy all in you that is good, and harmless, and innocent. There may be in you something that corresponds to the fierce nature of the wolf, and something that corresponds to the gentle nature of the lamb. Both of these cannot be active at the same time. If you let the wolf rule, your gentle lambs, as I before told you, will be destroyed.”
The children now understood their mother better, though they could not clearly comprehend all that was meant by the wild beasts and innocent creatures of the human heart.
