The Ontario Readers: Third Book. Ontario. Department of Education

the suspicious nature of the brutes, loosened his coat and dropped it on the road; with a chorus of yelps they paused, then threw themselves upon it, and in another minute took up the chase.

      But now the clearing was in sight. The pony was far ahead, and Ranald shook out his colt with a yell. He was none too soon, for the pursuing pack, now uttering short, shrill yelps, were close at the colt's heels. Lizette, fleet as the wind, could not shake them off. Closer and ever closer they came, snapping and snarling. Ranald could see them over his shoulder. A hundred yards more and he would reach his own back lane. The leader of the pack seemed to feel that his chances were slipping swiftly away. With a spurt he gained upon Lizette, reached the saddle-girths, gathered himself into two short jumps, and sprang for the colt's throat. Instinctively Ranald stood up in his stirrups, and kicking his foot free, caught the wolf under the jaw. The brute fell with a howl under the colt's feet, and next moment they were in the lane and safe.

      The savage brutes, discouraged by their leader's fall, slowed down their fierce pursuit, and hearing the deep bay of the Macdonalds' great deer-hound, Bugle, up at the house, they paused, sniffed the air a few minutes, then turned and swiftly and silently slid into the dark shadows. Ranald, knowing that they would hardly dare enter the lane, checked the colt, and wheeling, watched them disappear.

      "I'll have some of your hides some day," he cried, shaking his fist after them. He hated to be made to run.

      He had hardly set the colt's face homeward when he heard something tearing down the lane to meet him. The colt snorted, swerved, and then dropping his ears, stood still. It was Bugle, and after him came Mrs. Murray on the pony.

      "Oh, Ranald!" she panted, "thank God you are safe. I was afraid you—you—" Her voice broke in sobs. Her hood had fallen back from her white face, and her eyes were shining like two stars. She laid her hand on Ranald's arm, and her voice grew steady as she said: "Thank God, my boy, and thank you with all my heart. You risked your life for mine. You are a brave fellow! I can never forget this!"

      "Oh, pshaw!" said Ranald, awkwardly. "You are better stuff than I am. You came back with Bugle. And I knew Liz could beat the pony." Then they walked their horses quietly to the stable, and nothing more was said by either of them; but from that hour Ranald had a friend ready to offer life for him, though he did not know it then nor till years afterward.

      Ralph Connor: "The Man from Glengarry."

      Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.

      St. John, XV. 13

IAGOO, THE BOASTER

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      And Iagoo, the great boaster,

       He the marvellous story-teller,

       He the friend of old Nokomis,

       Saw in all the eyes around him,

       Saw in all their looks and gestures,

       That the wedding guests assembled,

       Longed to hear his pleasant stories,

       His immeasurable falsehoods.

      Very boastful was Iagoo;

       Never heard he an adventure

       But himself had met a greater;

       Never any deed of daring

       But himself had done a bolder;

       Never any marvellous story

       But himself could tell a stranger.

      Would you listen to his boasting,

       Would you only give him credence,

       No one ever shot an arrow

       Half so far and high as he had;

       Ever caught so many fishes,

       Ever killed so many reindeer,

       Ever trapped so many beaver!

      None could run so fast as he could,

       None could dive so deep as he could,

       None could swim so far as he could;

       None had made so many journeys,

       None had seen so many wonders,

       As this wonderful Iagoo,

       As this marvellous story-teller!

      Thus his name became a by-word

       And a jest among the people;

       And whene'er a boastful hunter

       Praised his own address too highly,

       Or a warrior, home returning,

       Talked too much of his achievements,

       All his hearers cried: "Iagoo!

       Here's Iagoo come among us!"

      Longfellow: "Hiawatha."

THE STORY OF A FIRE

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      Thirteen years have passed since, but it is all to me as if it had happened yesterday—the clanging of the fire-bells, the hoarse shouts of the firemen, the wild rush and terror of the streets; then the great hush that fell upon the crowd; the sea of upturned faces with the fire glow upon it; and up there, against the background of black smoke that poured from roof to attic, the boy clinging to the narrow ledge, so far up that it seemed humanly impossible that help could ever come.

      But even then it was coming. Up from the street, while the crew of the truck company were labouring with the heavy extension ladder that at its longest stretch was many feet too short, crept four men upon long, slender poles with cross-bars, iron-hooked at the end. Standing in one window, they reached up and thrust the hook through the next one above, then mounted a story higher. Again the crash of glass, and again the dizzy ascent. Straight up the wall they crept, looking like human flies on the ceiling, and clinging as close, never resting, reaching one recess only to set out for the next; nearer and nearer in the race for life, until but a single span separated the foremost from the boy. And now the iron hook fell at his feet, and the fireman stood upon the step with the rescued lad in his arms, just as the pent-up flames burst lurid from the attic window, reaching with impotent fury for their prey. The next moment they were safe upon the great ladder waiting to receive them below.

      Then such a shout went up! Men fell on each other's necks, and cried and laughed at once. Strangers slapped one another on the back with glistening faces, shook hands, and behaved generally like men gone suddenly mad. Women wept in the street. The driver of a car stalled in the crowd, who had stood through it all speechless, clutching the reins, whipped his horses into a gallop and drove away, yelling like a Comanche, to relieve his feelings. The boy and his rescuer were carried across the street without anyone knowing how. Policemen forgot their dignity and shouted with the rest. Fire, peril, terror, and loss were alike forgotten in the one touch of nature that makes the whole world kin.

      Fireman John Binns was made captain of his crew, and the Bennett medal was pinned on his coat on the next parade day.

      Jacob A. Riis

      Whene'er a noble deed is wrought,

       Whene'er is spoken a noble thought,

       Our hearts in glad surprise

       To higher levels rise.

      Longfellow

THE QUEST

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      There once was a restless boy

       Who dwelt in a home by the sea,