SHALL we be thought guilty of great rudeness if even though we have not been formally invited, we venture to take a peep into Mr. Young's study? I think not. A writing table and chair take up most of the space, for the room is by no means a large one. A bright fire of pine logs burns cheerfully on the hearth, while a large rug of silver-gray fur gives a touch of home-comfort. We feel sure that the beautiful fur has a story of its own, and Mr. Young replies: "Yes, that rug will always be to us a reminder of the mercy of God. It is the skin of a silver-gray wolf, that but for His good hand would have made a meal of my boy Eddie. The Indians were out in the forest cutting wood, and Eddie was having a good time with his sledge and team of dogs, going to and fro, taking the logs to the wood-house and racing back with his empty sledge. He was on his return journey when a large silver-gray wolf (a wild, troublesome fellow that for some reason of his own chooses to live and hunt alone) rushed out of the forest and made for the lad. The frightened dogs rushed into a furious gallop; had there been a moment's delay, or an upset, escape would have been impossible. But the eye of God and His guiding hand were over our son, and he reached home in safety.
“The wolf was soon after killed and its skin dressed, but still the memory of that perilous ride brings tears of gratitude to our eyes and puts a praise-song into our hearts.”