J. Jacques Porchat

December 13I was busy milking the goat while my grandfather was lighting the fire. Suddenly, she pricked up her ears, as if she heard some extraordinary noise, and then began to tremble all over. I observed this at once, addressing myself to her: "What is the matter, poor Blanchette?" I said, caressing her. Immediately we heard the most dreadful how wings, as it were over our heads. "Wolves!" I exclaimed…"They are digging through the snow," I cried, clasping my grandfather in my arms. "They will get in and devour us."… (mere)