Washer was very lonely without his mother or brothers, and very homesick; but the little wolves were so playful they gave him little time to think of his worry. Whenever he curled up in a corner to mope and sigh, one of the cubs was sure to creep up behind and roll all over him. Sometimes they got so mixed up that it was difficult for Mother Wolf to tell her own children from the raccoon.

Meanwhile, Sneaky had been out hunting, and returned with food for his family. He flung it to the little cubs, and said:

“Eat, little ones, and may it make you strong and stout of heart like your father!”

He gave none to Washer, but Mother Wolf stepped in and divided the food evenly. “Here, Little Stranger of the woods, you must eat too, or you’ll grow thin and die.”

Sneaky did not like this, and displayed his sharp, cruel teeth. “Why should a stranger rob my children of their food?” he asked. “I do not hunt for another’s brat.”

“If he doesn’t eat,” replied Mother Wolf, smiling, “How can he grow fat? Our children must have their food rich and juicy.”

Sneaky grinned at this retort, for it was quite true that all wolves liked fat little animals. It made the meat so much more delicious. He was content to hunt food for Washer if it fattened him up for the cubs.

Every day when he returned to his den, he would ask: “Isn’t the Little Stranger fat enough to kill today?”

And always Mother Wolf would reply: “Not today. We must wait another day.”

Of course, all this conversation worried and frightened Washer, for he knew that in a short time he would be killed to make food for his playmates. It sickened and terrified him so that he finally decided to make the effort to escape from the cave. He had been so gentle, and appeared so contented, that he was given more liberty each day. When the cubs played in front of the cave, Washer was permitted to go there with them.

This gave him an idea. One day when Sneaky was away in the woods hunting, and Mother Wolf was sleeping in front of the cave, Washer suggested to the cubs that they play hide and seek in the bushes. This was great sport, and they began scampering around behind the bushes to hide.

When it came Washer’s turn to hide, he ran further away from the mouth of the cave than at any time before. He looked around him, and saw that a deep ravine was just beyond his hiding place.

“Now is my chance,” he said to himself. “If I can escape into that ravine, they’ll never catch me. I can hide until night, and then journey far into the woods.”

He had no sooner decided upon this than he began scampering for the edge of the ravine. If he once reached the edge of the cliff, he could roll down it, and then hide at the bottom until dark.

He could hear the cubs calling him, but he paid no attention to them. Liberty was ahead, and he ran with all his might. His legs were short and weak, and he could not make as good time as he wished. He stumbled once or twice and rolled over and over. But he was on his feet again, running for dear life, before you could count ten.

Tired and panting, he finally reached the edge of the ravine. When he looked down it, he was a little frightened. It was terribly steep and the bottom a long way off.

“I wonder if it will hurt me,” he murmured aloud. “I might run around it, and not fall in it.”

Just when he had made up his mind to do this there was a noise in the bushes behind him, and through the air came Mother Wolf, loping along at a tremendous speed. Washer ducked his head, and tried to hide, but Mother Wolf had seen him. A big paw came down on his back and flattened him to the earth.

“Where are you going, Little Stranger?” the Wolf asked. “Why are you running away from us?”

Now Washer’s first thought was to deny that he was running away, but he knew that it was useless to try to deceive Mother Wolf. He realized now that she had been watching him out of the corners of her eyes all the time. She had not been asleep at all. So Washer decided to tell the truth.

“I didn’t want to be killed,” he said. “I’m growing fatter every day, and soon you will kill me for your children. O Mother Wolf, do you know how it feels to be killed?”

“No, I don’t suppose I do,” was the reply. “I’ve never been killed.”

“Then let me tell you it’s worse than anything you can dream of,” panted Washer.

“How do you know, Little Stranger?” Mother Wolf smiled as she asked this. “You’ve never been killed.”

“No, but can’t you imagine how it would feel?”

“Imagine! What is that? I never heard of such a thing.”

“Why—imagination is something that helps you to feel just as if the real thing was happening.”

Mother Wolf released Washer and let him sit up again. She squatted down before him and looked into his eyes.

“I don’t believe wolves have what you call imagination,” she replied. “No, I’m sure they don’t. Tell me more what it means.”

Washer was a very young little Raccoon to be instructing a full-grown wolf, but all of his family had been born with imagination. He could remember how he and his brothers had often listened to the storms raging through the woods and had tried to imagine how it would feel without any home to protect them. They had shuddered at the thought and crept closer together in their nest. But it was very difficult to tell in words just what imagination was.

“Why, there isn’t much more to tell,” he replied hesitatingly. “It’s something you have to feel. Have you ever been hurt, Mother Wolf?”

“Yes, I burnt my front paw once in a fire that campers had left in the woods.”

“And it hurt terribly, didn’t it?”

Mother Wolf winced and nodded.

“Then,” added Washer triumphantly, “if you can feel it now you have imagination. You don’t really feel it now, but you imagine how it felt.”

“Yes,” replied Mother Wolf, “but that’s something I did feel once. But I was never killed. So how can I imagine how it would feel to be killed?”

“Just think of your burnt foot, and then think of being burnt all over. You would know then how it would feel to be killed. Oh, it’s terrible!”

Mother Wolf was quiet for a long time, and then she looked not unkindly at Washer. “Was that why you were running away?” she asked finally.

“Yes, I didn’t want to be killed.”

“Then listen, Little Stranger,” she said. “You’re not going to be killed. I’m going to keep you to play with my little ones, and to teach them things that no wolf can teach them. I will adopt you, and make you one of my own children. No harm will ever come to you. Now come back home with me.”

Washer’s heart gave a great bound of relief, and he licked the paw near him. He trotted back to the den by the side of Mother Wolf happy and contented; but in the next story you will hear what Sneaky thought of this new arrangement.