So the weeks went on; the autumn passed into winter, and soon all the
land was white with deep snow.
On a cold wintry day Allan Redmain rode over to Rothesay on his shaggy
mountain pony.
"My lord," said he to Kenric, who was sitting in the great hall with the
abbot Godfrey Thurstan, "I have a strange thing to tell of an adventure
that befell me yestereve."
"Come, then, to the fire, Allan," said Kenric, "for on these cold days,
when one cannot get out and about, a story is ever welcome. What says
your reverence?"
"Even so," said the abbot, rising; "and methinks the sound of Allan's
young voice, whatever his adventure be, will cheer you better than the
croaking of an old man, so I will leave you together, my sons."
Then the two lads sat side by side before the great fire of pine logs,
and each with his arm twined about the neck of one of the deer hounds
that sat beside him.
"And now, Allan, what is your adventure?"
"Why, 'twas a wolf hunt we had, I and some of our men of Kilmory. The
wolves, as you know, have been numerous in the island since the snow and
frost came. We tracked a goodly pack of them into Glen More, and,
running them to a corrie in the hill of Kilbride, we there slew three of
them with our spears. But there was one dog wolf -- a great gray fellow
that we came upon at the head of the glen.
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