"How pleased my mother will be when I tell her that I have seen the
king," he said to himself, and he was hurrying over the hill top when
all at once he remembered the forest, and the wolf, and his
grandfather's words.
"Come on," called the others.
"I must stay with the sheep," answered he; and he turned and went
back, though the pipes and the drums all seemed to say, "Come this
way, come this way." He could scarcely keep from crying as he
listened.
There was nothing in sight to harm the sheep, and the pasture lands
were quiet and peaceful, but into the forest that very day a hungry
gray wolf had come. His eyes were bright and his ears were sharp and
his four feet were as soft as velvet, as he came creeping, creeping,
creeping under the houses and through the tanglewood. He put his nose
out and sniffed the air, and he put his head out and spied the sheep
left alone in the meadows. "Now's my chance," he said, and out he
sprang just as little Jean down the hill.
"Wolf, wolf, wolf!" shouted Jean. "Wolf, wolf, wolf!" He was only a
little boy, but he was brave and his voice rang clear as a bugle call
over the valley, and over the hill, "Wolf, wolf, wolf!"
The shepherds and knights and the king himself came running and riding
to answer his cry, and as for the gray wolf, he did not even stop to
look behind him as he sped away to the forest shades.
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