You cannot walk; can you? And
I am afraid I cannot carry you. But I can help. There, put your head
on my arm." He groaned with pain. "No, the other one." So he talked to
her, as to a child, as the wounded boy and the wounded sheep slowly
made their way up the steep hillside and over the rough rocks. It was
not a long way, and, half an hour before, the sturdy shepherd lad
would have bounded over it quickly enough. But now the wounded leg was
slow, the wounded arm was weak, and the wounded lamb seemed very
heavy. It was a weary journey, with many stops. When at last they
reached the flock, still huddled trembling together, Dahvid had only
strength to give one reassuring "Hoo-o-o, ta-a-a," then fell
exhausted.
How long he lay there he did not know, but the dawn was growing
bright when three men appeared from the direction of the town. It was
not the shepherds, but old Abraham and two of his servants. As the old
man caught sight of his flock, but he saw no shepherd, he raged with
anger. "Dahvid!" he shouted fiercely. "Dahvid!" There was no answer.
"The young vagabond! He has left the sheep. Of great worth are his
promises! He would keep my flock. 'Come life--come death!' Dahvid! Let
me once find him and I will give him something he will remember longer
than he does his vows."
As he drew near the flock he discovered the boy lying on the ground.
Pages:
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145