Part 3 (2/2)

Whoever they were, it was proper at this time to offer food to strangers, and if they were G.o.ds or wood spirits this was the way to find it out. The wife of Emilius the priest, a tall and gracious woman, took up a flat basket-work tray and filled it with portions of the various good things on the nearest table. By the way they took the food and ate it, she saw that they were probably only hungry boys. Pincho got the bones, but only when it was certain they were not mutton bones. He had never been allowed to find out what the flesh of a sheep was like. This was a portion of a yearling calf.

The matron's little daughter, a straight, slender, bright-haired child, came with her, and when Pincho sniffed curiously at her little sandalled feet she did not draw back, but stooped and patted his head. The boy with the reed pipe, when he had finished his share of the food, sidled away toward the musicians, but the other one stayed where he was, his arm round the s.h.a.ggy neck of the young wolf, and they asked him questions. He explained, when they were able to make out what he said-for he spoke in a thick voice as the peasants did-that he and his brother lived with a shepherd on the other side of the great plain. The shepherd had told them to ask whether they might let their sheep graze here awhile, until the water had gone down so that they could get back. Emilius the priest and some of the other men were there by this time, and they said that this would be allowed.

”Why do you stay away from your own village on a holiday?” asked the child straightforwardly.

”We have no village,” the boy answered. ”We live by ourselves.”

The little maiden knit her straight, dark, delicate brows. People who had no village and lived by themselves had never come to her knowledge before.

She thought it must be very dull not to have any holidays, or playmates.

”Do the sheep and the wolves live together in your country?” she asked, watching Pincho's wedge-shaped, savage head as he gnawed his bone.

”No; but Pincho is not really a wolf. He is my friend.”

”How can you be friends with a wolf?” persisted the small questioner.

”Wolves are thieves and murderers. They kill sheep. If they killed only the old sheep, I would not care. The old ram with horns knocks people down. But they kill the little lambs.”

”Pincho has never killed a sheep.”

”Emilia, my child,” said her mother, ”it is time for the dance of the children.” And she led her little daughter away.

The boys of the village were very curious about Pincho. He had been caught when he was a tiny cub and his mother had been killed. There were two cubs, but the other one died. This one slept at his master's feet every night. The lad beckoned to his brother, who began to play a curious, jerky tune, and then the boy and the wolf danced together, to the wonder and entertainment of the villagers. Then in his turn the boy began to ask questions. What was a holiday and why did they keep it?

The boys explained that there were many holidays at different times. There was one in the later days of winter called the Lupercal, in honor of the G.o.d who protected the sheep. That was the shepherds' festival, and when it took place, the young men ran about with thongs in their hands, striking everybody who came in the way. The day they were now keeping was Founder's Day, in honor of the founder of their town.

This was puzzling. How could one man found a town? A town grew up where many people came to live in one place.

”Nay, my son,” said a white-haired old man, the oldest man in the village, who had sat down near the group. He spoke in the language the shepherd spoke, so that it was easy to understand him. ”That is nothing more than a flock of crows or a herd of cattle that eat together where there is food.

The man who founds a city determines first to make a home for the spirits of his people, as a man who builds a house makes a home for his family.

His G.o.ds dwell in this place, and he himself will dwell there when he is dead, and his spirit is joined to theirs. Without the good will of the spirits there is no good fortune. How can men know what is wise to do, or what is right, if they do not ask help of the G.o.ds, as a child asks its father's will? Have you never heard this? Has your father not told you?”

”We have neither father nor mother,” said the boy, but not shamefacedly,-even a little proudly. ”We were found when we were little children by Faustulus the shepherd who is to us as a father, and we serve him.”

This did seem rather strange. Some of the village people drew back and whispered among themselves. Could the lads be G.o.ds or spirits indeed? They were strong and handsome-but who knew what things lived in the forest?

”Nay,” said Emilius, ”they have eaten our salt.”

”The shepherd sometimes prays,” the lad was saying thoughtfully. ”He prays when he has lost his way. I asked him once when I was very small what he was saying, and he said that he prayed to his G.o.d. He said the G.o.d was like a man, but had goat's legs and little horns under curling hair, and played on a reed pipe. My brother said that he had seen him in the forest, but I never did. When the shepherd sees anything unlucky, he makes the sign of his G.o.d-thus.”

He held up his fist with all the fingers except the little finger doubled in; this, with the thumb, stuck straight up. ”He calls it 'making the horns.' ”

”The people across the river have many G.o.ds,” he went on cheerfully. ”Once I ran away and found a boat, and went over there, to see what it was like.

The priests watch the flight of birds for signs; and the people give a great deal of time to fortune telling. An old witch told mine for love, and she said that I should rule over a great people. Then I laughed and came away, for I knew that she must think me a fool to be pleased with lies. She said that their laws were taught the priests by a little man no bigger than a child, who came up out of a field which a farmer was plowing.”

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