CHAP. XXVI.

His was the long, steady gait of the shepherd, and he had not proceeded far into the hills before he was looking round acknowledging them, one after the other; they were his friends, and his sheep's friends, having given them pasturage for many a year; and the oak wood's shade had been friendly beforetimes to himself and his sheep. And he was going to rest in its shade once more. At noon he would be there, glad of some water; for though the day was still young the sun was warm, the sky told him that before noon his tongue would be cleaving to the sides of his mouth; a fair prediction this was, for long before the oak wood came into sight he had begun to think of the well at the end of the wood, and the quality of the water he would find in it, remembering that it used to hold good water, but the shepherds often forgot to replace the stopper and the water got fouled.

As he walked his comrades of old time kept rising up in his memory one by one; their faces, even their hands and feet, and the stories they told of their dogs, their fights with the wild beasts, and the losses they suffered from wolves and lions in the jungles along the Jordan. In old times these topics were the substance of his life, and he wished to hear the shepherds' rough voices again, to look into their eyes, to talk sheep with them, to plunge his hands once more into the greasy fleeces, yes, and to vent his knowledge, so that if he should happen to come upon new men they would see that he, Jesus, had been at the job before.

Now the day seems like keeping up, he said; but there was a certain fear in his heart that the valleys would be close and hot in the afternoon and the hill-tops uninviting. But his humour was not for fault-finding; and with the ram in view always—not a long-legged brute with a face like a ewe upon him, but a broad, compact animal with a fine woolly head—he stepped out gaily, climbing hill after hill, enjoying his walk and interested in his remembrance of certain rams he had once seen near Cæsarea, and in his hope of possessing himself of one of these. With money enough upon me to buy one, he kept saying to himself, I shouldn't come back empty-handed. But, O Lord, the the day is hot, he cried at the end of the fourth hour. But yonder is the oak wood; and he stopped to think out the whereabouts of the well. A moment after he caught sight of a shepherd: who is, no doubt, by the well, he said. He is, and trying to lift out the stopper; and the shepherd, catching sight of Jesus, called him to come to his help, saying that it would need their united strength to get it out. We're moving it, the shepherd cried after a bit. We are, Jesus replied. How is the water? Fair enough if thy thirst be fierce, the shepherd replied. There is better about a mile from here, but I see thou'rt thirsty.

As soon as the men had quenched their thirst, the sheep came forward, each waiting his turn, as is their wont; and when the flock was watered it sought the shade of a great oak, and the twain, sitting under the burgeoning branches, began to talk. It was agreed between them that it would not do to advise anybody to choose shepherding as a trade at present, for things seemed to be going more than ever against the shepherd; the wild animals in the thickets along the Jordan had increased, and the robbers, though many had been crucified, were becoming numerous again; these did not hesitate to take a ewe or wether away with them, paying little for it, or not paying at all. But art thou a shepherd? Jesus answered that he had been a shepherd—an erstwhile Essene, he said; one that has returned to the brethren. The Essenes are good to the poor, the shepherd said, and glad to hear he was talking to a mate, he continued his complaint, to which Jesus gave heed, knowing well that it would not be long before they would be speaking of the breed of sheep best suited to the hills; the which came to pass, for, like Jesus, he lacked a good ram, and for the want of one, he said, his flock had declined. The better the breed, he continued, the more often it required renewing, and his master would not pay money for new blood, so he was thinking of leaving him; and to justify his intention he pointed out the ram to Jesus that was to serve the flock that autumn, asking him how a shepherd could earn with such a one the few lambs that he receives in payment if the flock increase under his care. He's four years old if he's a day, Jesus muttered. He is that, the shepherd answered; yet master told me yesterday he must serve another season, for he won't put his hand in his pocket, rams being so dear; but nothing, say I, is dearer than an old ram. I'm with thee in that, Jesus answered; and my plight is the same as thine. I'm searching for a ram, and have a friend who would pay a great sum of money for one if one of the style I am looking for can be found.

Well, luck will be with thee, but I know no ram on these hills that I'd pay money for, the shepherd answered, none we see is better than yon beast, and he is what thou seest him to be, a long-backed, long-legged, ugly ram that would be pretty tough under the tooth, and whose fleece a shepherd would find thin in winter-time.

But there were once fine sheep on these hills, Jesus answered, and I remember a ram—— Ay, mate, thou mayest well remember one, and I think I know the shepherd that thou'rt thinking of, but he that owns the breed will not sell a ram for the great sums of money that have been offered to him, for his pride is to keep the breed to himself. We've tried to buy, and been watching this long while for a lucky chance to drive one away, for a man that has more than he needs and will not sell aught thereof calls the thief down into his house, as it were, creating the thief out of an honest man, for which he deserves to be punished. But the rich are never punished and this man's shepherds are wary, and his dogs are fierce, and none has succeeded yet in getting a sample of the breed.

But where may this man be found? Jesus asked, and the shepherd mentioned a village high up on the mountains over against the sea. But go not thither, for twenty miles is a long walk if the end of it be but jeers and a scoffing. A scoffing! Jesus returned. Ay, and a fine one in thine ears; and a fine thirst upon thee, the shepherd continued, and turning to the oak-tree he began to cut branches to feed his goats. Twenty miles uphill in front of me, Jesus meditated, with jeers and scoffings at the end of the journey, of which I have had plenty; and he began to walk quickly and to look round the hills in search of pasture for a flock, for these hills were but faintly known to him. It isn't reasonable that a man will not part with a ram for a great sum of money, he said, and though he may not sell the lamb to his neighbours, whom he knows for rascals, he may sell to the Essenes, whose report is good. And he continued his way, stopping very often to think how he might find a bypath that would save him a climb; for the foot-hills running down from west to east, off the main range, formed a sort of gigantic ridge and furrow broken here and there, and whenever he met a shepherd he asked him to put him in the way of a bypath; and with a word of counsel from a shepherd and some remembrance he discovered many passes; but despite these easy ways the journey began to seem very long, so long that it often seemed as if he would never arrive at the village he was seeking. He told me I'd find it on the last ridge looking seaward. He said I couldn't miss it; and shading his eyes with his hand, Jesus caught sight of some roofs that he had not seen before. Maybe the roofs, he said, of the village in which I shall find my ram, and maybe he who will sell me the ram sits under that sycamore. If such be my fortune he will rise to meet me, Jesus continued, and he strove against the faintness coming over him. Is there a fountain? he asked. By that arch the fountain flows, drink thy fill, wayfarer. His sight being darkened he could not see the arch but stumbled against it and stood there, his face white and drawn, his hand to his side, till, unable to bear up any longer, he fell.

Somebody came to him with water, and after drinking a little he revived, and said he could walk alone, but as soon as they loosed him he fell again, and when lifted from the ground a second time he asked for the inn, saying he had come a long way. Whereupon a man said, thou shalt rest in my house; I guess thee to be a shepherd, though thy garb isn't altogether a shepherd's. But my house is open to him who needs food and shelter. Lean on my arm.

Let me untie thy sandals, were the next words Jesus heard, and when his feet were bathed and he had partaken of food and drink and was rested, the villager, whom Jesus guessed to be a shepherd, began to ask him about the length of the journey from Jericho to Cæsarea: we're three hours from Cæsarea, he said; thou must have been walking many hours. Many hours indeed, Jesus answered. I've come from the Brook Kerith, which is five miles from Jericho. From the Brook Kerith? the villager repeated. A shepherd I guessed thee to be. And a fair guess, Jesus answered. A shepherd I am and in search of a ram of good breeding, sent on hither by a shepherd. He did but make sport of thee, the villager answered, for it is I that own the breed that all men would have. So a shepherd sent thee hither to buy a ram from me? No, Jesus replied, he said thou wouldst not sell. Then he was an honester shepherd than I thought for: he would have saved thee a vain journey, and it would have been well hadst thou listened to his counsel, for I will not part with the breed; and my hope is that my son will not be tempted to part with the breed, for it is through our sheep that we have made our riches, such small riches as we possess, he added, lest he should appear too rich in the eyes of a stranger. If thou'lt not sell I must continue my journey farther, Jesus answered. In quest of a ram? the shepherd said. But thou'lt not find any but long-backed brutes tucked up in the belly that offend the eye and are worse by far than a hole in the pocket. With such rams the hills abound. But get thee the best, though the best may be bad, for every man must work according to his tools.

If thou asked me for anything but my breed of sheep I would have given it, for thy face and thy speech please me, but as well ask me for my wife or my daughter as for my rams. Be it so, Jesus answered, and he rose to continue his way, but his host said that having taken meat and drink in his house he must sleep in it too, and Jesus, being tired, accepted the bed offered to him. He could not have fared farther; there was no inn nor public guest-room, and in the morning his host might be in the humour to part with a ram for a great sum of money. But the morning found his host in the same humour regarding his breed of sheep—determined to keep it; but in all other things willing to serve his guest. Jesus bade him good-bye, sorry he could not persuade him but liking him all the same.

In two hours he was near the cultivated lands of Cæsarea, and it seemed to him that his best chance of getting news of a ram would be to turn westward, and finding bed and board in every village, he travelled far and wide in search of the fine rams that he had once caught sight of in those parts. But the rams of yore seemed to have disappeared altogether from the country: thou mayest journey to Cæsarea and back again, but thou'lt not find anything better than that I offer thee one man said to Jesus, whereupon Jesus turned his back upon Cæsarea and began the return journey sad and humble, but with hope still a-flutter in his heart, for he continued to inquire after rams all the way till he came one bright morning to the village in which lived the owner of the great breed of sheep that he coveted, honourably coveted, he muttered to himself, but coveted heartily.

The sun was well up at the time, and Jesus had come by the road leading up from the coast. He had passed over the first ridge, and had begun to think that he must be near the village in which the man lived who owned the great breed of sheep when his thoughts were interrupted by a lamb bleating piteously, and, looking round, he saw one running hither and thither, seeking his dam. Now the lamb seeming to him a fine one, he was moved to turn back to the village to tell the man he had lodged with that a lamb of his breed had lost the ewe. Thou sayest well, the man answered, and that lamb will seek vainly, for the ewe hurt her hoof, and we kept her in the house so that she might be safer than with my shepherd out on the hills, and the luck we have had is that a panther broke into our garden last night. We thought he had killed the lamb as well, but he only took the ewe, and the lamb thou bringest me tidings of will be dead before evening. My thanks to thee, shepherd, for thy pains. But, said Jesus, thou'lt sell me the lamb that runs bleating after ewe, on the chance that I shall rear him? Whereat the villager smiled and said: it seems hard to take thy money for naught, for thou hast a pleasant face; but who knows what luck may be with thee. For a shekel thou shalt have the lamb. Jesus paid the shekel, and his eyes falling upon a bush in whose stems he knew he should find plenty of sap, he cut some six or seven inches off, and, having forced out the sap, showed it to the villager, and asked him for a rag to tie round the end of it. I hardly know yet what purpose thou'lt put this stem to, the shepherd said, but he gave Jesus the rag he asked for, and Jesus answered: I've a good supply of ewe's milk drawn from the udder scarce an hour ago. Thou hast ewe's milk in thy bottle! the villager said. Then it may be I shall lose my breed through thoughtlessness. And it was with a grave face that he watched Jesus tie a rag around the hollow stem.

He put the stem into the lamb's jaws and poured milk down it, feeding the lamb as well as the ewe could have done. It may be I shall get him home alive, Jesus muttered to himself. Thou'lt do it, if luck be with thee, and if thou canst rear him my breed has passed from me. Thou'lt be rewarded for taking my shekel, Jesus answered. A fine lamb for a month, the villager remarked. One that will soon begin to weigh heavy in my bosom, Jesus answered; a true prophecy, for after a few miles Jesus was glad to let him run by his side; and knowing now no other mother but Jesus, he trotted after him as he might after the ewe: divining perhaps, Jesus said to himself, the leathern bottle at my girdle.

But very soon Jesus had to carry him again, and, despite his weight, they were at noon by the well at the end of the oak wood. Lamb, we'll sleep awhile together in a pleasant hollow at the edge of the wood. Lay thyself down and doze. The lamb was obedient, but before long he awoke Jesus with his bleating. He wants some milk, he said, and undid the leather girdle and placed the feeding-pipe into the lamb's mouth. But before giving him milk he was moved to taste it: for if the milk be sour—— The milk has soured, he said, and the poor bleating thing will die in the wood, his bleatings growing fainter and fainter. He'll look into my face, wondering why I do not give him the bottle from which he took such a good feed only a few hours ago; and while Jesus was thinking these things the lamb began to bleat for his milk, and as Jesus did not give it to him he began to run round in search of the ewe, and Jesus let him run, hoping that a wild beast would seize and carry him away and with his fangs end the lamb's sufferings quicker than hunger could.

But no wolf or panther was in the thicket, and the lamb returned to him: brought back, he said, by a memory of the bottle. But, my poor wee lamb, there is no sweet milk in my bottle, only sour, which would pain thee. Think no more of life, but lie down and die: we shall all do the same some day.... Thy life has been shorter than mine, and perhaps better for that. No, I've no milk for thee and cannot bear to look in thy face: run away again in search of the ewe and find instead the panther that took her. Poor little lamb, dying for milk in this wild place. So thou hast returned to me, having found neither ewe nor panther. Go, and seek a wolf, he will be a better friend to thee than I.

He had seen many lambs die and did not understand why he should feel more pain at this lamb's death than another's. But it was so; and now all his hopes and fears centred in this one thing that Fate had confided to his bosom. A little milk would save it, but he had no milk. He might pick him up and run, calling to the shepherds, but none would hear. I cannot listen to his bleating any longer, he said, and tried to escape from the lamb, but he was followed round the trees, and just as he was about to climb into one out of the lamb's sight his nostrils caught the scent of fleeces coming up the hillside. A shepherd is leading his flock to the well-head, he said, so, wee lamb, thou wilt not die to-day, and, addressing himself to the shepherd, he said: I've got a lamb of the right breed, but have no milk to give him. Canst thou pay for it? the shepherd asked; and Jesus said, I can, and the shepherd called a ewe and the lamb was fed.

Well, luck is in thy way, the shepherd said, for I was on my way to another well, and cannot tell what came into my mind and turned me from it and brought me up here. Every life, Jesus said, is in the hands of God, and it was not his will to let this lamb die. Dost believe, the shepherd answered, that all is ordered so? And Jesus answered him: thou'lt fill my bottle with milk? The shepherd said: I will; but thou hast still a long way before the lamb can be fed again. Hide thy bottle under a cool stone in yon forest and in the evening the milk will still be sweet and thou canst feed thy lamb again and continue thy journey by starlight. But these hills are not my hills; mine are yonder, Jesus said, and at night all shapes are different. No matter, the way is simple from this well, the shepherd answered, and he gave Jesus such directions as he could follow during the night. Now mind thee, he continued, look round for a shepherd at daybreak. He'll give thee fresh milk for thy lamb and by to-morrow evening thou'lt be by the Brook Kerith. And this advice appearing good to Jesus, he turned into the shade of the trees with his lamb, and both slept together side by side till the moon showed like a ghost in the branches of the trees.

It was time then to feed the lamb, and the milk being sweet in the bottle, the lamb drank it greedily; and when he had drunk enough Jesus was tempted to drink what the lamb could not drink, for he was thirsty after eating his bread, but he went to the well and took a little water instead, and lay down, telling the lamb that he might sleep but a little while, for they must be ready at midnight to travel again. If we meet a shepherd thou livest, if he fail us thou diest. Jesus said, and seeing a shepherd leaving a cavern at dawn with his flock, Jesus called to him and bought milk from him and once more the twain continued their journey, the lamb becoming so dependent on the shepherd that Jesus took pleasure sometimes in hiding himself behind a rock, and as soon as the lamb missed him he would run to and fro bleating in great alarm till he found Jesus; and when he came upon him he thrust his nozzle into Jesus' hand.

It was then more than at any time he delighted in being carried. No, my good lamb, I've carried thee far and now can barely carry myself to the bridge; and the lamb had to follow to the bridge, and they began to ascend the terraces together, but the steep ascents very soon began to tire him, and the lamb lay down and bleated for Jesus to take him up in his arms, which he did, but, overcome with the weariness of a long journey, he had to lay him down after a few paces. Yet he would not surrender the lamb to the brethren who came and offered to carry him, saying: I have carried him so far and will carry him to the end, but ye must let me rest on your arms. Meanwhile, fetch me a little milk, for the lamb has had all that I could buy from the shepherds on the hills, and do not ask how I became possessed of this lamb, for I am too tired to tell the story. So did he speak, holding the lamb to his bosom; and leaning on the arm of one of the brethren while another pushed from behind, and in this exhausted state he reached the cenoby.

Now I must feed my lamb; go to Brother Amos and ask him to bring some ewe's milk at once. But the brethren were loath to go, saying: Brother Amos is feeding his sheep far from here, but will return in the evening. But the lamb must be fed every three or four hours, Jesus answered, and do ye go at once to Amos and tell him to bring the milk at once. He must not be kept waiting for his milk. Now look at him and say if any of ye have seen a finer lamb. I can speak no more, but will sleep a little as soon as I have placed him in a basket. But wake me up as soon the milk comes, for I will trust none to feed him but myself, and he dropped off to sleep almost on these words.

The Essenes, understanding that the lamb had caused Jesus a long search, went after Amos as they were bidden, and finding him not as far as they thought for with his flock, they related to him Jesus' request that he should bring some ewe's milk at once, which he did, and seeing Jesus in deep sleep he said: it is a pity to waken him, for I know how to feed a lamb as well as he does. May I not? But the Essenes said: he'll be vexed indeed if the lamb be fed by any but him. So be it, Amos answered; and they roused Jesus with difficulty, for his sleep was deep, and when he opened his eyes he knew not where he was for some time. At last memory returned to him, and, struggling from the couch, he said: I must feed my lamb. The milk is fresh from the ewe? he asked. Yes, Jesus, Amos answered, I have just drawn it from the udder. As soon as he is old enough to run with the flock I'll bring him, Jesus said, and thou'lt be free to return to the Scriptures.

And having asked that he might be awaked in four hours his eyes closed, which is not to be wondered at, he having slept hardly at all for four days. Does he put his lamb before the Scriptures? the Essenes asked each other, and they withdrew, shaking their heads.