All morning Clown walked bravely along the dusty road, but at last he began to feel hungry and tired. After going miles and miles, towards midday he was lucky enough to meet in the fields a large flock of sheep, guarded by sheep-dogs. These dogs, when Clown told them his tragic story, were very kind to him and even asked him to share their dinner with them. But they could give no real help as to how to get to Paris.
"All that we know is, that it is several days' walk from here, down that way," they told him, pointing with their paws.
After comforting himself with cheese, milk, and brown bread, Clown left them, thanking them politely for their kindness. All the same, as he set off, he felt very sad, for he saw that the good dogs he had just visited did not think that his plan seemed a very good one, and he began to be afraid he never should get back home after all.
To make him still more uneasy, toward four o'clock the wind began to blow and big clouds darkened the sky. Clown fled along as fast as his legs would carry him, trying to get ahead of the awful storm which hung above his head. But the clouds went faster than he did; the lightning and thunder grew nearer and nearer, louder and louder.
With the storm had come darkness. Now torrents of rain hurled themselves madly from the sky. The poor dog was terribly frightened. He didn't know where to go, what road to take, valley, forest, or hill.
Wet to the skin, muddy, blinded by the rain, deafened by the thunder, he saw no sign of shelter. He just ran on wildly, battered by rain and wind, faster and faster, following his nose.