“Look at the goats all about,” said Peggy, and she pointed up the mountain-side. There were scores of goats there, some staring at the children in surprise, some leaping from rock to rock in a hair-raising manner.
“Goats have plenty of circus-tricks,” said Mike, laughing as he watched a goat take a flying leap from a rocky ledge, and land with all four feet bunched together on a small rock not more than six inches square. “Off he goes again! I wonder they don’t break their legs.”
“They must be Beowald’s goats,” said Peggy. “Ranni, call Beowald.”
But before Ranni could shout, another noise came to the children’s ears. It was a strange, plaintive noise, like a peculiar melody with neither beginning nor end. It was odd, and the children listened, feeling a little uncomfortable.
“Whatever’s that?” asked Peggy.
They rode on a little way and came to a big rock beside which gushed a clear spring, running from a rocky hole in the mountain-side. On the other side, in the shelter of the rock, lay a youth, dressed only in rough trousers of goat-skin. Round his neck, tied by a leather cord, was a kind of flute, and on this the goatherd was playing his strange, unending melodies.
He sat up when the children dismounted. The children saw that his strange dark eyes were blind. There was no light in them. They could see nothing. But it was a happy face they looked on, and the goatherd spoke to them in a deep, musical voice.
“You are come!” he said. “I heard you down the mountain two hours since. I have been waiting for you.”
“How did you know we were coming to see you?” asked Paul in astonishment.
Beowald smiled. It was a strange smile, for although his mouth curved upwards, his eyes remained empty and dark.