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 god 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 gods 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 gods, 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 gods 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 god. He said the god 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 god—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 gods,” 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 [pg 66]than a child, who came up out of a field which a farmer was plowing.”