The priest Emilius smiled. “My son,” he said kindly, “these things are foolish and lead to nothing. If you will stay with us and help to tend our flocks, you shall learn of our gods, and live as we do, sharing our work and our play. But unless you obey our law we cannot let you stay. The gods are not pleased when strangers come into their sacred places.
“The founder of our city is as a kind father who watches us and sees what we do, whether it is good or whether it is evil. Our children are his children, and our fortunes are his care, as they were when he was alive and ruled his people wisely as a father. This is why we honor him. Will you stay with us and be our herd boy?”
The lad stood up, his staff in one hand, the other in the loop of the wolf’s collar. “We owe the shepherd our lives,” he said, with his proud young head erect. “We will go back to him and serve him until we are men. When I am a man, I think I will found a city of my own.”
His brother laughed. In a flash the lad turned on him and knocked him down. Emilius caught him by the shoulder.
“My boy,” he said sternly, “there must be no quarreling on a holiday. Go back to your [pg 67]own place, for you are right to cherish your foster father. In good or bad fortune, in all places and at all times, it is right to return kindness for kindness, to show reverence to the old who have cared for the young.”
The villagers, puzzled, curious and a little afraid, watched the two wild figures and their strange companion move away into the long shadows of the woodlands. They did not come back when any one could see them, but about a week later there was found at the door of the priest a basket woven roughly but not unskillfully of the bark of a tree, lined with fresh leaves and filled with wild honey and chestnuts.