He felt an endless isolation strike cold to his heart, against which he held the limp body of the wounded kid, wondering the while, with a half-contempt for his own foolishness, why he took such trouble to save a tiny scrap of the worthless tissue which is called life.
Even when a man does not know or care where he is going, if he steps onward he will get there. In an hour or more of walking over the plain the sad shepherd came to a sheep-fold of grey stones with a rude tower beside it. The fold was full of sheep, and at the foot of the tower a little fire of thorns was burning, around which four shepherds were crouching, wrapped in their thick woollen cloaks.
As the stranger approached they looked up, and one of them rose quickly to his feet, grasping his knotted club. But when they saw the flock that followed the sad shepherd, they stared at each other and said: “It is one of us, a keeper of sheep. But how comes he here in this raiment? It is what men wear in king’s houses.”
“No,” said the one who was standing, “it is what they wear when they have been thrown out of them. Look at the rags. He may be a thief and a robber with his stolen flock.”
“Salute him when he comes near,” said the oldest shepherd. “Are we not four to one? We have nothing to fear from a ragged traveller. Speak him fair. It is the will of God—and it costs nothing.”
“Peace be with you, brother,” cried the youngest shepherd; “may your mother and father be blessed.”
“May your heart be enlarged,” the stranger answered, “and may all your families be more blessed than mine, for I have none.”
“A homeless man,” said the old shepherd, “has either been robbed by his fellows, or punished by God.”
“I do not know which it was,” answered the stranger; “the end is the same, as you see.”
“By your speech you come from Galilee. Where are you going? What are you seeking here?”