“Oh, bother!” he cried. “I can’t bear to go in to yawny lessons! I want to stay out in the shininess. I say, Boy, when have you got to go home and do lessons?”
“Don’t do any lessons,” grunted Olaf the Dark.
“You don’t do any lessons?” exclaimed Olaf the Fair. “Oh, you are a lucky one! How long will you stay out?”
“Till it gets dark. The sheep must graze till then.”
“Till it gets dark? Oo-oo-oo-ee! Lovely! I’ve never been out in the night. I would like to see how the stars get there. Have you ever seen one just pricking through the blackness? But, where’s your coat? ’Twill surely be cold before ’tis dark.”
“Don’t have a coat.”
“Don’t you wear anything but just that one dead sheep? It must be beautifully comfortable. My clothes are so hot and heavy,” said the king, tugging at his rich robes.
“Sire?” pleaded the attendant.
“All right, I’m coming,” said Olaf the Fair, and reluctantly mounting his palfrey, he turned its arched neck towards the distant palace. “Good-bye, Boy. Wish I could stay and play with you and your sheep.”
Wistfully Olaf the Dark gazed after the gay figure of the king disappearing into the rising mists, and as he rode away, Olaf the Fair turned his head, weary with the weight of his crown, and stared long at the solitary figure of the sturdy little shepherd. Disconsolately, he listened to the tinkling bells till they died away in the distance.