“Old enough to be fierce enough,” exclaimed Isegrim, with something of the ferocity of old days in his tone and eye; “let me tell you that, Master Shepherd.”
“And, like all the rest you have been telling me, it is a lie,” was the Shepherd’s response. “You would be fierce if you could; but, to your mortification, you are grown imbecile—you have the will, but want the power. Your mouth betrays you, if your tongue don’t, old deceiver! Yet, though you can bite no longer, you are still, I dare say, able to mumble; and on the whole, I shouldn’t fancy being a sheep’s head and shoulders in your way just now. What’s bred in the bone will never come out of the flesh, says the proverb; and I believe you are one of the last animals one could expect to falsify it. I’ll take right good care to keep you at crook’s length, my crafty neighbour; make yourself certain of that!”
IV.
The wrath of the Wolf was excessive, but after some time it began to subside. Mankind, it was evident, at least the pastoral portion of them, did not appreciate as they ought the dawn of intelligence among the lupuline race—the first faint efforts of the brute intellect to attain emancipation from ignorance and savageism. However, he would try again. Perseverance might conquer destiny. The Great, thought he, are not always thus unfortunate. Certainly it should not be so in my case. Ha! here we are at the door of another shepherd, and methinks a man of a thoughtful and benevolent aspect. Let us see how we shall get along with his new crookship.
So he began: “How is this, my dear friend?” he asked; “you seem rather depressed in spirits. Nothing unpleasant, I hope?—no domestic fracas, or thing of that sort—eh?”
“No,” returned the Shepherd, sighing, “but I have lost my faithful dog—an animal I have had for years—and I shall never be able to supply his place. I have been just thinking what a noble creature he was.”
“Gadso! that’s good news!” cried the Wolf—“I mean for myself—ay, and on second thoughts, let me add for you too, Shepherd. You have me exactly in the nick of time. It’s just the nicest thing that could have happened!”
“What do you mean?” cried the shepherd. “Nicest thing that could have happened! I don’t understand you.”
“I’ll enlighten you, my worthy,” cried Isegrim in high spirits. “What would you think? I have just had the bloodiest battle you can imagine with my brethren in the forest; they and I quarrelled upon a point of etiquette; so I tore a dozen and a half of them to pieces, and made awful examples of all the rest. The consequence is, that the whole of the brute world is up in arms against me; I can no longer herd with my kind; for safety sake I must make my dwelling among the children of men. Now, as you have lost your dog, what can you do better than hire me to fill his place? Depend upon it, I shall have such a constant eye to your sheep! And, as to expense, I shall cost you nothing; for as employment, and not emolument, is my object, I shall manage to live on a mere idea—in fact, I don’t care whether I eat or drink; I’ll feed upon air, if you only take me into your service!”
“Do you mean to say,” demanded the Shepherd, “that you would protect my flock against the invasions of your own brethren, the wolves?”