“Drop it!” the decurion ordered him peremptorily.  “We are ten to one and a dog.  No blood-letting this day.  It is Titus’ order.  Boy, get you gone; these sheep are confiscate.”

“I have been told they are only common stock,” the boy remonstrated gravely, “but you may be right.  Howbeit, they are not mine and I can not leave them.”

“You have been misinformed,” the decurion said gravely, while his men, circling around the growling dog, went on with their work.  “These are Roman sheep, with the Flavian coat of arms and the mark of the army in black on their hides—­if you shear them.  But if you make away as fast as you can I shall not tell Titus which way you went.”

The sheep had started pell-mell toward the Roman road.  The decurion turned back to his horse.  The shepherd released his dog, which ran after the flock, and stepped into the decurion’s way.

“However these sheep look when they are sheared,” he said, “this seems to be robbery to me.”

“Robbery!” the good-natured decurion exclaimed.  “This is but a religious rite that Mercury got out of the cradle at two days to establish.  Only he took Apollo’s cattle while we are contenting ourselves with the sheep of mortal ownership.  Robbery!  What an inelegant word!”

Meanwhile the stampeded sheep were making in a cloud of dust back over the road toward the west from which the Romans had come.

“What shall I say to the citizens of Pella?” the little shepherd shouted, pursuing the decurion who was making back to his horse as fast as he could go.

“Salute them for me,” the decurion shouted back, “and make them my obeisances, and say that I shall report on the flavor of the sheep by messenger from Jerusalem.”

In a moment the boy sprang into the decurion’s way so suddenly that the soldier almost fell over him.

“Be fair!” the boy exclaimed.  “At least leave me half!”

The decurion was losing patience and the shepherd had grown more than ever serious.

“Fair!” the Roman echoed.  “Why, I have been indulgent!  This is war!  It is almost a breach of discipline to argue with you.  Out of the way!”

“The Roman army has all the world to feed it; Pella has only its sheep.  We, then, must face hunger and cold because your appetites crave mutton this day!” the boy returned resentfully.

The decurion pointed down the road.

“Why waste your breath!  There go the sheep.”

The boy’s dark eyes filled with tears.  The decurion swung around him and went back to the horses that waited in the road.  He knotted their bridles together and, leading one of the number, remounted and rode west after the receding cloud of dust which hid the flock.

The shepherd’s head sank on his heaving breast and he stood still.

“Lord Jesus, I pray Thee, give me my sheep again!” he prayed.