It was a steep and slippery way, but Dahvid plunged down with no thought of anything but the sheep.  Loose stones gave way and he lost his footing.  At the bottom he picked himself up unhurt, and there beside him were two wolves quarreling over the wounded sheep.  One of them slunk away at sight of the boy, but the other had a taste of blood and sprang at Dahvid, missing his throat but sinking his teeth into his leg.  Then Dahvid, as the beast turned to spring again, struck him a heavy blow on the head with his staff and killed him.  His own wounds were bleeding and painful, but he turned at once with caressing words to the sheep.

“Ke-barbara, they have hurt you, little sheep!  But they have not killed you!  I reached you just in time.  You cannot walk; can you?  And I am afraid I cannot carry you.  But I can help.  There, put your head on my arm.”  He groaned with pain.  “No, the other one.”  So he talked to her, as to a child, as the wounded boy and the wounded sheep slowly made their way up the steep hillside and over the rough rocks.  It was not a long way, and, half an hour before, the sturdy shepherd lad would have bounded over it quickly enough.  But now the wounded leg was slow, the wounded arm was weak, and the wounded lamb seemed very heavy.  It was a weary journey, with many stops.  When at last they reached the flock, still huddled trembling together, Dahvid had only strength to give one reassuring “Hoo-o-o, ta-a-a,” then fell exhausted.

How long he lay there he did not know, but the dawn was growing bright when three men appeared from the direction of the town.  It was not the shepherds, but old Abraham and two of his servants.  As the old man caught sight of his flock, but he saw no shepherd, he raged with anger.  “Dahvid!” he shouted fiercely.  “Dahvid!” There was no answer.

“The young vagabond!  He has left the sheep.  Of great worth are his promises!  He would keep my flock.  ‘Come life—­come death!’ Dahvid!  Let me once find him and I will give him something he will remember longer than he does his vows.”

As he drew near the flock he discovered the boy lying on the ground.  “Ah, asleep is he? and the sun this high!  Come, get up!” he shouted fiercely, and lifted his staff to strike.  But, as he did so he caught sight of the white face and the bleeding arm, and noticed the wounded sheep.  Old Abraham dropped his angry arm, and there was a touch of tenderness that was strange to him, as he continued:  “Ah, Dahvid, boy!  You did not forget your promises; did you, Dahvid?  And I would have struck you!  Forgive me, my lad.”  Then, turning to his servants, he gave them command:  “Take him to the inn and bid them care for him.  I, myself, will keep the flock today.”

The servants bowed low, “The inn is full, my lord.”

Old Abraham commanded again positively, “Take him to the inn, I say.”

“But the inn is full, my lord,” replied the older servant, trembling.