"Talk to the bag," he said, "and guard it as carefully as if there was a
jewel in it."
That night the boy was wakened out of his soundest sleep by screams for
help in his room. There was the innkeeper running about, and that queer
stick was pounding him, first on the head, then on the feet, then on his
back, then in his face.
"Help! help!" he cried.
"Give me back my sheep," said the boy.
"Get it; it is hidden in the barn," said the innkeeper.
The boy went out and found his sheep in the barn and drove it away as
fast as he could, but he forgot about the innkeeper, and, maybe, that
stick is pounding him to this day.
ORPHEUS, THE SOUTH WIND
_Greek_
In the land of Thrace there lived, years ago, one who was called
Orpheus. He was the sweetest singer ever known. His voice was low and
soft.
When men heard this voice all anger ceased, and their thoughts were
thoughts of peace. Even wild animals were tamed.
Orpheus went into the woods one day and took nothing but his harp with
him.
No quiver of arrows was on his back, nor hunting spear at his side.
He sang and sang till the birds flew down on the ground about him, and
seemed to think that a creature with such a voice must be merely another
kind of bird.
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