Wethermel, said the youngling. Aha, said the man, art thou he that slew the leash of great grey wolves last autumn, who had put two armed men to flight the day before? Said Osberne, reddening: Well, what was I to do? There fell a leash of hill-dogs on our sheep, and I made them forbear. Was it a scathe to thee, lord? The newcomer laughed again: Nay, my lad, said he, I love them no more than ye do; they were no dogs of mine. But what doest thou here? Thou seest, said the youngling, that I am shepherding our sheep; and a many have run from me, and I cannot bring them back to me. So I was going home with those that be left. Well, says the man, we can soon mend that. Rest thou here and abide my coming back again, and I will fetch them for thee. With a good will, says Osberne, and I shall can thee many thanks therefor.
So the man strode on and through the stream, and went his ways up the further bent, and Osberne sat down on a stone and abode him in no little wonder. The man was gone somewhat more than an hour, and then Osberne sees the sheep topping the crest of the bent and pouring down into the dale, and the newcomer came next driving them down; and when they came to the stream they stood there and moved no more than if they were penned.
Then the newcomer came through them up to Osberne, and said in a kind voice, though it was loud: What, art thou here yet? I deemed that thou wouldst have run home. Why should I
