Blanco looked like a white wolf,--a wolf such
as Saint Bridget gave the King of Ireland. And without stopping to find
out who he really was, which would have saved all the trouble, they had
a terrible fight, and poor Blanco was killed by the huge black wolf.

Then Herve was sad indeed. He cried and sobbed and was so wretched that
the wolf was sorry. Besides, as soon as the fight was over the wolf had
found out his mistake, and saw that it was a strange dog whom he had
killed, no wolf-enemy at all. He was very much ashamed. He came up to
Herve and fawned at his feet, trying to tell that he was sorry, and
asking what he should do about it. So Herve told him that if he would be
his dog now instead of Blanco he would try to forgive the wolf; though
he was, oh, so sorry to lose his faithful dog.

After that Herve went on his wanderings led by a big black wolf whom he
held in a strong leather leash. And the wolf became as dear to him as
Blanco had been. He slept in the barn with the oxen when he was at home,
and never snapped nor bit at them as most wolves would do. But he kept
sharp watch over his little master, and saw that no one hurt or cheated
him. I should be sorry to think what would have happened to any one who
had dared to touch Herve while the wolf was near. And he was always
near, with his sharp teeth and watchful eyes.

So they wandered and wandered together, Herve and the wolf, carrying
music from town to town, the songs of Hyvarnion and Rivanone. But Herve
had not yet learned to make songs of his own.

III.

NOW after seven years of wandering, Herve had earned money enough to
keep his mother in comfort. He longed to go to school and be taught
things, to grow wise like his father, who had been called the Little
Sage, and to learn how to make songs for himself. For he felt that it
was time for him to come into the kingdom of Hyvarnion and Rivanone; and
the songs shut in his heart were bursting to come out.

Gourvoyed, the brother of Rivanone, was a holy hermit who lived alone in
the forest, and he would teach Herve, his nephew, for love of him. For
Gourvoyed was a wise man, skilled in all things, but especially in the
making of songs.

It was a blessed morning when Herve started for his school in the woods;
he was going to his kingdom! The sunlight framed his fair curls in a
halo of light, as if giving him a blessing. Birds sang all along the way
as if telling him that with Gourvoyed he would learn to ma