milk down it, feeding
the lamb as well as the ewe could have done. It may be I shall get him
home alive, Jesus muttered to himself. Thou'lt do it, if luck be with
thee, and if thou canst rear him my breed has passed from me. Thou'lt be
rewarded for taking my shekel, Jesus answered. A fine lamb for a month,
the villager remarked. One that will soon begin to weigh heavy in my
bosom, Jesus answered; a true prophecy, for after a few miles Jesus was
glad to let him run by his side; and knowing now no other mother but
Jesus, he trotted after him as he might after the ewe: divining perhaps,
Jesus said to himself, the leathern bottle at my girdle.

But very soon Jesus had to carry him again, and, despite his weight,
they were at noon by the well at the end of the oak wood. Lamb, we'll
sleep awhile together in a pleasant hollow at the edge of the wood. Lay
thyself down and doze. The lamb was obedient, but before long he awoke
Jesus with his bleating. He wants some milk, he said, and undid the
leather girdle and placed the feeding-pipe into the lamb's mouth. But
before giving him milk he was moved to taste it: for if the milk be
sour---- The milk has soured, he said, and the poor bleating thing will
die in the wood, his bleatings growing fainter and fainter. He'll look
into my face, wondering why I do not give him the bottle from which he
took such a good feed only a few hours ago; and while Jesus was thinking
these things the lamb began to bleat for his milk, and as Jesus did not
give it to him he began to run round in search of the ewe, and Jesus let
him run, hoping that a wild beast would seize and carry him away and
with his fangs end the lamb's sufferings quicker than hunger could.

But no wolf or panther was in the thicket, and the lamb returned to him:
brought back, he said, by a memory of the bottle. But, my poor wee lamb,
there is no sweet milk in my bottle, only sour, which would pain thee.
Think no more of life, but lie down and die: we shall all do the same
some day.... Thy life has been shorter than mine, and perhaps better for
that. No, I've no milk for thee and cannot bear to look in thy face: run
away again in search of the ewe and find instead the panther that took
her. Poor little lamb, dying for milk in this wild place. So thou hast
returned to me, having found neither ewe nor panther. Go, and seek a
wolf, he will be a better friend to thee than I.

He had seen many lambs die and did not understand why he sho