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 should feel more pain at this lamb’s death than a
