THE SHEPHERD OF THE HILLS
He heard it rattle across the creek bottom below the ruined cabin under the bluff. He waited until from away up on Compton Ridge the sound of wheels came to him on the breeze that slipped down the mountain side. Still he waited, listening, listening, until there were only the voices of the forest and the bleating of the sheep in the corral. Slipping a book in his pocket, and taking a luncheon for himself and Pete he opened the corral gate and followed his flock to the hills.
All that summer Pete was the shepherd's constant companion. At first he seemed not to understand. Frequently he would start off suddenly for the cave, only to return after a time, with that look of trouble upon his delicate face. Mr. Howitt tried to help the boy, and he appeared gradually to realize in part. Once he startled his old friend by saying quietly, "When are you goin', Dad?"
"Going where? Where does Pete think Dad is going?"
The boy was lying on his back on the grassy hillside watching the clouds. He pointed upward, "There, where he went; up there in the white hills. Pete knows."
The other looked long at the lad before answering quietly, "Dad does not know when he will go. But he is ready any time, now."
"Pete says better not wait long, Dad; 'cause Pete
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