After performance of this pious rite Haita unbarred the gate of the fold and with a cheerful mind drove his flock afield, eating his morning meal of curds and oat cake as he went, occasionally pausing to add a few berries, cold with dew, or to drink of the waters that came away from the hills to join the stream in the middle of the valley and be borne along with it, he knew not whither.ĭuring the long summer day, as his sheep cropped the good grass which the gods had made to grow for them, or lay with their forelegs doubled under their breasts and chewed the cud, Haita, reclining in the shadow of a tree, or sitting upon a rock, played so sweet music upon his reed pipe that sometimes from the corner of his eye he got accidental glimpses of the minor sylvan deities, leaning forward out of the copse to hear but if he looked at them directly they vanished. He rose with the sun and went forth to pray at the shrine of Hastur, the god of shepherds, who heard and was pleased. His thoughts were pure and pleasant, for his life was simple and his soul devoid of ambition. In the heart of Haita the illusions of youth had not been supplanted by those of age and experience.
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