The Shepherd.
The shepherd Savva had charge of a Seigneur's flocks. Suddenly the sheep began to disappear.
Our fine fellow is plunged in grief and woe. Everywhere he goes weeping and spreading abroad the news that a ter rible wolf has appeared—that it has taken to dragging the sheep from the fold and pitilessly tearing them to pieces.
"And there's nothing wonderful in that," say the people. "What pity have wolves for sheep?"
So they take to watching for the wolf.
But how comes it that our dear Savva's oven can now boast of cabbage soup with mutton in it, or say a sheep's side and kasha[1]? (He had been turned out of a scullion's place, and sent into the fields as a shepherd, by way of punishment for his faults: so he kept a kitchen more like one of ours than a peasant's.)
A great search is made for the wolf: it is cursed on all sides, and the whole forest is rummaged for it. But not a trace of it can be found.
Friends, your trouble is of no use. About the wolf it's all mere talk. The real devourer of the sheep is—Savva.
- ↑ A favourite dish made of buckwheat.
