enjoyment of his simple feat.

After him came a veritable avalanche of Syrian sheep, scrambling to
right and left as they parted behind Momus and Laodice and eddying
around the young shepherd who stopped at seeing the pair. His yell
died away at once, though the effort of sliding down a frozen, rocky
slope had not interfered with a single note.

He might well have been a young satyr, fresh from the groves of
Achaia, with his big, serious mouth and its range of glittering teeth,
his shining deer-like eyes, wide apart, his faun curls low on his
forehead, his big head set on a short neck, his shoulders yet
childish, his slim brown body half smothered in skins, half bare as he
was born, his large hard hand gripping a crook of horn and wood. His
gaze at Momus was frank with boyish curiosity. His bright eyes plainly
remarked on the oddity of the old servant's appearance. Having
catalogued old Momus as worthy of further inspection, he looked then
at Laodice. Under the lowering moon and the listless effort of coming
day, her unmantled dress of silver tissue made of her a moon-spirit,
banished out of her world of pallor and solitude. Before her splendid
young beauty, pale with distress and weariness, he was not abashed.
His simple eyes studied her with equal frankness, but with an
admiration beyond words.

Feeling somehow that his sudden appearance might have distressed her,
he said finally:

"Go on, lady, or stay as it pleases you. I will not hurt you."

Momus' shoulders submerged his ears in an indignant shrug. That this