Momus ate, and looked with growing grace at his young host. But
Laodice succeeded only in drinking the goat's milk and lapsed into
benumbed gazing at the red glow of fire that cast its warmth about
her. The shepherd talked on, attempting to interest her in something
other than her consuming sorrow.

"These be Christian sheep about you, friends," he said, "and I am a
Christian shepherd."

Momus sat up suddenly with a bit of the boy's bread arrested on its
way to his lips. He was eating the fare of an apostate, of a despised
Nazarene. The boy went on composedly.

"We are from Pella, the Christian city. We are, my sheep, my city and
I, the only secure people in all Judea. We, I and the sheep, have been
in the hills since the first new grass in February. We are many
leagues from home."

"So am I," Laodice said wearily.

"Jerusalem?" the shepherd asked, glad he had brought out a response.
"No? Yet all Judea is going to Jerusalem at this time. Are you
fugitives?"

Momus nodded.

"Come then to Pella," the shepherd urged. "You will be fed there;
Titus will not come there. We are poor but we are happy--and we are
safe."