"So this is the lad's first night with the sheep in the fields, and
the old man's last night, I fear," said the aged shepherd, sadly. "It
is not often in these days that I venture out to keep the watches of
the flock; but this one night of the year I have spent upon these
hills these many years, and I always shall as long as I have strength
to walk so far."

"Was your father, too, a shepherd?"

"Yes, and all his fathers before him for many generations. On these
hills my ancestors have kept their sheep for I know not how long."

Joseph was still for a moment. His eyes wandered away over the silent
hills, lit by the rising moon. His face was troubled. At length, he
said gently:

"Grandfather, I heard Rabbi Eliezer saying, the other day, in the
synagogue, that a shepherd's life is not a noble life. He was reading
from one of the old doctors, who said: 'Let no one make his son a
camel-driver, a barber, a sailor, a shepherd, or a shopkeeper. They
are dishonest callings.' I was angry when he read it; but I held my
peace."

"You did well, my son, to hold your peace. I myself have often heard
such words, of late, from the doctors in the synagogues; but it is not
wise to answer them. Where they got their notions, I know not. From
the Egyptians, I think, more than from the prophets. All Egyptians
hate shepherds, and can never speak of them without sneering. Perhaps
they have not yet forgotten how the shepherds conquered and ruled them