All the crowd were shouting in wild confusion.

Curiosity, on the one hand, to hear the noble gentleman's speech, and
the somewhat superficial fury of the mob contended together for a few
minutes; at last curiosity seemed to be gaining the day, the tumult
subsided, and the praetor began:

"Once upon a time there was a child who had given to him ten little sheep
made of cotton, little foolish toys such as the old women sell in the
market place."

"Get into the Jew's house, we don't want to hear children's stories--"

"Be quiet there!"

"Hush now listen; from the sheep he will go on to the wolves."

"Not wolves--it will be a she-wolf!" some one shouted in the throng.

"Do not mention the horrid things!" laughed Verus but listen to me.--
Well, the child set his little sheep up in a row each one close to the
next. He was a weaver's son. Are there any weavers here? You? and
you--ah, and you out there. If I were not my father's son I should like
to be the son of an Alexandrian weaver. You need not laugh!--Well, about
the sheep. All the little things were beautifully white but one which
had nasty black spots, and the little boy could not bear that one. He
went to the hearth, pulled out a burning stick and wanted to burn the
little ugly sheep so as only to have pretty white ones. The lambkin
caught fire and just as the flame had begun to burn the wooden skeleton