Akka knew, to be sure, that sheep are always shy and peculiar;
but these seemed to have no idea of how they should conduct themselves.
Finally an old ewe, who had a long and pathetic face and a doleful
voice, said: "There isn't one among us that refuses to let you stay; but
this is a house of mourning, and we cannot receive guests as we did in
former days." "You needn't worry about anything of that sort," said
Akka. "If you knew what we have endured this day, you would surely
understand that we are satisfied if we only get a safe spot to sleep
on."
When Akka said this, the old ewe raised herself. "I believe that it
would be better for you to fly about in the worst storm than to stop
here. But, at least, you shall not go from here before we have had the
privilege of offering you the best hospitality which the house affords."
She conducted them to a hollow in the ground, which was filled with
water. Beside it lay a pile of bait and husks and chaff; and she bade
them make the most of these. "We have had a severe snow-winter this
year, on the island," she said. "The peasants who own us came out to us
with hay and oaten straw, so we shouldn't starve to death. And this
trash is all there is left of the good cheer."
The geese rushed to the food instantly. They thought that they had fared
well, and were in their best humour.
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