Long, very long, was his search; he grew hot and forgot all fear,
except a spasm of terror lest his light should burn low and die
out. The bleating had quite ceased now, and there was not even a
sigh to guide him; but he knew that near him the lambs must be,
and he did not waver or despair.
He did not pray; praying in the morning had been no use; but he
trusted in God, and he labored hard, toiling to and fro, seeking
in every nook and behind each stone, and straining every muscle
and nerve, till the sweat rolled in a briny dew off his forehead,
and his curls dripped with wet. At last, with a scream of joy, he
touched some soft close wool that gleamed white as the white snow.
He knelt down on the ground, and peered behind the stone by the
full light of his lantern; there lay the little lambs--two little
brothers, twin brothers, huddled close together, asleep. Asleep?
He was sure they were asleep, for they were so silent and still.
He bowed over them, and kissed them, and laughed, and cried, and
kissed them again. Then a sudden horror smote him; they were so
very still. There they lay, cuddled close, one on another, one
little white head on each little white body--drawn closer than
ever together, to try and get warm.
He called to them; he touched them; then he caught them up in his
arms, and kissed them again, and again, and again.
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