I
The white goat stood in a little clearing closed in by a ring of whins
on the hillside. Her head swayed from side to side like the slow motion
of the pendulum of a great clock. The legs were a little spread, the
knees bent, the sides slack, the snout grey and dry, the udder limp.
The Herd knew the white goat was in great agony. She had refused the
share of bran he had brought her, had turned away from the armful of
fresh ivy leaves his little daughter held out to her. He had desisted
from the milking, she had moaned so continuously.
Some days before the Herd had found the animal injured on the hill; the
previous night he had heard the labourers making a noise, shouting and
singing, as they crossed from the tillage fields. He knew what had
happened when he had seen the marks of their hob-nailed boots on her
body. She was always a sensitive brute, of a breed that came from the
lowlands. The sombre eyes of the Herd glowed in a smouldering passion as
he stood helplessly by while the white goat swung her head from side to
side.
He gathered some dry bracken and spread a bed of it near the white goat.
It would be unkind to allow her to lie on the wet grass when the time
came that she could no longer stand. He looked up at the sky and marked
the direction of the wind. It had gone round to the west. Clouds were
beginning to move across the sky. There was a vivid light behind the
mountains. The air was still. It would rain in the night. He had
thought for the white goat standing there in the darkness, swaying her
head in agony, the bracken growing sodden at her feet, the rain beating
into her eyes. It was a cold place and wind-swept. Whenever the white
goat had broken her tether she had flown from it to the lowlands. He
remembered how, while leading her across a field once, she had drawn
back in some terror when they had come to a pool of water.
The Herd looked at his little daughter. The child had drawn some
distance away, the ivy leaves fallen from her bare arms. He was
conscious that some fear had made her eyes round and bright. What was it
that the child feared? He guessed, and marvelled that a child should
understand the strange thing that was about to happen up there on the
hill. The knowledge of Death was shining instinctively in the child's
eyes. She was part of the stillness and greyness that was creeping over
the hillside.
"We will take the white goat to the shelter of the stable," the Herd
said.
The child nodded, the fear still lingering in her eyes. He untied the
tether and laid his hand on the horn of the goat. She answered to the
touch, walking patiently but unsteadily beside him.
After a while the child followed, taking the other horn, gently, like
her father, for she had all his understanding of and nearness to the
dumb animals of the fields. They came slowly and silently. The light
failed rapidly as they came down the hill. Everything was merged in a
shadowy vagueness, the colour of the white goat between the two dim
figures alone proclaiming itself. A kid bleated somewhere in the
distance. It was the cry of a young thing for its suckle, and the Herd
saw that for a moment the white goat raised her head, the instinct of
her nature moving her. Then she tottered down the hill in the darkness.
When they reached the front of the stable the white goat backed
painfully from the place. The Herd was puzzled for a moment. Then he saw
the little pool of water in a faint glimmer before their feet. He
brought the animal to one side, avoiding it, and she followed the
pressure of his directing hand.
He took down a lantern that swung from the rafters of the stable and
lighted it. In a corner he made a bed of fresh straw. The animal leaned
over a little against the wall, and they knew she was grateful for the
shelter and the support. Then the head began to sway in a weary rhythm
from side to side as if the pain drove it on. Her breath quickened,
broke into little pants. He noted the thin vapour that steamed from
about her body. The Herd laid his hand on her snout. It was dry and red
hot. He turned away leading the child by the hand, the lantern swinging
from the other, throwing long yellow streaks of light about the gloom of
the stable. He closed the door softly behind him.