The Shepherd's Story of the Bond of Friendship

The Shepherd's Story of the Bond of Friendship is a captivating tale by Hans Christian Andersen about a shepherd's deep, unwavering friendship with his faithful dog. The shepherd experiences numerous challenges, harsh realities of life, and faces many dangers. However, his loyal dog is always by his side, helping and protecting him. As the story unfolds, their bond deepens, symbolizing the unbreakable vow of true friendship amidst all sorts of adversities. It is a heartwarming narrative that explores the virtues of loyalty, courage, and the profound emotional connections between humans and their animal companions.

• Children

								
The little dwelling in which we lived was of clay, but the
door-posts were columns of fluted marble, found near the spot on which
it stood. The roof sloped nearly to the ground. It was at this time
dark, brown, and ugly, but had originally been formed of blooming
olive and laurel branches, brought from beyond the mountains. The
house was situated in a narrow gorge, whose rocky walls rose to a
perpendicular height, naked and black, while round their summits
clouds often hung, looking like white living figures. Not a singing
bird was ever heard there, neither did men dance to the sound of the
pipe. The spot was one sacred to olden times; even its name recalled a
memory of the days when it was called "Delphi." Then the summits of
the dark, sacred mountains were covered with snow, and the highest,
mount Parnassus, glowed longest in the red evening light. The brook
which rolled from it near our house, was also sacred. How well I can
remember every spot in that deep, sacred solitude! A fire had been
kindled in the midst of the hut, and while the hot ashes lay there red
and glowing, the bread was baked in them. At times the snow would be
piled so high around our hut as almost to hide it, and then my
mother appeared most cheerful. She would hold my head between her
hands, and sing the songs she never sang at other times, for the
Turks, our masters, would not allow it. She sang,--

"On the summit of mount Olympus, in a forest of dwarf firs, lay an
old stag. His eyes were heavy with tears, and glittering with colors
like dewdrops; and there came by a roebuck, and said, 'What ailest
thee, that thou weepest blue and red tears?' And the stag answered,
'The Turk has come to our city; he has wild dogs for the chase, a
goodly pack.' 'I will drive them away across the islands!' cried the
young roebuck; 'I will drive them away across the islands into the
deep sea.' But before evening the roebuck was slain, and before
night the hunted stag was dead."

And when my mother sang thus, her eyes would become moist; and
on the long eyelashes were tears, but she concealed them and watched
the black bread baking in the ashes. Then I would clench my fist,
and cry, "We will kill these Turks!" But she repeated the words of the
song, "I will drive them across the islands to the deep sea; but
before evening came the roebuck was slain, and before the night the
hunted stag was dead."

We had been lonely in our hut for several days and nights when
my father came home. I knew he would bring me some shells from the
gulf of Lepanto, or perhaps a knife with a shining blade. This time he
brought, under his sheep-skin cloak, a little child, a little
half-naked girl. She was wrapped in a fur; but when this was taken
off, and she lay in my mother's lap, three silver coins were found
fastened in her dark hair; they were all her possessions. My father
told us that the child's parents had been killed by the Turks, and
he talked so much about them that I dreamed of Turks all night. He
himself had been wounded, and my mother bound up his arm. It was a
deep wound, and the thick sheep-skin cloak was stiff with congealed
blood. The little maiden was to be my sister. How pretty and bright
she looked: even my mother's eyes were not more gentle than hers.
Anastasia, as she was called, was to be my sister, because her
father had been united to mine by an old custom, which we still
follow. They had sworn brotherhood in their youth, and the most
beautiful and virtuous maiden in the neighborhood was chosen to
perform the act of consecration upon this bond of friendship. So now
this little girl was my sister. She sat in my lap, and I brought her
flowers, and feathers from the birds of the mountain. We drank
together of the waters of Parnassus, and dwelt for many years
beneath the laurel roof of the hut, while, winter after winter, my
mother sang her song of the stag who shed red tears. But as yet I
did not understand that the sorrows of my own countrymen were mirrored
in those tears.

One day there came to our hut Franks, men from a far country,
whose dress was different to ours. They had tents and beds with
them, carried by horses; and they were accompanied by more than twenty
Turks, all armed with swords and muskets. These Franks were friends of
the Pacha, and had letters from him, commanding an escort for them.
They only came to see our mountain, to ascend Parnassus amid the
snow and clouds, and to look at the strange black rocks which raised
their steep sides near our hut. They could not find room in the hut,
nor endure the smoke that rolled along the ceiling till it found its
way out at the low door; so they pitched their tents on a small
space outside our dwelling. Roasted lambs and birds were brought
forth, and strong, sweet wine, of which the Turks are forbidden to
partake.

When they departed, I accompanied them for some distance, carrying
my little sister Anastasia, wrapped in a goat-skin, on my back. One of
the Frankish gentlemen made me stand in front of a rock, and drew us
both as we stood there, so that we looked like one creature. I did not
think of it then, but Anastasia and I were really one. She was
always sitting on my lap, or riding in the goat-skin on my back; and
in my dreams she always appeared to me.

Two nights after this, other men, armed with knives and muskets,
came into our tent. They were Albanians, brave men, my mother told me.
They only stayed a short time. My sister Anastasia sat on the knee
of one of them; and when they were gone, she had not three, but two
silver coins in her hair--one had disappeared. They wrapped tobacco in
strips of paper, and smoked it; and I remember they were uncertain
as to the road they ought to take. But they were obliged to go at
last, and my father went with them. Soon after, we heard the sound
of firing. The noise continued, and presently soldiers rushed into our
hut, and took my mother and myself and Anastasia prisoners. They
declared that we had entertained robbers, and that my father had acted
as their guide, and therefore we must now go with them. The corpses of
the robbers, and my father's corpse, were brought into the hut. I
saw my poor dead father, and cried till I fell asleep. When I awoke, I
found myself in a prison; but the room was not worse than our own in
the hut. They gave me onions and musty wine from a tarred cask; but we
were not accustomed to much better fare at home. How long we were kept
in prison, I do not know; but many days and nights passed by. We
were set free about Easter-time. I carried Anastasia on my back, and
we walked very slowly; for my mother was very weak, and it is a long
way to the sea, to the Gulf of Lepanto.

On our arrival, we entered a church, in which there were beautiful
pictures in golden frames. They were pictures of angels, fair and
bright; and yet our little Anastasia looked equally beautiful, as it
seemed to me. In the centre of the floor stood a coffin filled with
roses. My mother told me it was the Lord Jesus Christ who was

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