And now it was only four days before he would be back in that same village. He was excited, and at the same time uneasy: maybe the had already forgotten him. Lots of shepherds passed through, selling their wool. "It doesn't matter," he said to his sheep. "I Know other girls in other places". But in his heart he knew that it did matter. And he knew that shepherds, like seamen and like traveling salesmen, always found a town where there was someone who could make them forget the joys of carefree wandering. The day was dawning, and the shepherd urged his sheep in the direction of the sun. They never have to make any decisions, he thought. Maybe that's why they always stay close to me. The only things that concerned the sheep were food and water. As long as the boy knew how to ding the best pastures in Andalusia, they would be his seemingly endless hours between sunrise and dusk; and they had never read a book in their young lives, and didn't understand when the boy told them about the sights of the cities. They were content with just food and water, and in exchange, they generously gave of their wool, their company, and - once in a while - their meat.