You must not imagine that Shasta felt at all as you and I would feel if we had just overheard our parents talking about selling us for slaves. For one thing， his life was already little better than slavery； for all he knew， the lordly stranger on the great horse might be kinder to him than Arsheesh. For another， the story about his own discovery in the boat had filled him with excitement and with a sense of relief. He had often been uneasy because， try as he might， he had never been able to love the fisherman， and he knew that a boy ought to love his father. And now， apparently， he was no relation to Arsheesh at all. That took a great weight off his mind. “Why， I might be anyone！” he thought. “I might be the son of a Tarkaan myself.or the son of the Tisroc （may he live for ever） or of a god！”
He was standing out in the grassy place before the cottage while he thought these things. Twilight was coming on apace and a star or two was already out， but the remains of the sunset could still be seen in the west. Not far away the stranger‘s horse， loosely tied to an iron ring in the wall of the donkey’s stable， was grazing. Shasta strolled over to it and patted its neck. It went on tearing up the grass and took no notice of him.
