OBEN

A lamb was quenching it’s thirst at a brook. Far from it, but close to the font, a wolf did the same. As soon as he saw the lamb he shouted:
“Why are you muddying the water, I want to drink?”
“How could that be possible?”, answered the lamb shyly, “I am standing down here and you up above; the water is flowing from you to me though; believe me, I never intended to do something wrong to you!”
“Ah, look! You are doing it the same way, your father did it six month ago; I remember very well, that you were with him, but lucky to escape, when I tore of his pelt for his blasphemy!”
“O, sir!”, the lamb begged trembling, “I am only four weeks old and I did not even know my father, since he is dead for such a long time; how should I make amends for him?”
“You brazen one!”, so ended the wolf with feigned anger, snarling his teeth. “Dead or not dead, don’t I know, that your whole race does hate me? And that is why I have to revenge myself.”
Without any further circumstances he tore the little lamb limb to limb and divoured it.
The conscience is stirred even in the worst evildoer; though he searches for an excuse, to appease it, while living his wickedness.