There once was a boy named Flynn. He lived with his grandfather, a poor shepherd, who was growing very old. All they owned was a flock of sheep, which his grandfather prized highly.
The time came when grandfather could no longer take the sheep to the meadows of Australia. One day, Flynn’s grandfather said, “dear grandson, you have grown to be a fine bloke. It is time for you to take the sheep to the meadows. These legs of mine are growing old and stiff.” Flynn did not want to leave his cobbers in the village, but his grandfather had always been very kind to him. Flynn said, “I will take the sheep to the meadows of Australia.”
“Watch our sheep carefully,” said Grandfather “they are all we own.”
Flynn accompanied the flock of fat, white sheep to the beautiful summer meadow on top of the hill. Here, he sat under an olive tree. While guarding his flock of sheep, Flynn looked down into the village. He saw the villagers going about their daily tasks and he was a spectator as some of his friends chased their chooks. Flynn watched as some boys were fishing from a riverbank. He heard several cooks singings as they carried their goods to market. Flynn smiled to himself, “how lonely it is up here, back of bourke from everyone else”.
Then one day, Flynn had an idea. As soon as the sheep had started grazing on teh hillside, he ran down the hill and called: “A wolf! A wolf!”
Immediately, the villagers left their tasks and ran to the meadow. When they reached the top, they were out of breath. But instead of finding a wolf, they found Flynn, lying under an olive tree.
Flynn laughed and laughed. “it’s all a joke,” he said.
The villages were glad that there was no wolf, but they were so very unhappy they had run all this way for nothing.
After the departure of the villagers, Flynn was lonelier than before. A few days later he thought, “I’ll try it again.” He put his hands to his mouth and yelled as loud as he could: “Help! Help! A wolf! A wolf!”
Again, the villagers left their tasks and ran to help.
This time when they found Flynn laughing at them from under the olive tree, they were angry.
One day, not long afterwards, Flynn was sitting alone under the olive tree looking around him, he saw a big gray wolf. The wolf was as cunning as a durry rat, behind the bushes. Flynn was so frighterned, he jumped and shouted to the village: “A wolf! A wolf!” This time the villagers payed no attention to Flynn. Poor Flynn called and called again. He tried to frighten the wolf away, but it was not afraid of one small boy.
The wolf sprang from the bushes and killed most of the boy’s flock. The rest of the sheep ran away and were never seen again.
When the people of the village heard that this time there really had been a wolf, they shook their heads and said: “a liar will not be believed even when he speaks the truth.”