"Have you got permission to sing on a public square in our village?"
"No, sir."
"Well, be off; if you don't I'll have you arrested."
"But, sir..."
"Be off, you little beggar."
I knew from my poor master's example what it would cost me if I went against the town authorities. I did not make him repeat his order; I hurried off.
Beggar! That was not fair. I had not begged; I had sung. In five minutes I had left behind me this inhospitable, but well guarded, village. My dogs followed me with their heads lowered, and their tails between their legs. They certainly knew that some bad luck had befallen us. Capi, from time to time, went ahead of us and turned round to look at me questioningly with his intelligent eyes. Any one else in his place would have questioned me, but Capi was too well bred to be indiscreet. I saw his lip tremble in the effort he made to keep back his protests.
When we were far enough away from the village, I signed to them to stop, and the three dogs made a circle round me, Capi in the middle, his eyes on mine.
"As we had no permission to play, they sent us away," I explained.
"Well, then?" asked Capi, with a wag of his head.
