Trompke was still whining softly, though he could hardly be heard.
"He does no harm," answered Philippe.
The man's flashing eyes gleamed as he replied, "He keeps the people away. Nobody has come to buy at the booths yet. It is the fault of that dog."
"LIE DOWN, TUM-TUM!"
Philippe could only smile at such stupidity. To think that a little whining dog could keep people away! But the man seemed nervous.
So Philippe said, "Just wait, sir. I will have the crowds here in a short time. Come, Rose; let us sing!"
Little Rose stood upon the counter. She looked like a big doll. Her golden curls shone in the sunlight. Philippe stood by her side, and together they sang in voices clear and sweet. They sang the little nonsense song that Philippe had made up for his sister. It ran:
"I wouldn't be an artichoke,
And have my heart torn out,
I wouldn't be a lettuce,
With my head thrown all about,
I'd hate to be a cornstalk,
For folk my ears would pull;
Potatoes must feel dreadful
'Cause with dirt their eyes are full."