The boy threw himself on his knees beside his father, and cried, “Oh, father! I couldn’t wear them any longer. I couldn’t! They’re hateful! I don’t want to be dressed in silk! I want to be poor like the others! I can’t wear them any longer, I can’t, I can’t!”
The old man smiled kindly. “Never mind, my son, never mind. I’ll not scold you. We’ll think no more about it. Who is the visitor you have brought with you?”
“It’s a peddler,” said Figli, standing up. “I don’t know his name; a peddler I met by chance, and I’d like you to buy me something from his pack.”
I stepped forward, made my bow, and dropped my pack to the floor.
“You are welcome, master peddler,” said Babadag.
The green spider gave a sharp twitch, which set the whole web quivering.
“Quiet, Goolk!” said Babadag.
The eight men on the tailor’s bench stopped their work, and said: “Welcome, master peddler!”
“Knit your brows!” said Babadag, angrily, and the eight men hurriedly resumed their knitting.
I opened my pack and began to take out some toys.