his reed-pipe in his half-open hand; he had a lovely, dusky, innocent face.
'Why do you mind my being here?' he said, good-humouredly. 'It is all so dry; my poor goats have had scarcely a mouthful all the week; just here it is a little better, because there is so much water. Why do you mind?'
'I like to be alone.'
'Ah, yes, you are the Musoncella. But it is not good to be alone. I never am, because I have the goats. I have heard say you are wicked. Are you wicked?'
'I do not know.'
'They say you strike people?'
'Sometimes.'
Zirlo raised himself, a little in apprehension.
'Why do you strike them?'
'Only if they make me angry.'
'You are angry now. I will take the goats away.'
Musa's eyes shone; then she relented. He was afraid of her, so he disarmed her.
'I do not want to hurt you. Let the goats feed,' she said. She said it as a princess might have done, giving them leave to crop the roses of a palace garden.
