people had passed over the bridge. The blind man was very old, with a long white beard, and the little black dog was old too, and turning grey about the whiskers. But he was a pleasant-looking dog, and Poor Cecco, being a stranger in the town, thought it well to be polite to every one. So he said:
“It’s a fine morning!”
“It is a fine morning,” returned the little black dog without turning his head, “and fine enough for you who can run about and enjoy it! Not that I grudge it you, but it’s small pleasure to sit here day in and day out, and never a chance to stretch my legs a bit and see what’s going on in the world. No, we who have to work don’t get much fun out of life, and that’s the truth!”
“Why do you have to sit there all day?” asked Poor Cecco. “Don’t you ever take a holiday?”
“And who’d look after my old man here, if I went gadding about?” said the little dog. “I’m in charge of him, and he can’t be left to himself. He’s a good sort, so far as that goes, and I’m quite fond of him, but I don’t mind saying I’d like a change now and again. I fetch him out every morning and I take him home at night, and between whiles I must sit here and look after the pennies.”
Poor Cecco peered into the tiny cup.
“I should think the pennies could very well look after themselves,” he said.
“That shows how much you know about it,” returned
