. But,
frightened or sorry, I don't know how it is, I always wanted to laugh at
him, too, I mean from the very first day when he let me admire him for
half an hour. Yes, even then I had to put my hand over my mouth more
than once for the sake of good manners, you understand. And yet, you
know, I was never a laughing child.

"One day he came up and sat down very dignified a little bit away from me
and told me he had been thrashed for wandering in the hills.

"'To be with me?' I asked. And he said: 'To be with you! No. My people
don't know what I do.' I can't tell why, but I was annoyed. So instead
of raising a clamour of pity over him, which I suppose he expected me to
do, I asked him if the thrashing hurt very much. He got up, he had a
switch in his hand, and walked up to me, saying, 'I will soon show you.'
I went stiff with fright; but instead of slashing at me he dropped down
by my side and kissed me on the cheek. Then he did it again, and by that
time I was gone dead all over and he could have done what he liked with
the corpse but he left off suddenly and then I came to life again and I
bolted away. Not very far. I couldn't leave the goats altogether. He
chased me round and about the rocks, but of course I was too quick for
him in his nice town boots. When he got tired of that game he started
throwing stones. After that he made my life very lively for me.
Sometimes he used to come on me unawares and then I had to sit still and
listen to his miserable ravings, because he would catch me round the
waist and hold me very tight. And yet, I often felt inclined to laugh.
But if I caught sight of him at a distance and tried to dodge out of the
way he would start stoning me into a shelter I knew of and then sit
outside with a heap of stones at hand so that I daren't show the end of
my nose for hours. He would sit there and rave and abuse me till I would
burst into a crazy laugh in my hole; and then I could see him through the
leaves rolling on the ground and biting his fists with rage. Didn't he
hate me! At the same time I was often terrified. I am convinced now
that if I had started crying he would have rushed in and perhaps
strangled me there. Then as the sun was about to set he would make me
swear that I would marry him when I was grown up. 'Swear, you little
wretched beggar,' he would yell to me. And I would swear. I was hungry,
and I didn't want to be made black and blue all over with stones. Oh