Gigi laughed. For the first time that day his face lost its sadness,
and the brown spot on his eyelid, falling into one of the little
creases, gave him a very mischievous look. He seemed to wink.
Immediately the whole cartful of peasants began to laugh with him, they
knew not why. They could not help it. This was what happened whenever
Gigi laughed, as he seldom did.

But soon Gigi grew grave once more. "Why do you want to learn?" he
asked. "It does not make me happy. For oh! they are so cruel!"

"Do they beat you much?" asked Paolo sympathetically. Gigi nodded his
head with a sigh. "Very much," he said. "I am always black and blue."

"Am I too big to learn?" demanded Giovanni, the oldest boy, who was
perhaps twelve and heavier than Gigi. "When did you begin?"

Gigi grew thoughtful. "Ever since I remember, I have tumbled," he
said. "Ever since I was a baby, before I could even turn a somersault,
they tossed me back and forth between them and made me kiss my hand to
the people who stood about."

"And did they beat you then?" asked Beppo, doubling up his fists.

Gigi sighed again. "They always beat me," he said simply. "Whatever I
did, they beat me when they were ugly. And that was always."

"Do you belong to them?" asked the woman suddenly. "They are Gypsies,
black men. But you are fair like the people of the North. Where did
they get you, Gigi?"