lying at my feet, looking at me very intently. His eyes seemed to
be full of tears. And let me tell you by the way, his lot in the
house was entirely different from mine. When he first entered
Peter's courtyard, the dogs met him with howls. He tried to find
shelter in the kitchen, but was chased out with sticks. "Where did
that tramp come from?" wondered the people. Then my Barker saw that
he could expect no charity from the people, and he put his trust in
his own teeth. He stood up bravely, and fought all the dogs of the
household till blood flowed. Then only did the masters of the house
appreciate his doggish virtues and accomplishments. They befriended
him, and allowed him his rations. So my Barker saved his skin. Yet
his lot did not seem to please him. He recognized, by some peculiar
dog-sense, that I, his fellow in exile, was unhappy myself and sorry
for him too. He felt that somehow his own days of prosperity would
not last long. Whenever I sat about lonely and moping, he would
stretch himself at my feet, and look straight into my eyes, with an
expression of earnestness and wonderment, as if he wanted to ask me,
How is that, why don't you fight for your rights the way I did?

Presently Anna came out, shot a glance at me, and said:

"Well, now, there is the lazy Zhid sitting idle, and I have to work
and prepare meals for him, so that he may find everything ready!" I
got up, and began to look around for something to do.

"Go, catch the little pig and bring it over here," ordered Anna.

The day before I had overheard her say that it was time to kill the
little pig. I did not relish the job by any means. I felt sorry
for the porkling: mere pig though it was, it had after all grown up