Walking in the direction of the Era cottage, the herdsman presently descried little Malthineddu bestriding, with very unsteady seat, a spirited stick horse, the sun gilding his dirty little white frock, his stout legs and bare arms. Stooping down with outstretched arms, Giacobbe barred the way. "Where are we off to?" he asked caressingly. "There's the sun, don't you see it? Ahi! ahi! Maria Pettina[5] will come with her fire-comb and snatch you up, and carry you off to the hobgoblins! Run back quickly to the house." "No-o-o, no-o-o-o," shouted the child, jumping up and down on his steed. "Well, then," said Giacobbe, lowering his voice and closing one eye as he pointed to the white house, "Aunt Martina is up there, and to save bread she eats little children; don't you see her?" The boy seemed to be impressed, and allowed himself to be led back to the cottage, still insisting, however, upon riding his stick. Giovanna was sewing at the door, as round and fresh and rosy as though no misfortune had ever befallen her. Above her pretty face the mass of wavy hair lay in thick, glossy coils. Seeing Giacobbe approach with the child, she raised her head and smiled. "Here he is," said the herdsman. "I am bringing him safely back to you; but I found him playing in the sun, and travelling straight towards Aunt Martina, who eats children so as to save bread." "Oh, go away!" said Giovanna. "You ought not to tell children such things!" "I tell them to grown people as well, for Aunt Martina eats them too. Look out, Giovanna Era, the first thing you know she will eat you, and all the more because you are like a ripe quince--no, not that either, quinces are yellow, aren't they? You are more like a--a----" "An Indian fig!" she suggested, laughing. "And how is Aunt Bachissia? Is it long since you heard from Costantino?" At this Giovanna became suddenly grave, replying with an air of mystery that they had had news of the prisoner only a short time before. "Ah!" said the man, without pressing the matter further. "Can you tell me if Isidoro Pane is anywhere about? I want to see him." "Yes," she replied sadly, taking up her work again. "He is at home." Giacobbe said good-bye, and walked thoughtfully away in the direction of Isidoro's house,--if house it could be called,--which stood at the other end of the village. The fisherman, in justice to whom it should be said that he fished for trout and eels as well as leeches whenever he had the opportunity, was seated in the shadow of his hut, mending a net. This hut, which stood in the fields, a little apart from the rest of the village, was a prehistoric structure composed of rough pieces of slate dating possibly from the time when men, not yet having mastered the art of cutting stones for themselves, used such pieces as had already been detached by nature. It was roofed over with sticks and bits of tile, above which flourished a vigorous growth of vegetation.