During the long winter, Fonni was all snow and fog; but with the spring grass invaded even the steep village street, where beetles slept among the big, sun-warmed cobblestones, and ants ran confidingly in and out of their holes. The meagre brown houses with their roofs of _scandule_ (wooden tiles overlapping each other like fish-scales), showed on the street side narrow black doorways, balconies of rotten wood, little stairs often vine-garlanded. The Basilica of the Martyrs, with its picturesque belfry, rose among the green oaks of the old Convent court, dominating the whole little town and carved against a sky of crystalline blue. Fabulous beauty reigned on all sides. The tall mountains of the Gennargentu, their luminous summits outlined as it were with silver, crowned the great Barbagia valley, which in a succession of immense green shells rose to the hill-tops; among these Fonni with its scaled roofs and stony streets, defied the thunder and the winds. The district was in winter almost deserted, for its numerous population of wandering shepherds (men strong as the blast, and astute as foxes) descended with their flocks to the warm southern plains. But in the fine weather, a continuous coming and going of horses, dogs, shepherds, old and young, animated the mountain paths. Zuanne, the widow's son, at eleven years old was already a herdsman. He led goats belonging to different persons to pasture on the far side of the wilderness which surrounded the village. At dawn, he passed down the street whistling, and the goats knowing the sound came leaping out of the houses to follow him. Towards evening he brought them back to the entrance of the village; from there the intelligent creatures went off by themselves to the houses of their masters. Zuanne of the big ears, was generally accompanied by his friend and brother, the little Anania. They were barefoot and wore jackets and cloaks of _orbace_, long breeches of coarse cloth, sheepskin caps. Anania had watering eyes and a perpetual cold in his head. With tongue or finger he rubbed his dirty face into strange patterns of moustachios and whiskers. While the goats fed among the rocks, green with eglantine and aromatic herbs, the two children roamed about. They descended to the road and threw stones at the passers-by; they penetrated into potato plantations where strong wary women were at work; they sought wind-falls in the great damp shadows of the gigantic walnut trees. Zuanne was tall and lithe: Anania stronger and for his age bolder. They were both story-tellers of extraordinary ingenuity, and were excited by strange fancies. Zuanne was always talking of his father, boasting of him, resolving to follow his example, and to avenge his memory. Anania meant to be a soldier. "I'll catch you," he said calmly, and Zuanne the brigand replied with alacrity, "I'll murder you."