A farmer from a neighbouring village, and Bustianeddu's father, a young man with blue eyes and red beard, conspired together to make Nanna drunk. She told scandalous stories of Uncle Pera, and Uncle Pera swore at the two men who worked the screw of the olive press, and told them they were lazy good-for-nothings. Maestro Pane, the humpbacked carpenter, who wore his grey moustache at one side only of his toothless mouth, sat under the window beating his fist on his knee and talking very loud. No one, however, listened, for he was in the habit of talking to himself. Under the influence of the wine. Nanna was becoming loquacious. "Yes, that old gardener waits every morning till the girl comes down to the fountain. Then he calls her in, promising to give her some lettuce----" "Ah, you tipsy wretch!" cried Uncle Pera, jumping up with his cudgel. "Well, what harm am I saying? I say that when she comes in for the lettuce you teach her the Ave Maria." They all laughed, even little Anania, though he could not imagine why Uncle Pera should teach the Ave Maria by force to the girl who was going to the fountain. That night when Anania was safe in Aunt Tatàna's big bed he could not sleep, but turned and twisted as if pins were pricking him. "What's the matter, child?" asked Aunt Tatàna in her gentle way, "have you the stomachache?" "No, no." "Then what is it?" After a few minutes he revealed his remorse. "We put pins in the place where Efès sleeps." "You naughty boys! Why did you do that?" "Because he gets drunk----" "Holy Saint Catharine!" sighed the good woman, "how wicked boys are nowadays! Suppose someone put pins in your bed? Would you like it? No? Wouldn't you? Then you are more wicked than Efès. All people in the world are wicked, my little lamb, but we must have pity on one another. If we don't pity each other we shall be like the fishes in the sea which devour their brothers. King Solomon said no one must judge but God. Do you understand?" Anania thought of his mother, his mother who had been so wicked and had deserted him; and he felt sad--so sad! IV One day in March, Bustianeddu invited Anania to dine with him. The skin-dealer was away on his business, and the boy, after two days' imprisonment for truancy, was alone at home. On his right cheek was the mark of a heavy blow administered by his irate parent. "They want to make a scholar of me," he said to Anania, spreading out his hands like a man discussing some matter of importance, "but I don't intend to be a scholar. I intend to be a pastry-cook. Why shouldn't I?" "Yes, why not?" echoed Anania. "Because they think it _disgraceful_!" said the other, drawling the word contemptuously, "they think learning a trade is disgraceful when one might be a scholar. That's what my relations say. But I've got a joke ready for them! Just you wait a bit." "What are you going to do?" "I'll tell you afterwards. Now we'll have dinner."