"Then stay here, silly. It's only a cat!" said Bustianeddu scornfully, "I'm going. I'll hide the money in the oak, where Uncle Pera won't think of looking. Then I'll come back. You stay here and keep watch. If any danger comes, whistle." What this danger might be the two friends did not know, but the mere imagination sufficed to make the adventure delightful; the fantastic moonlight, even the long drawn lamentation of the cat, added to its flavour. Bustianeddu jumped down into the orchard, Anania stayed at the window, all eyes and ears, trembling a little with fear. Hardly had his companion vanished in the direction of the oak tree, when two black shadows passed close to the window. Anania shuddered, whistled faintly, and crouched to conceal himself. What spasms of alarm and strange enjoyment did he not feel. How ever would Bustianeddu escape? What was actually happening down there in the dark? Oh! the lament of the torn-cat was more horrible than ever! It ended in a wild and lacerating shriek; then ceased. Silence. What mystery! What horror! Anania's heart was bursting in his bosom. What had befallen his friend? Had he been seized? arrested? He would be taken off to prison, and Anania himself would have his part in the woeful punishment! He had no idea of running away. He waited under the window courageously. "Anania! Where the devil are you gone to?" Anania leaned out, extended a hand to his friend, marvellously preserved. "The devil!" repeated Bustianeddu, panting, "I managed that admirably." "Did you hear me whistle? I whistled very loud." "I didn't hear you at all. But I did hear two men coming. I hid under the cabbages. Who do you suppose they were? Uncle Pera and Maestro Pane. What do you suppose they were doing? They were snaring cats. The caterwauler got caught and Uncle Pera killed him with his stick. Maestro Pane put the beast under his cloak and said quite jolly, 'What a fat one!' 'Not so bad,' said Uncle Pera, 'the last was as thin as a tooth-pick.' Then they went away." "Oh!" cried Anania open-mouthed. "When they go in they'll roast him. Then they'll have supper. Now we know what becomes of our cats. They snare 'em--those two. It's a mercy they didn't see me." "And the money?" "That's all right. Hidden. We'll go in now, Ninny. You're no good." Anania was not offended. He shut the window and they went back to the olive-mill. The usual scene was in progress. Efès, leaning against the wall was singing his accustomed song:-- "When Amelia so pure and so pale----" and Carchide was relating his adventures in a neighbouring town. "----the _Sindaco_ was a friend of my father's when we were rich," said the handsome young man whose family had always been in the direst poverty; "when I arrived he was there to meet me. He invited me to his house. Damn those rich folk! Thirty men-servants, if you please, and seven women. We crossed two courts, one within the other; very high walls, iron gates, the window all barred----"