"Why were they barred?" asked the miller. "Thieves, my dear fellow, thieves. The man's as rich as the king----" "Bah!" cried the man who was working the press. "What do you know about it?" asked Carchide scornfully; "at their father's death the Syndic and his brothers weighed out their gold by the pound. The Syndic's wife has eight _tancas_[10] in a row--all watered by streams; with more than a hundred fountains. They say his father had found a treasure. The King of Spain hid more than 100,000 gold ducats there at the time he was making war on Eleonora of Arborea, and the Syndic's father found it." "Ah, ha!" said the olive-miller, leaning on his black pole while a shiver of excitement ran through him. "Those are what I call rich men," continued Carchide; "here at Nuoro you're all snoozers." "My master is wealthy," protested the miller, "he's got more in one corner of a field than your scrubby Syndic in all his _tancas_ together." "I like that!" said the young man with a gesture of scorn, "you don't know what you're talking about!" "No more do you." "Your master's all debts. We'll soon see the end of him." "Strike you blind first!" "Go to the devil!" The young shoemaker and the miller were near blows, but their quarrel was interrupted by Efès Cau falling into a fit. He sank on the heap of husks, twisted, writhed, wriggled like a worm, his eyes rolling, his face convulsed. Anania fled to a corner screaming with terror, but Bustianeddu was all curiosity and he joined the persons who tried to restrain the poor wretch. Presently Efès returned to himself and sat up, still trembling and glaring. "Who--who knocked me down? Why did you strike me? Am I not enough punished by God without your interfering?" Then he began to cry. They laid him down again and he huddled himself up and called on his mother and dead sister. Anania watched; pitying, but still terrified. He would have liked to help, but could not restrain his disgust; the man had once been rich--now he was a heap of stinking rags flung on the refuse like an unclean thing. Bustianeddu had run for Aunt Tatàna. She came, leaned over the sufferer, touched him, spoke to him kindly, put a sack under his head. "He must have some broth," she said; "Ah! this sin of his! this sin! Run, little son," she went on, turning to Anania, "run to the _Signor padrone_, and beg a little soup for Efès Cau. Look! do you see the result of sin? There, take this bowl and run!" Anania went gladly, Bustianeddu accompanying him. The _padrone_'s house was at no great distance, and the boy had often been sent there to fetch fodder, lamp-oil, and other trifles.