"Jesus! Jesus! Holy Saint Catharine!" cried the good woman when Anania had made his confession, "what has happened to the world? Even the little birds, even the chickens in the egg, go wrong!" Anania never knew the means by which Aunt Tatàna persuaded Bustianeddu to restore the stolen money. But ever after the friends were on strained terms. They slanged each other and fought about every trifle. The winter passed; but the olive press was at work even in April, for never had there been such abundance of olives. At last the day came when Anania the elder shut down the press, and went into the country to look after his master's wheat. He took the little boy with him, having intentions of making him an agriculturist. Anania liked to be useful. He carried the implements and the provision wallet proudly and ran by his father's side all day. The cornfields extended over a wide undulating plain, across which two tall pine-trees, voiceful as torrents, threw long shadows. It was a sweet and melancholy landscape, bare of trees, here and there spread with isolated vines. The human voice lost itself echoless, as if swallowed up by the lonely murmur of the pines, the thick foliage of which seemed to assimilate the grey blue colour of the far mountains. While his father worked his hoe, bending over the transparent green of the young wheat, Anania wandered about the naked and melancholy fields, crying with the birds, hunting for herbs and mushrooms. Sometimes the father looking up, saw him in the distance, and his heart tightened; for the place, the occupation, the child's small figure, all reminded him of Olì, of her little brothers, of their sin, of all the love and the happiness they had enjoyed together. Where was Olì? Who could tell? She was lost, she had vanished like the birds of the fields. Well--so much the worse for her. Anania the olive-miller thought he was doing all anyone could expect, in bringing up the child. If ever he found the treasure of his dreams, he would put the boy to school. At least he would make a farmer of him. What more could he do? What about the men who didn't acknowledge their children, who instead of taking them home and bringing them up like Christians, left them to misery and an evil life? Yes, some quite rich men, gentlemen, behaved like that. Yes, even his master, even Signor Carboni. Thus "big Anania" consoled himself; yet still the oppression of sadness remained in his heart.