A finch sang from its wild nest in the heart of an ilex tree, expressing in its trembling note, all the solitude of the place and of the hour. The note found its echo in the young lad's soul; and he remembered the song of another little bird which had sung from out the damp leafage of a chestnut tree on a morning long ago. A morning long ago, over there, over there, on one of those far distant hills, perhaps on that rosy spur thrust out towards the morning! And again he saw the child merrily descending the slope, beside a sorrowful woman; the child all unconscious of sorrow. "And now again," he said to himself, "I am glad to go, and who knows what may be awaiting me?" He came in pale and weary. "Where have you been, _galanu meu_ (my treasure)? What took you out before sunrise?" asked Aunt Tatàna. "Give me my coffee," replied Anania. "Here it is. But what's the matter, dear heart? Cheer up. Get back your colour before you go to your godfather. What? Aren't you going to him to-day? What are you staring at? Has an ant got into your coffee?" He was staring at a little gold bordered cup reserved exclusively for him. Good-bye, little cup! Just once more to-morrow, and then, Good-bye. A lump rose in his throat. "I'll go to my godfather later. I've got to finish packing," he said, as if talking to the cup. "Suppose we never see each other again?" he said to Aunt Tatàna. "Suppose I die before I come back? I daresay it would be better. What's the good of living to be old?" Aunt Tatàna, looked at him anxiously, crossed herself and said, "Have you been having bad dreams last night? Why does my little lamb without wool talk like this? Have you the headache?" "You don't understand!" he cried, springing to his feet. He went to his room and packed his books and dearest possessions, now and then his eyes turned to the window. What would he see from the window of the room which awaited him at Cagliari? The sea? The real sea? The infinite distance of azure water, under the infinite distance of azure heaven? The thought of all that azure had a soothing effect. He repented having been cross to Aunt Tatàna. He was very ungrateful--still nerves are nerves and uncontrollable. But he would not be ungrateful. No! throw down portmanteau, books, boxes, rush to the kitchen, where the good woman is sweeping with an air half sad, half philosophical, grieving probably over the tragic words of her lamb without wool, fall upon her, enfold her and her broom in one embrace, and drag her into a vertiginous whirl of a dance! "Bad boy, what's the matter with you?" cried the elderly woman palpitating with joy. And then in the middle of the dance he was off again, running and imitating the puffing of a train.