Up the curve of the road below there toiled a donkey dragging a cart. It was one of the little peasant carts, floored with a lattice-work of ropes, and there were three people in it. They were a boy and two very young men. They had been to a _festa_, and the boy was fast asleep, and the two young men were in very good spirits. They had been dancing and enjoying themselves, and had had so much wine that they were not quite sure of what they were doing. They alternately sang songs and made jokes and laughed at each other. One of the favorite jokes was about a pretty peasant girl they had both been dancing with, and as it chanced, her name was Maria. After a good deal of such joking they had both been silent for a while, being a little stupid with the wine they had had, and quieted a little by the motion of the cart as the donkey jogged along with it. It was very peaceful in this place, with the gentle wind from the sea, and the occasional rustle of the olives, and the stars shining sweetly above the many shadows. “What are you thinking of, Pietro?” said one to the other at last, with a little laugh. “Maria! Maria! Ma-ri-a!” wailed Piccino, a few hundred feet above them. They both burst out laughing at once. “Of Maria! Maria!” said Alessandro. “The very trees call out to you!” And they found this such a beautiful joke that they laughed until the very donkey was afraid they would roll off the cart. By the time they stopped they were close to Piccino, and, whether because she wanted a rest or from some queer instinct, the donkey stopped too. “Maria!” cried Piccino. “_Voglio andare a casa! Voglio an-dar-e!_” “It is a child,” said Pietro. “It is lost!” They had had wine enough to be good-natured, and ready for any adventure. Pietro got out of the cart and rather unsteadily went to the side of the road, where Piccino sat crying with his dog. “Who are you?” he said, “and what are you doing here?” Piccino answered him with sobs. He was not so clear as he thought he was, and Pietro and Alessandro laughed a good deal. They thought he was a great joke—all the more when they saw how he was dressed. Their heads were not clear enough to permit them to quite understand what was meant by the childish rambling and disconnected story about the _forestieri_ and the water and Nicola and the donkey, but they found out that somehow the young one lived near Ceriani and wanted to get home to Maria. They themselves lived not far from Ceriani, and if they had been quite sober might have put this and that together and guessed something of the truth; but as it was, it happened to seem enough of a joke for them to be inclined to carry it out.