Sebastiano listened intently. He was not tall enough to see over, but
his ears were sharp.

"I do not hear him any more," he answered. "I hurt my hands on his
nose," he added, thoughtfully, as he glanced at his bruised knuckles.

"So did I," returned his brother. "He will remember us. Come along--it
is far to Scalea."

"To Scalea? Are we going to Scalea?"

"Eh! If not, where? And where else can we eat? Don Antonino will give us
a piece of bread."

"There are figs here," suggested Sebastiano, looking up into the trees
around them.

"It has not rained yet, and if you eat figs from the tree before it has
rained you will have pain. But if we are very hungry we will eat them,
all the same."

Little Sebastiano yielded rather reluctantly before his brother's
superior wisdom. Besides, Padre Michele had given them a little cold
bean porridge at the monastery early in the morning. So they went on
their way cautiously, and looking about them at every step now that
there was no more need of haste. For they had got amongst the vineyards
and orchards where they had no business, and if the peasants saw them,
the stones would begin to fly. They knew their way about, however, and
reached an open footpath without any adventure, so that in half an hour