"Sleep," said the old man. "Afterwards we will talk."

He took his old place in the doorway and stared steadily out to sea. The
boys lay down beside the house and having eaten and drunk their fill
and walked a matter of fifteen miles, were sound asleep in three
minutes.

At sunset Ruggiero sat up suddenly and rubbed his eyes. Don Antonino was
no longer at the door, and the sound of several men's voices came from
within, mingled with the occasional dull rattle of coarse glasses on
wooden tables.

"Ò!" Ruggiero called softly to his brother. Then he added a syllable and
called again, "O-è!" Little Sebastiano woke, sat up and looked about
him, rubbing his eyes in his turn.

"What has happened?" he inquired, only half awake.

"By the grace of God we have eaten, we have drunk and we have slept,"
said Ruggiero by way of answer.

Both got up, shook themselves and stood with their hands in their
pockets, looking at the sea. They were barefooted and barelegged, with
torn breeches, coarse white shirts much patched about the shoulders, and
ragged woollen caps. Presently they turned as by a common instinct and
went and stood before the open door, peering in at the guests. Don
Antonino was behind his black counter measuring wine. His wife was with
him now and helping him, a cheerful, clean woman having a fair
complexion, grey hair and round sharp eyes with red lids--a stranger in
Calabria like her husband. She held the neck of a great pear-shaped