cork and a bit of old sailcloth. Then he looked up and stood still. The
boys were not quite sure whether he was watching them or not, for it was
already dusk. His wife lit a small German petroleum lamp and hung it in
the middle of the room, and then went to the fireplace in the dark
corner where something was cooking. One of the guests shouted to
Antonino.

"There is a martingane at San Nicola," he bawled.

Antonino turned his head slowly to the speaker and waited for more.

"Bound east," continued the man. "From Majuri."

"What is wrong with her?" inquired the old host.

Boats going west, that is, towards Naples and Civita Vecchia often put
in to the small natural harbours to wait for the night wind. Those going
east never do except for some especial reason.

The man said nothing, but fixed his eyes on Antonino and slowly filled
his pipe, evidently intending to convey some secret piece of information
by the look and action. But the old sailor's stolid face did not betray
the slightest intelligence. He turned away and deliberately took
half-a-dozen salted sprats from a keg behind the counter and laid them
in a dish preparatory to cleaning them for his own supper. The man who
had spoken to him seemed annoyed, but only shrugged his shoulders
impatiently and went on eating and drinking.

Antonino took a jug of water and went outside to wash his fish. The two
boys offered to do it for him, but he shook his head. He did not speak