"The other one should be there too," said Jackeymo.

"To die--as this does already!" answered Riccabocca. "Say no more."

Jackeymo shrugged his shoulders; and then, glancing at his master, drew
his hand over his eyes.

There was a pause. Jackeymo was the first to break it. "But, whether
here or there, beauty without money is the orange tree without shelter.
If a lad could be got cheap, I would hire the land, and trust for the
crop to the Madonna."

"I think I know of such a lad," said Riccabocca, recovering himself, and
with his sardonic smile once more lurking about the corners of his
mouth,--"a lad made for us."

"/Diavolo!/"

"No, not the Diavolo! Friend, I have this day seen a boy who--refused
sixpence!"

"/Cosa stupenda!/" exclaimed Jackeymo, opening his eyes, and letting fall
the watering-pot.

"It is true, my friend."

"Take him, Padrone, in Heaven's name, and the fields will grow gold."

"I will think of it, for it must require management to catch such a boy,"