“And how can we do it?” asked Ciavola.
Said Ristabilito:
“I know how to do it if the pig is left where we last saw it.”
Said Ciavola:
“Well, let us do it! But after?”
Ristabilito stopped again, his little eyes brilliant as two carbuncles, his flushed face wrinkling between the ears like a fawn’s, in a grimace of joy.
“I know it ...” he said laconically.
In the distance, his form showing black through the naked trees of the silver poplar grove, Don Bergamino Camplone approached the two. As soon as they saw him, they hastened toward him. Noticing their joyful mien, the priest, smiling, asked them:
“Well, what good news have you?”
Briefly, they communicated to him their purpose, to which he delightedly assented. Ristabilito concluded softly: