“Let us do a kind act. Let us carry this fellow home.”
Holding him up under the arms, they took him home through the poplar grove, and the drunken man, mistaking the white trunks of the trees in the night, stammered thickly:
“Oh, how many Dominican monks I see!...”
Said Ciavola, “They are going to look for San Antonio.”
The drunken man went on, after an interval:
“Oh, Lepruccio, Lepruccio, seven measures of salt will be enough. What shall we do?”
The three conspirators, having conveyed Mastro Peppe to the door of his house, left him there. He ascended the steps with much difficulty, mumbling about Lepruccio and the salt. Then, not noticing that he had left the door open, he threw himself into the arms of Morpheus.
Ciavola and Ristabilito, after having partaken of the supper of Don Bergamino, provided with certain crooked tools, set cautiously to work. The moon had set, the sky was glittering with stars, and through the solitude the north wind was blowing sharply. The two men advanced silently, listening for any sound, and halting now and then, when the skill and agility of Matteo Puriello would be called into use for the occasion.
When they reached the place, Ristabilito could scarcely withhold an exclamation of joy on finding the door open. Profound silence reigned through the house, except for the deep snoring of the sleeping man. Ciavola ascended the stairs first, followed by Ristabilito. In the dim light they perceived the vague outlines of the pig lying upon the table. With the utmost caution, they raised the heavy body and dragged it out by main force. They stood listening for a moment. The cocks could be heard crowing, one after another, in the yards.
Then the two thieves, laughing at their prowess, took the pig upon their shoulders and made their way up the path; to Ciavola it seemed like stealing through a wood with poached game. The pig was heavy, and they reached the house of the priest in a breathless state.