“I will tell you,” said Biagio Quaglia. “Certainly someone living around here must have done it, for no one has come over from India to take your pig away. Is not that so, Peppe?”
“It is well, it is well!” assented the man, his voice still filled with tears.
“Well, then, pay attention,” continued Ristabilito, delighted at Peppe’s credulity. “Well, then, if no one has come from India to rob you, then certainly someone who lives around here must have been the thief. Is not that so, Peppe?”
“It is well. It is well.”
“Well, what is to be done? We must summon the farm-hands together and employ some sorcery to discover the thief. When the thief is discovered, the pig is found.”
Peppe’s eyes shone with greediness. He came nearer at the hint of the sorcery, which awakened in him all his native superstitions.
“You know there are three kinds of sorcerers, white ones, pink ones, and black ones; and you know there are in the town three women who know the art of sorcery: Rosa Schiavona, Rusaria Pajora, and La Ciniscia. It is for you to choose.”
Peppe stood for a moment in deep thought; then he chose Rusaria Pajora, for she was renowned as an enchantress and always accomplished great things.
“Well then,” Ristabilito finished. “There is no time to lose. For your sake, I am willing to do you a favour; I will go to town and take what is necessary; I will speak with Rusaria and ask her to give me all needful articles and will return this morning. Give me the money.”
Peppe took out of his waistcoat three francs and handed them over hesitatingly.