"Do you sow alone?"
"Alone, yes. I sow it and I reap it."
He showed the harrow, and the pickaxe that glittered on the brown earth. All around could be seen the still uncovered seed, the germs of future grain.
My brother said:
"Continue. We will leave you to your work. You will come to-morrow morning to the Badiola. Farewell, Giovanni. May God bless your work!"
We clasped that unwearied hand, sanctified by the seed it scattered, by the good it had shed. The old man made a movement to accompany us as far as the road; but he stopped and said, not without hesitation:
"Grant me one favor, I pray you."
"Speak out, Giovanni."
He opened the bag suspended from his neck.
"Take a handful of seed and throw it on my furrows."