“He is come with his son Brasi, who is quite a big fellow now,” continued Padron ’Ntoni.
“Yes, the children grow and shoulder us into the ground,” answered Padron Fortunato.
“Now you’ll take a glass of our wine—of the best we have, and a few dried pease which my daughter has toasted. If we had only known you were coming we might have had something ready better worth your acceptance.”
“We happened to be passing by,” said Padron Cipolla, “and we said, ‘Let’s go and make a visit to Cousin Maruzza.’”
Brasi filled his pockets with dried pease, always looking at the girl, and then the boys cleared the dish in spite of all Nunziata, with the baby in her arms, could do to hinder them, talking all the while among themselves softly as if they had been in church. The elders by this time were in conversation together under the medlar, all the gossips clustering around full of praises of the girl—how she was such a good manager, and kept the house neat as a new pin. “The girl as she is trained, and the flax as it is spun,” they quoted.
“Your granddaughter is also, grown up,” said Padron Fortunato; “it is time she was married.”
“If the Lord sends her a good husband I ask nothing better,” replied Padron ’Ntoni.
“The husband and the bishop are chosen by Heaven,” added Cousin La Longa.
Mena sat by the young man, as is the custom, but she never lifted her eyes from her apron, and Brasi complained to his father, when they came away, that she had not offered him the plate with the dried pease.
“Did you want more?” interrupted Padron Fortunate when they were out of hearing. “Nobody could hear anything for your munching like a mule at a sack of barley. Look if you haven’t upset the wine on your new trousers, lout! You’ve spoiled a new suit for me.”