"You must not be hard on her, she is a poor orphan," said Aunt Porredda, speaking in Grazia's behalf (they were the three children of an older son of the Porrus', a well-to-do shepherd whose wife had died the year before). "And why not let her read if she wants to?"
"Yes, yes, let her read by all means," said Uncle Efes Maria pompously. "Ah! if they had only allowed me to read when I was young—I would have been an astronomer, as learned as a priest!" To Uncle Efes Maria an astronomer represented the height of learning and cultivation—a philosopher, as it were.
"Have you seen the Pope, my son?" asked Aunt Porredda, from an association of ideas.
"No."
"What! You have never seen the Pope?"
"Oh! what do you expect? The Pope is kept shut up in a box; if you want to see him, you've got to pay well for it."
"Oh, go along!" said she. "You are an infidel," and, going out to where the children were still fighting, she made a rapid descent upon them, separated the belligerents, and sent each flying in a different direction. "On my word!" she cried, "you are just like so many cocks. The Lord have mercy on me! Here they are, the chicken-cocks! Bad children, every one of you, bad, bad children!"
And the lamentations of the youngsters arose and mingled with the noises of the summer evening.