The two men who were turning the screw stopped suddenly and one of them cried—
"Your brat!"
The tall man threw his pole down, approached the child, stared, shook him and asked—
"Who has sent you here? What do you want? Where's your mother?"
"She's outside. She's coming."
The oil-miller rushed out, followed by the boy with the red cap. But Olì had disappeared; and nothing more was heard of her.
Learning what had occurred, Aunt Tatàna, the oil-miller's wife, came to the mill. She was a woman not young, but still beautiful, fair and plump, with soft, warm brown eyes surrounded by little wrinkles. On her upper lip was a very faint golden moustache. Her manner was quiet, but cheerful and kind. She put her hands on Anania's shoulders, bent down and examined him.
"Don't cry, poor little man!" she said gently. "Mother will come in a few minutes! Be quiet, you!" she added, turning to the men and the boy, who were inclined to meddle.
Anania wept inconsolably and answered no questions. The boy kept staring at him with wicked blue eyes and a mocking smile on his round rosy face.
"Where has she gone? Isn't she coming? Where shall I find her?" sobbed the deserted child desperately. Something must have happened to his mother; she had been frightened; where could she be? Why didn't she come? And this horrible, oily, rough man—was this his father?