"What are they saying?" asked the woman, with quick interest.
"They're saying you'll have to adopt the kid. Uncle Pera laughs and says, who will Uncle Anania leave his goods to, if he has no child? Uncle Anania ran at him with the pole. Then they all laughed like mad."
Aunt Tatàna's interest was overpowering. Telling Bustianeddu to mind the child, she went back to the mill.
At once Bustianeddu began confidentially to his charge—
"My father has 100 lire in the chest of drawers, and I know where he keeps the key. We live close here, and have some land for which we pay taxes. One day the Commissioner came and seized the barley. What's in that saucepan making that cra—cra—cra—? Don't you think it's burning? I'd better look in." (he lifted the cover) "The devil! Potatoes! I thought it was something better. I'm going to taste them!"
With two fingers he hooked out a boiling lump, blew on it and ate it up. Then he took another.
"What are you doing?" said Anania shocked, "if the woman comes back——"
"We know how to make macaroni, my father and I," said the imperturbable youngster, "do you know? And tomato sauce——"
"No, I don't know," said Anania absently.
He was thinking of his mother, his mind besieged by sad questions. Where had she gone? Why hadn't she come into the mill? Why had she gone away and forgotten him? Now that he had eaten and was warm, Anania would have liked to run away. To run away and look for his mother. To run away and find his mother. This idea took firm roots and would not leave him.