"Strike you blind first!"
"Go to the devil!"
The young shoemaker and the miller were near blows, but their quarrel was interrupted by Efès Cau falling into a fit. He sank on the heap of husks, twisted, writhed, wriggled like a worm, his eyes rolling, his face convulsed.
Anania fled to a corner screaming with terror, but Bustianeddu was all curiosity and he joined the persons who tried to restrain the poor wretch. Presently Efès returned to himself and sat up, still trembling and glaring.
"Who—who knocked me down? Why did you strike me? Am I not enough punished by God without your interfering?" Then he began to cry.
They laid him down again and he huddled himself up and called on his mother and dead sister.
Anania watched; pitying, but still terrified. He would have liked to help, but could not restrain his disgust; the man had once been rich—now he was a heap of stinking rags flung on the refuse like an unclean thing.
Bustianeddu had run for Aunt Tatàna. She came, leaned over the sufferer, touched him, spoke to him kindly, put a sack under his head.
"He must have some broth," she said; "Ah! this sin of his! this sin! Run, little son," she went on, turning to Anania, "run to the Signor padrone, and beg a little soup for Efès Cau. Look! do you see the result of sin? There, take this bowl and run!"
Anania went gladly, Bustianeddu accompanying him. The padrone's house was at no great distance, and the boy had often been sent there to fetch fodder, lamp-oil, and other trifles.