The streets were lighted in patches by the moon. Groups of peasants went by, singing wild and melancholy choruses. Before Signor Carboni's white house, there was an enclosed square court with high walls. Entrance was through a large red door. The boys hammered loudly. At last the door opened and Anania handed in the bowl, explaining the sad case of Efès Cau.
"Sure the soup's not for yourselves?" asked the servant girl suspiciously.
"Go to the devil, Maria Iscorronca,[11]" said Bustianeddu; "we don't want your dirty broth!"
"Little animal, I'll pay you out!" said the girl chasing him into the street. Bustianeddu scampered off, but Anania made his own way into the moonlit court.
"What is it? What do those boys want?" asked a faint little voice from the shadow near the kitchen-door.
Anania went forward. "It's only me!" he said, "Efès Cau is fearfully bad. He's at the mill, and Mother wants the mistress to send him a cup of soup."
"Come in!" said the voice.
The servant who had failed to catch Bustianeddu, now made an attack upon Anania. But the little girl who had said "Come in," sprang to the rescue of the boy from the mill.
"Let him alone. What harm has he done? Go and fetch him the soup at once—this minute!" said the young lady, dragging the maid by her skirt.
This protection, this piping-tone of authority, this plump, rosy little person dressed in blue woollen, with an important little turned up nose, very round cheeks, eyes shining in the moonlight between two curls of auburn hair—pleased Anania immensely. He recognized the padrone's daughter Margherita Carboni, known by sight to all the children who frequented the olive-mill. Once or twice Margherita had handed the barley or the lamp-oil to Anania when he had been sent for them. He often saw her in the orchard garden, and sometimes her father had brought her to the mill. Never had he imagined that this rosy young lady with the superb air, could be so affable and pleasant.