"Did you like it?" he asked.
"Yes," replied Anania, "but I'm so awfully hungry. I thought it was never going to stop."
"Did you imagine it would only last a minute?" said the other in his superior voice. "Just you wait a bit. You'll know something of hunger in a little while! Look! there's Margherita Carboni!"
The little girl with the violet stockings, the rosy handkerchief, the green woollen sleeves, appeared among the female pupils, who were dismissed after the boys. She passed in front of Anania and Bustianeddu without noticing them, followed by other girls, rich and poor, young ladies and peasants, some nearly grown up, and in training as coquettes. The older boys stopped to laugh with and admire them.
"They're spooning," said Bustianeddu, "if the master were to catch them——"
Anania did not answer. Boys and girls of that dignity seemed to him quite old enough for love-making.
"They even write to each other!" said Bustianeddu importantly.
"I suppose we shall do that when we're in the fourth form," said Anania simply.
"Oh, indeed, will you, Ninny? Better wash your face first," said Bustianeddu; then he pulled the little boy's hand and they ran.
After that day, followed many similar ones. Winter came back, the olive mill was reopened, the scenes of the previous year were re-enacted. Anania was top of his class. No one doubted that he was to be a doctor or a lawyer—possibly a judge. All knew that Signor Carboni had promised to assist his education. He knew it himself, but as yet had no idea of the worth of that promise. Gratitude began in him later. For the present he was overpowered by shyness augmented by delight whenever he encountered his florid and affable godfather. He was often invited to dinner at Signor Carboni's, but in the kitchen with the servants and the cats. This was no annoyance to him, as at table with the gentry he could not have opened his lips for pride and alarm.