Naturally, Natale was most indignant at being treated in this manner by so perfect a stranger, and he did not hesitate to remonstrate.
“But the bread is mine, signore! I bought it with my own soldi in the town,” he cried, clutching at the beautiful ring of bread, already being broken in two by the peddler’s dirty fingers.
“Soldi!” echoed the man; “and where are your precious soldi?”
“At the shop where I bought the bread, of course,” was the shrewd reply, and not a coin remaining in Natale’s pocket jostled against its neighbor now. They kept as quiet as if they knew that long, eager fingers were ready to pounce upon them.
Then a change came over the peddler’s manner, and he showed his unpleasant-looking teeth in a broad smile. Perhaps he was planning a look into those little pockets by and by, who knows?
“What a clever boy you are!” he cried. “Well, as you are also such a hungry little beast, take back your bread, and for a relish I shall give you a smell of my own supper. See!”
So speaking, he drew a roll of sausage from a pocket of his long coat. The sausage was wrapped in a soiled handkerchief, and there was a hunk of black bread with it. A knife with a curious curved handle and long, shining blade was next produced, and the peddler went to work, alternately whacking off bits of the highly seasoned meat and the hard bread, and devouring them with crunching teeth and smacking lips.
Natale gnawed industriously at his own bread without even thinking of offering to barter a portion of it for a taste of the savory sausage. There was a kind of fascination in watching the ugly fellow eat, and the wondering brown eyes were fixed upon the peddler’s surly face.
It was now the close of a warm afternoon. A light haze wrapped the more distant mountains in misty blue, a chirring of insects stirred the silence about the travelers, and now and then a carriage or cart whisked downward, or toiled upward, along the road, accompanied by the jingle of harness bells and the whooping cries of the drivers. A fog of white dust rose behind every passing vehicle, and the chestnut leaves overhead, long unwashed by rain, hung grimy and listless in the heavy air.
As the peddler supped, large drops of sweat gathered on his long, red nose and dripped down his black beard, while his face grew flushed and more scowling than ever. Presently, with an angry movement which startled Natale half out of his wits, he dropped the sausage and knife to the ground and tore off his coat.