“The tramping will have limbered up his legs!” one whispered to another.
“Stiffened them, rather!” was the reply, and then everybody stopped talking and only gazed the harder as Natale put his hand within the breast of his blouse and drew out the old leather pocketbook.
“There, Giovanni!” he said simply, reaching the book toward his stepfather. “The ugly, black peddler with the red cap like our Leo’s stole the money, and while he slept on his back, by the road, I stole it from him, and then—Oh, how fast I ran and ran that he might not catch me and kill me with his long, sharp knife!”
Giovanni, speechless with astonishment and joy, solemnly received and kissed and opened the pocketbook, and then spread out the notes, one by one, on his knee, while the rest crowded around, counting them aloud.
What if all should not be there? Natale’s eyes shone feverishly as he leaned forward from his mother’s knee, his gaze alternately upon the clown’s face, and the long, lithe fingers handling the money.
Five, ten, fifteen, twenty, twenty-five, thirty, thirty-five, forty, forty-five, fifty, fifty-five, sixty, sixty-five, seventy, seventy-five, eighty, eighty-two, eighty-four, eighty-six, eighty-eight, ninety, ninety-one, ninety-two, ninety-three, ninety-four, ninety-five, ninety-six, ninety-seven, ninety-eight, ninety-nine, one hundred!
Natale’s head dropped back against the red satin shoulder of his mother, and his large eyes gazed wistfully into Giovanni’s face.
Would they let him stay now that he had come all the weary way “after the wagon”, bringing them the lost money? Their welcome had been encouraging; would they let him remain, or must he be sent back to Cutigliano, to the priest, to Sora Grazia, to school, to imprisonment in a house without wheels, and without Nonna?
It was Antonio Bisbini who brought up the question finally and in a manner settled it with his slow-spoken words. Everybody had wondered and rejoiced over the safe return of the pocketbook, with the money untouched, and Natale had had to tell all about the peddler, and the risks he had run of rousing the fellow from sleep in making his escape with the pocketbook.
“He was the man who teased me to buy the beautiful diamond brooch on the day of San Lorenzo!” cried pretty Arduina, who well remembered the peddler’s flattering attentions to her in his hope of finding a purchaser for his paltry glass jewelry.