They found the girl tying up the vine branches in a long berceau, and the old man sitting by the smouldering ashes as he had sat yesterday, in a monotony of idleness. The windows had not been mended, and the shutters still hung forlornly upon broken hinges.
Antonia asked the girl if she had not been able to find a carpenter to do the work.
"Grandfather would not let a carpenter come. He is afraid of the noise."
"And when bad weather comes the rain will come in."
"Si, signorina; the rain always comes in."
"And your broken shutters cannot keep out the cold winds."
"No, signorina; the wind almost blows grandfather out of his chair sometimes."
"Then he really ought to let a carpenter come."
The old man was listening intently, and Dunkeld was watching his face.
"They are brigands, those carpenters," he said. "'Tis a waste of money to employ them. I don't mind the wind, signorina. Francia can hang up a curtain."