"I don't want to buy her. I only ask...."
"Nobody want to buy her. She spring like cat, kick like kangaroo, chip wood like woodpecker." He started to goad her with the whip; then, as her ears laced back, he changed his mind. He turned to the boy abruptly. "Who are you?" he asked.
"I am Giorgio Terni."
The slit mouth widened in a grin. "O—o—oh, you're Tullio Terni's boy, the little runt of Monticello. For you I cut my price; for one hundred lire I carry you to door of house."
Giorgio smiled his thanks and turned away. He set off down the road, twice looking over his shoulder at the fine Arab head with the small ears pricked against the sky. He thought he heard a nervous whinny, but it might have been the breeze in the poplars.
He strode to Monticello as if there were springs inside him. Along the way people welcomed him, called him by name. "Hi, Giorgio, how is it being a city fellow?"
But the real welcome came within the encompassing walls of home. To his family he was already a hero. They fluttered about him, taking off his jacket, pouring him coffee, peppering him with questions.