“But we have been walking three hours; for the last two we have met no living creature except these sheep.”
“Where there are sheep there will be a shepherd,” said Fra Diavolo.
“Povera rondinella, povera rondinella!” The familiar air was played on a shepherd’s pipe.
“What did I say?” growled Fra Diavolo, a really cross person.
We came upon the shepherd a minute later. He sat with his back against an oak playing on a pipe; near him a goat with one hind leg in splint cropped the grass. They both seemed astounded at seeing us.
“The way to Scanno, figlio mio?”
“This is not the path. Where have the Signori come from? Roccaraso? it is not possible! You have come by a trail only fit for goats and asses. Why did you not take the mule-path? That is easy enough.”
“Well, for certain excellent reasons we did not take the mule-path, but we are going to Scanno all the same.”
“Truly? Then take the lower path—of an unimaginable badness! With good luck you may reach Scanno by Ave Maria.”
Ave Maria is a little puzzling till you learn that it varies with the season of the year, and is always celebrated fifteen minutes after sunset.