For a short time, in pleasant memories of their boyhood, he forgot the weary present. After they had eaten their frugal supper, and were again seated in the vine-clad doorway, Joza looked out upon the great ocean, dusky with the shadows of evening, growing sad and silent.
"What ails thee, brother," said Schio, in his clear, ringing voice, that sounded like the strong notes of a clarionet. "You are changed; you are growing old, but see me, I am as young in heart as your boy, and strong as a bullock."
He lifted a great stone that lay near him, and held it at arms' length, laughing loudly, till the caves of the ocean sent back a hundred echoes.
With many sighs, Joza told the story of his troubles; how, for years, till his back had grown old and stiff, he had worked in the vineyard of the padre, but the purple harvest had brought no blessing to him.
How a harder task was to be laid upon him. He was to hew and carry the heavy foundation-stones of the Grand San Pedro, and even at the thought of so great labor, the beaded sweat rolled down his forehead.
His sympathizing wife sobbed aloud, but the brother only laughed, till again he woke the mysterious voices of the ocean caves.
Half angry, Joza turned to Schio, saying: "'Tis all very well for you, Schio, to laugh; you who roam at will in the cool of the evening, and rest in the delightful shade, while the scorching sunshine is burning my life out."
Poor Joza buried his face in his hands and sighed wearily.
"Cheer up, brother," said Schio, pleasantly. "Listen to me. Go in the morning, to padre Antonio, and tell him you are getting old and feeble, and cannot work through the heat of the day, but if he will appoint your task, you will accomplish it after the burning sun has gone down.