The wisdom of Don Cesare's words was obvious, even to Father Atanasio and the Syndic;--though as to the latter, he never ventured to wish for anything until the majority had first willed it; --and thus the whole community set forth once more for the Promontory of Evolo, in spite of wind and rain, feet in the wet sand, hands in pockets, cowls and gay kerchiefs over their heads and necks. Don Cesare opened the procession, between the Syndic and the priest.
"Where is your little sister Carmela?" asked the latter, after a while, smiling cunningly, and glancing aside at his neighbor.
"Oh, father, I am not anxious about her," answered Don Cesare; "she was on her feet early this morning, and gave me no peace trying to catch the rain in her hands. A real child."
"Yes, yes," said the padre, politely; "Carmela is a fine girl, and pretty. Nay, that is nothing to me, but others have remarked the same. It would be a joy to me, Don Cesare, if I could see the two before the altar. I speak of Nino, Don Cesare, who is courting her as if she were the only girl in Sicily."
Behind the amiable tone in which these words were spoken, lay hidden a quiet laugh at the thrust he delighted in being able to give his neighbor. But the little ship-trader did not appear to notice it, and replied quite seriously:
"And that will soon happen, Father Atanasio. In the chapel above they will be betrothed before the image of the good Evolino."
His two comrades stared at him in astonishment.
"Nay, nay, my good Don Cesare," said the Syndic, "I would gladly see it too, but Nino seems to us a little bit too rich."
Don Cesare caught him up quickly: "I thought so myself yesterday."
"And what has happened since yesterday?" asked the amazed padre.