The veranda where they were sitting was upstairs; through the open windows the eye could follow the distant view; the hills lay slumbering in the afternoon light, along their foot lay a road—processions of laden mules, whole caravans ascending slowly and laboriously, winding along in bluish lines till lost to sight over the brow of the hill. The woman followed them with her eyes, and without moving, from her wheel, pointing with her hand, she said:
“There are sheepfolds yonder, too, aren’t there?”
The shepherd nodded his head.
“I never asked you, Toli, how are the goats doing? Do you think my man chose well this year?”
“Well, very well.”
That was all. He said no more. His deep-set eyes were sad, and black as the night. A minute later footsteps sounded in the garden, and then the voice of a neighbour:
“Where are you, dear, where have you hidden yourself?”
“Here, Lena, here,” replied the woman upstairs.
Lena mounted the stairs. Behind her came Doda Sili and Mia; they had all brought their work, for they would not go away till late in the evening.
“Have you heard?” asked Lena.