"But, signore, our home is very poor. Look, signore!"
A turkey strutted out through the doorway, elongating its neck and
looking nervously intent.
"Ps--sh--sh--sh!"
He shooed it away, furiously waving his arms.
"And what could you eat? There is only bread and wine."
"And the yellow cheese!" said Maurice.
"The--?" Salvatore looked sharply interrogative.
"I mean, there is always cheese, isn't there, in Sicily, cheese and
macaroni? But if there isn't, it's all right. Anything will do for me,
and I'll buy all the fish we take from you, and Maddalena here shall cook
it for us when we come back from the sea. Will you, Maddalena?"
"Si, signore."
The answer came in a very small voice.
"The signore is too good."
Salvatore was looking openly voracious now.
"I can sleep on the floor."
"No, signore. We have beds, we have two fine beds. Come in and see."
With not a little pride he led Maurice into the cottage, and showed him
the bed on which he had already slept.
"That will be for the signore, Gaspare."
"Si--è molto bello."
"Maddalena and I--we will sleep in the outer room."
"And I, Salvatore?" demanded the boy.
"You! Do you stay too?"
"Of course. Don't I stay, signore?"
"Yes, if Lucrezia won't be frightened."
"It does not matter if she is. When we do not come back she will keep
Guglielmo, the contadino."
"Of course you must stay. You can sleep with me. And to-night we'll play
cards and sing and dance. Have you got any cards, Salvatore?"
"Si, signore. They are dirty, but--"
"That's all right. And we'll sit outside and tell stories, stories of
brigands and the sea. Salvatore, when you know me, you'll know I'm a true
Sicilian."
He grasped Salvatore's hand, but he looked at Maddalena.