His face was covered
with purple blotches and his eyelids were swelling at a terrible rate.
Out of breath and utterly worn out he stood still and steadied himself
against a crooked olive-tree. He could no longer hear even the footsteps
of the lads before him.
They were beyond his reach now. The last of the Children of the King had
left Verbicaro, where their fathers had lived and died since darker ages
than Calabrian history has accurately recorded.
CHAPTER II.
"We shall never see him again," said Ruggiero, stopping at last and
looking back over the stone wall he had just cleared.
Sebastiano listened intently. He was not tall enough to see over, but
his ears were sharp.
"I do not hear him any more," he answered. "I hurt my hands on his
nose," he added, thoughtfully, as he glanced at his bruised knuckles.
"So did I," returned his brother. "He will remember us. Come along--it
is far to Scalea."
"To Scalea? Are we going to Scalea?"
"Eh! If not, where? And where else can we eat? Don Antonino will give us
a piece of bread."
"There are figs here," suggested Sebastiano, looking up into the trees
around them.
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