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Updated: July 24, 2025
Just at that moment the herdsmen, who had caught sight of them, hastened to their horses, and galloped down the hill to meet them. "Evvviva Ors' Anton'!" shouted a brawny, white-bearded old fellow, wrapped, despite the heat, in a hooded cloak of Corsican cloth, thicker than the skins of his own goats. "The image of his father, only taller and stronger! What a splendid gun!
You would have seen him now, if he would have listened to me if he would have let me settle Guidice's business! . . . But he wouldn't listen to me, poor fellow! He knows I was right, now!" "Well, well!" said the old man. "Guidice will lose nothing by waiting." "Evvviva Ors' Anton'!" And the reports of a dozen guns capped the plaudit.
There'll be talk about that gun, Ors' Anton'!" "Evvviva Ors' Anton'!" chorused the herdsmen. "We were sure you'd come back, at last!" "Ah! Ors' Anton'!" cried a tall fellow, with a skin tanned brick red. "How happy your father would be, if he were here to welcome you! The dear, good man!
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