But the road went just as much
between the vines and past the house as outside, under the wall; for the
high gates were always open, and men or women and mules come into the
property to call at the door of the homestead. There was a loud shout,
'Ah--a--a--ah--Mari--a. O--O--Oh Pa'o!' from outside, another wild,
inarticulate cry from within, and one of the Fiori appeared in the
doorway to hail the newcomer.
It was usually a man, sometimes a peasant from Mugiano, high up,
sometimes a peasant from the wilds of the mountain, a wood-cutter, or a
charcoal-burner. He came in and sat in the house-place, his glass of
wine in his hand between his knees, or on the floor between his feet,
and he talked in a few wild phrases, very shy, like a hawk indoors, and
unintelligible in his dialect.
Sometimes we had a dance. Then, for the wine to drink, three men came
with mandolines and guitars, and sat in a corner playing their rapid
tunes, while all danced on the dusty brick floor of the little parlour.
No strange women were invited, only men; the young bloods from the big
village on the lake, the wild men from above.
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