V + 

In the afternoon Fabio reached down his hat and went in search of Gian-Luca: “Come, tesoro, I will take you for a walk, Nonna will guard the shop.” He held out a friendly hand to the child, and together they turned into the street. “Would you like to go and play with Berta?” inquired Fabio, anxious, as always, to be kind. + 

Gian-Luca shook his head, but after a moment: “I would like to play with Olga.” + 

Fabio said dully: “Olga is in heaven, she cannot play, piccino.” + 

“No?” Gian-Luca’s voice sounded doubtful. “Do they not play in heaven, Nonno? Do they not want to play?” + 

“They are with God,” Fabio told him gently. + 

“And will not God play with them?” + 

“God does not play.” + 

“I do not like God,” said Gian-Luca. + 

“And yet He is good⁠—” murmured Fabio to himself. “I am almost certain He is good⁠—” + 

They walked on in silence for a while after that; it was hot, and Gian-Luca’s legs began to flag, Fabio stooped down and took him in his arms. + 

“Nonno is a horse, you shall ride!” he said gaily, as though to reassure the child. + 

Fabio ran a little and Gian-Luca laughed, thumping to make him go faster. In this manner they returned to Old Compton Street; the sweat was pouring down Fabio’s face. At the door of his shop stood Rocca, the butcher, enjoying the balmy air. Rocca saw Fabio: + 

“Buon giorno, Capitano!” Rocca had been a good soldier in his day, and now he used military titles for fun. “Buon giorno, Capitano!” he shouted. + 

Rocca was much esteemed for his meat, which was usually both cheap and tender. He was also much esteemed for himself⁠—an honest fellow if somewhat lacking in the gift of imagination. As a rule, his display of edible wares was moderately unobtrusive, but today he had something arresting to show; Rocca had purchased a couple of kids, which dangled outside his window. The kids were very realistic indeed, they hung there complete, pelts and all. Their little hind legs were bent back over sticks, their noses pointed to the pavement. They looked young but resigned, and their patient mouths had set in a vaguely innocent smile. In their stomachs were long, straight purposeful slits through which their entrails had been drawn. Despite that innocent smile on their mouths, their eyes were terribly dead and regretful, and as they swung there, just over the pavement, they bled a little from their wounds. + 

“Belli, eh?” demanded Rocca. + 

“Ma si!” agreed Fabio, lifting Gian-Luca higher in his arms, whereupon Gian-Luca burst into tears. + 

“Oh, poor⁠—oh, poor⁠—” he sobbed wildly. + 

“Ma che!” exclaimed Fabio, genuinely astonished, “what is the matter, piccinino?” + 

But Gian-Luca could not tell him, could not explain. + 

“Can it be the little goats?” inquired Fabio incredulously. “But do not cry so, my pretty, my lamb, they cannot hurt you, they are dead!” + 

“Ecco!” roared Rocca in his voice of a corporal, “Ecco!” And producing some fruit drops from his pocket he offered them to Gian-Luca. + 

But Gian-Luca turned away. “Oh, poor⁠—oh, poor⁠—” he wailed, until Fabio, shaking his head, carried him home, still weeping. + 

“No doubt it was the heat,” he told Teresa afterwards. “I thought he might be feeling the heat.” + 