The boys knew some of the responses, learned by ear with small regard for Latinity, though they understood what they were saying.

When the monk got up they rose also and looked again at the poor dead face.
"You have no relations, my children," said the old man.
"We are alone," answered the elder boy in a quiet, clear voice.

"But I will take care of Sebastiano." "And I will help Ruggiero," said the younger in much the same tone.
"You are hungry ?" "Always," answered both together, without hesitation.
Padre Michele would have smiled, but the hungry faces and the mournful tone told him how true the spoken word must be.

He fumbled in the pockets in the breast of his gown, and presently produced a few shady-looking red and white sugar sweetmeats, bullet-like in shape and hardness.
"It is all I have now, my children," said the old man.

"I picked them up yesterday at a wedding, to give them to a poor little girl who was ill.
But she was dead when I got there, so you may have them." The lads took the stuff thankfully and crunched the stony balls with white, wolfish teeth.
With Padre Michele's help they got an old woman from amongst the neighbours to rouse herself and do what was necessary.