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August also arrived.
One evening, when he came back from the countryside a little earlier, he saw Concetta loaded down with some pitcher, intent on going to the trough near the river, and offered to help her.
“Why are you in a rush to help me?” His sister asked.
“Usually you nod your head and say thank you in these cases,” Ture replied.
“Are you coming to help your poor sister or to see your cousin Lia?”
Concetta’s question caught her brother off guard. Cousin Lia was nineteen years old. She was already shapely but not yet engaged. Ture had honestly never thought she could be anything more than a cousin.
“I’m not interested in Lia, and if you talk any more, you will go to the trough on your own!”
“No? Too bad...”
“Too bad, why?”
“Because Lia likes you!”
“Concetta, stop it! I don’t have time to be engaged now and don’t put ideas in our cousin’s head. Indeed tell her that your brother Ture doesn’t want her, so she’ll make her peace!”
“Then you can tell it to her if we find her at the trough.”