We Passed A Fountain At Which Oxen Drank, And There I Supped Up Cool Water From The Spout, But He Wagged His Finger Before His Face To Tell Me That This Was An Error Under A Hot Sun.

We went on and met two men driving cattle up the path between the trees.

These I soon found to be talking of prices and markets with my guide. For it was market-day. As we came up at last on to the little town - a little, little town like a nest, and all surrounded with walls, and a castle in it and a church - we found a thousand beasts all lowing and answering each other along the highroad, and on into the market square through the gate. There my guide led me into a large room, where a great many peasants were eating soup with macaroni in it, and some few, meat. But I was too exhausted to eat meat, so I supped up my broth and then began diapephradizing on my fingers to show the great innkeeper what I wanted.

I first pulled up the macaroni out of the dish, and said, _Fromagio, Pommodoro,_ by which I meant cheese - tomato. He then said he knew what I meant, and brought me that spaghetti so treated, which is a dish for a king, a cosmopolitan traitor, an oppressor of the poor, a usurer, or any other rich man, but there is no spaghetti in the place to which such men go, whereas these peasants will continue to enjoy it in heaven.

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