"No, I haven't," Mattia would answer; "you're Mother Barberin of Chevanon, aren't you? Well, the prince (like in fairy tales) has sent you this as a present."
"What prince?"
Then I would appear and take her in my arms, and after we had hugged each other we would make some pancakes and apple fritters which would be eaten by the three of us and not by Barberin, as on that Shrove Tuesday when he had returned to upset our frying pan and put our butter in his onion soup. What a beautiful dream! But to realize it we must first buy the cow!
How much would a cow cost? I had not the slightest idea; a great deal probably, but still... I did not want a very big cow. Because the fatter the cow the higher the price, and then the bigger the cow the more nourishment it would require, and I did not want my present to be a source of inconvenience to Mother Barberin. The essential, for the moment, was to find out the price of cows or, rather, of a cow of the kind that I wanted. Fortunately, that was not difficult for we often met many farmers and cattle dealers at the different villages where we stopped. I put the question to the first I met at the inn that day.
He burst out laughing and gave a bang on the table. Then he called the landlady.
"This little musician wants to know how much a cow costs, not a very large one, but a very healthy one that'll give plenty of milk!"
