surrounded by a red-satin cravat ornamented by a gilt horseshoe. He wore a ring on the little finger of each hand. In his own eyes his
attire was splendid.
In the eyes of some one else also. To Prudence, as he stood there, he looked absolutely beautiful; she felt all a mother's pride rise in her heart as she surveyed him. But she must not let him see it, and she must scold him for wearing his best clothes every day.
"I didn't know it was a festa," she began.
"'Tain't. But one of the fellows has had a sister married, and they've invited us all to a big supper to-night." "To-night isn't to-day, that I know of."
"Do you wish me to go all covered with sawdust?" said the little dandy, with a disdainful air. "Besides, I wanted to come up here."
"It is a good while sence we've seen you," Prudence admitted. In her heart she was delighted that he had wished to come. "Have you had your dinner, Jo Vanny?"
"All I want. I'll take a bit of bread and some wine by-and-by. But you needn't go to cooking for me, mamma. I say, tell me what it was that made you look so glad?" said the boy, curiously.
"Never you mind now," said Prudence, the gleam of content coming again into her eyes, and lighting up her brown, wrinkled face.
She was glad that she had the ten francs; she was glad to see the boy; she was touched by his unselfishness in declining her offer of
a second dinner. No other member of the family would have declined or waited to decline; the others would have demanded some freshly cooked dish immediately upon entering; Uncle Patro would have demanded three or four.
6
"I've brought my mandolin," Jo Vanny went on. "I've got to take it to the supper, of course, because they always want me to sing--I never can get rid of 'em! And so you can hear me, if you like. I know the new songs, and one of them I composed myself. Well, it's rather heavenly."
All Tonio's children sang like birds. Poor Prudence, who had no ear for music, had never been able to comprehend either the
pleasure or the profit of the hours they gave to their carollings. But when, in his turn, her little Jo Vanny began his pipings, then she
listened, or tried to listen. "Real purty, Jo Vanny," she would say, when the silence of a moment or two had assured her that his song was ended; it was her only way of knowing--the silence.
So now she brought her work out to the garden, and sewed busily while Jo Vanny sang and thrummed. Nounce, too, came out, and sat on the wall near by, listening.
At length the little singer took himself off--took himself off with his red-satin cravat, his horseshoe pin, and his mandolin under his arm. Nounce went back to the house, but Prudence sat awhile longer, using, as she always did, the very last rays of the sunset light
for her sewing.
After a while she heard a step, and looked up. "Why, Gooster!--anything the matter?" she said, in surprise.
Unlike the slender little Jo Vanny, Gooster was a large, stoutly built young man, as slow in his motions as Jo Vanny was quick. He was a lethargic fellow with sombre eyes, eyes which sometimes had a gleam in them.
"There's nothing especial the matter," he answered, dully. "I think I'll go for a soldier, Denza." "Go for a soldier? And the per-dairy?"
"I can't never go back to the podere. She's there, and she has taken up with Matteo. I've had my heart trampled upon, and so I've got a big hankering either to kill somebody or get killed myself; and I'll either do it here, or I'll go for a soldier and get knifed in the war." "Mercy on us! there isn't any war now," said Prudence, dazed by these sanguinary suggestions.
"There's always a war. What else are there soldiers for? And there's lots of soldiers. But I could get knifed here easy enough; Matteo and I--already we've had one tussle; I gave him a pretty big cut, you may depend."
Seventeen years earlier Prudence Wilkin would have laughed at the idea of being frightened by such words as these. But Mrs. Tonio Guadagni had heard of wild deeds in Assisi, and wilder ones still among the peasants of the hill country roundabout; these singing, indolent Umbrians dealt sometimes in revenges that were very direct and primitive.
"You let Matteo alone, Gooster," she said, putting her hand on his arm; "you go straight over to Perugia and stay there. Perhaps you can get work where Parlo and Squawly are."
"I shall have it out with Matteo here, or else go for a soldier to-morrow," answered Gooster, in his lethargic tone. "Well, go for a soldier, then."
"It don't make much difference to me which I do," Gooster went on, as if only half awake. "If I go for a soldier, I shall have to get to Florence somehow, I suppose; I shall have to have ten francs for the railroad."
"Is it ten exactly?" said Prudence. Her mind flew to her work-box, which held just that sum.
"It's ten."
"Haven't you got any money at all, Gooster?" She meant to help him on his way; but she thought that she should like to keep, if possible, a nest-egg to begin with again--say twenty cents, or ten.
Gooster felt in his pockets. "Three soldi," he replied, producing some copper coins and counting them over.
"NOUNCE TOO CAME OUT, AND SAT ON THE WALL NEAR BY, LISTENING" "And there's nothing due you at the per-dairy?"
There was no necessity for answering such a foolish question as this, and Gooster did not answer it.
"Well, I will give you the money," said Prudence. "But to-morrow'll do, won't it? Stay here a day or two, and we'll talk it over."
While she was speaking, Gooster had turned and walked towards the garden wall. The sight of his back going from her--as though she should never see it again--threw her into a sudden panic; she ran after him and seized his arm. "I'll give you the money, Gooster; I told you I would; I've got it all ready, and it won't take a minute; promise me that you won't leave this garden till I come back." Gooster had had no thought of leaving the garden; he had espied a last bunch of grapes still hanging on the vine, and was going to get it; that was all. "All right," he said.
Prudence disappeared. He gathered the grapes and began to eat them, turning over the bunch to see which were best. Before he had
finished, Prudence came back, breathless with the haste she had made. "Here," she said; "and now you'll go straight to Florence,
won't you? There's a train to-night, very soon now; you must hurry down and take that."
He let her put the money in his coat-pocket while he finished the grapes. Then he threw the stem carefully over the garden wall.
"And no doubt you'll be a brave soldier," Prudence went on, trying to speak hopefully. "Brave soldiers are thought a heap of everywhere."
"I don't know as I care what's thought," answered Gooster, indifferently. He took up his cap and put it on. "Well, good-bye, Denza. Best wishes to you. Every happiness." He shook hands with her.
Prudence stood waiting where she was for five minutes; then she followed him. It was already dark; she went down the hill rapidly,
and turned into the narrow main street. A few lamps were lighted. She hastened onward, hoping every minute to distinguish some-
where in front a tall figure with slouching gait. At last, where the road turns to begin the long descent to the plain, she did distinguish
it. Yes, that was certainly Gooster; he was going down the hill towards the railway station. All was well, then; she could dismiss her
7
anxiety. She returned through the town. Stopping for a moment at an open space, she gazed down upon the vast valley, now darken-ing into night; here suddenly a fear came over her--he might have turned round and come back! She hurried through the town a second time, and not meeting him, started down the hill. The road went down in long zigzags. As she turned each angle she expected
to see him; but she did not see him, and finally she reached the plain: there were the lights of the station