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-The Project Gutenberg eBook of The little acrobat: a story of Italy,

-by Janie Prichard Duggan

-

-This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and

-most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions

-whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms

-of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at

-www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you

-will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before

-using this eBook.

-

-Title: The little acrobat: a story of Italy

-

-Author: Janie Prichard Duggan

-

-Illustrator: Nana French Bickford

-

-Release Date: September 28, 2022 [eBook #69064]

-

-Language: English

-

-Produced by: D A Alexander and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team

-             at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images

-             generously made available by the Library of Congress)

-

-*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LITTLE ACROBAT: A STORY

-OF ITALY ***

-

-

-

-

-

-THE LITTLE ACROBAT

-

-[Illustration: The pale apparition of Natale startled them all.

-_Frontispiece._

-

-_See page 167._]

-

-

-

-

-  THE

-

-  LITTLE ACROBAT

-

-  A STORY OF ITALY

-

-

-  BY

-

-  JANIE PRICHARD DUGGAN

-

-

-  _WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY_

-

-  NANA FRENCH BICKFORD

-

-  BOSTON

-

-  LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY

-  1919

-

-

-

-

-  _Copyright, 1919_,

-

-  BY LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY.

-

-  _All rights reserved_

-

-  Published, September, 1919

-

-  Norwood Press

-  Set up and electrotyped by J. S. Cushing Co., Norwood, Mass., U.S.A.

-  Presswork by S. J. Parkhill & Co., Boston, Mass., U.S.A.

-

-

-

-

-  DEDICATED

-  TO MEMORIES OF

-  TWO LITTLE “ANGELICALS” OF ROME

-  SPOTTISWOODE AND SUSIE

-  BY

-  “CUDDIE”

-

-

-

-

-CONTENTS

-

-

-  CHAPTER                               PAGE

-

-     I ALONG THE WHITE ROAD                1

-

-    II NONNA                              12

-

-   III IN THE RING                        26

-

-    IV THE FESTIVAL OF SAN LORENZO        39

-

-     V A GIFT FOR THE CIRCUS              55

-

-    VI SEPARATION                         73

-

-   VII THE CAGED BIRD OF THE FIELDS       91

-

-  VIII THE CAGE DOOR OPENED              105

-

-    IX THE FLIGHT OF THE BIRD            121

-

-     X ON THE WING                       133

-

-    XI FLUTTERING A LITTLE FARTHER       150

-

-   XII AT LAST                           167

-

-

-

-

-LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

-

-

-  The pale apparition of Natale startled

-  them all               _Frontispiece_

-

-  Mrs. Bishop looked down upon the tent

-  from the garden terrace       PAGE 45

-

-  The priest led Natale to the other end of

-  the house                     “    94

-

-  “_Capitomboli_, such as the boy who was

-  here just now made in the circus at

-  Cutigliano”                   “   142

-

-

-

-

-THE LITTLE ACROBAT

-

-_A STORY OF ITALY_

-

-

-

-

-CHAPTER I

-

-ALONG THE WHITE ROAD

-

-

-THE July sunshine lay hot and golden over the fields of wheat on the

-Italian hillsides, and the deep shade of the chestnut woods along the

-road was more inviting than the white glare beyond. The sun stood

-directly overhead, and along the middle of that white, dusty road there

-was not an inch of shadow.

-

-A small brown house on wheels crept slowly along this sunny way,

-drawn by a queer, ill-matched team of three--a plump white horse with

-long, silky mane and tail, a large spotted horse with fierce eyes and

-nostrils, and a lean, little brown pony, with strangely twisted neck.

-

-Up and up, always a little higher up, the horses toiled with the

-house-wagon, as the road rose into the mountains. From the interior

-of the wagon came the sound of voices, mingled now and then with a

-complaining note, or an exclamation of pain. The travelers were very

-tired, and poor Pietro’s fever was rising with every turn of the wheels.

-

-Several men and a sturdy girl of fifteen walked beside the horses in

-the powdery white dust. Behind the big wagon lagged a boy of eight or

-nine years. This was Natale,[1] a slight little fellow, with dusty lean

-legs and dragging feet. His light brown hair curled damply about his

-sun-browned forehead, and he wore an old, misshapen hat set far back on

-his pretty head. His loosely fitting clothes were dingy with dust but

-Natale did not mind, for, presently, they would come to Cutigliano,

-the old, old town on the mountain side, and there they would camp out

-on the soft, green grass. And Natale knew from much experience that

-nothing could clean the dust from travel-stained clothes so well as

-rolling down the grassy slopes of the chestnut woods, with Niero and

-Bianco as companions.

-

-[Footnote 1: Pronounced Nah-tah´le.]

-

-Of course the sun was hot; was it not always hot at noon of a summer’s

-day in the Apennines? But Niero did not complain, and why should Natale?

-

-Bianco had tired of trotting along at Natale’s side, and at the last

-stopping-place, when Pietro had had a drink of water from the wayside

-fountain, the tired little black dog had begged to be allowed to ride,

-and had been willingly taken inside the wagon.

-

-Natale never asked to ride in the wagon, unless he were very tired and

-sleepy. They were rather crowded in there even without him, for Pietro

-took up a great deal of room, now that he had to lie down all the time.

-Besides, the other children, good travelers as they usually were,

-sometimes grew quarrelsome and made the mothers and the grandmother

-angry. Natale did not like quarreling and loud voices, so he always

-preferred his resting times to be given him on the back of one of the

-horses. But now Tesoro and Il Duca were tired also, and they were so

-near Cutigliano, it did not matter if Natale did lag behind a little,

-always with big Niero for company.

-

-Niero was a large, lean, white dog with a closely sheared body. About

-his neck, however, he wore a fluffy collar of long white hair, and

-bracelets of the same adorned his four paws, while his long tail ended

-in a tuft, having very much the appearance of a dishmop. Why this

-white dog should have been named Niero, meaning black, the clown who

-had also named the little black dog Bianco, white, could have best

-explained.

-

-By and by, long after the gray church tower had come in sight and the

-red-tiled roofs of the town showed bunched together against the green

-of the wooded hillside, the travelers reached the arched stone bridge

-across the river at the foot of the mountain. Here the wagon made a

-halt before beginning the last steep climb to the town. Above, they

-could see the stone wall which was the boundary of the road winding by

-loops, one above the other, up the mountain side, but the town had now

-disappeared from view, so sheer was the rise of the chestnut woods.

-

-This halt gave Natale time to come up with the wagon, and then he sat

-down with a tired sigh on a heap of mending-stones by the roadside, in

-front of the wagon door. His legs ached with weariness, but this was

-no time to think of riding, as even the women and all the children but

-Pietro must alight now, to relieve the horses in the last pull up hill.

-Natale watched them descend from the wagon one by one, by the steps one

-of the musicians placed at the door.

-

-First came Nonna, the grandmother of Rudolfo and Tito and the five

-other children of the blond acrobat, Antonio Bisbini. She was not

-Natale’s Nonna, of course, yet everybody called her Nonna, and why

-should not he, who had no grandmother of his own?

-

-Nonna carried Tito in her arms and led Rudolfo by the hand. Then

-came Tito’s mother, the three-months’-old infant, Gigi, in her arms,

-followed by Olga, who held little Maria by the hand. Next, Natale’s own

-mamá stepped down, glad to stretch her active limbs by walking, after

-nursing Pietro for so many tedious hours. Then the rest of Bisbini’s

-children scrambled out, aided by the music-man’s helping hands.

-

-On they went again then, the clown, who was Natale’s stepfather,

-walking at the horses’ heads, and cracking his long whip, and

-chirruping to them while the other men strode behind the wagon, pushing

-upon it with all their might at the steep places in the road.

-

-The women and children, meanwhile, left the road to climb the short

-cuts upward, leading directly from terrace to terrace,--mere paths

-paved with rough stones, here and there loosened and displaced by

-rushing rain-torrents of the past. The little ones bore the heat and

-the roughness of the way without murmuring, being allowed to straggle

-along as they pleased, now stopping to gather a red poppy from the

-edge of the wheat, now dropping on the ground to search for a briar

-afflicting some tired foot. Natale was not the last in the procession

-now, for he was anxious to get to the top and see what the tall wheat

-and the green slopes were hiding from his eyes.

-

-At last they reached the wide turn in the road where the wagon must

-finally stop, at the edge of the town field. The wagon also came

-toiling upward, and now the good horses might rest. So these were

-unhitched from the wagon, and while one or two of the men led them

-up the steep, paved street into the village to find food and shelter

-for them, the others attended to the house-wagon, drawn close against

-the low stone wall inclosing the field, placing great stones against

-the wheels to steady it in its place. Now was Natale’s hour and the

-dogs’, and they understood this as well as he! Over the low wall they

-scampered and down on the soft, hot grass they lay, rolling over and

-over down the gentle slope of the field until, suddenly, Natale found

-himself landing directly upon his feet, with a whirring in his head,

-and the sound of distressed barking in his ears.

-

-The dogs had had the wit to stop on the very edge of a sharp descent

-which Natale had not noticed, and now they stood on the bank,

-half-a-dozen feet above him, their forefeet firmly planted on the brink

-of the grassy precipice, and their tufty tails high in the air, begging

-with all their might to know whether their dear little comrade were

-hurt. Natale was not hurt, but the jar of the descent gave him a queer

-feeling under the waistband of his trousers, and he sat down directly

-where he stood, on the lower terrace, turning his back upon the dogs.

-

-A fringe of bushes threw a narrow band of shade about him from above,

-and he made up his mind to stay there till something should be made

-ready for dinner. He hoped he would not be wanted to fetch anything

-from the village,--he was always fetching something for somebody. He

-had heard his mother calling to her husband to bring a little meal for

-the polenta,[2] when he should finish stabling the horses, and he knew

-there was wine left in the flask in the wagon.

-

-[Footnote 2: Mush of corn meal.]

-

-From where Natale sat he could look directly down upon the roof of a

-house far down by the stone bridge and could faintly hear the rushing

-of the little river Lima over the rocks. Presently he eased himself

-out on the grass at full length, with his arms crossed beneath his

-head. As he dropped off to sleep, he was thinking how well it was that

-there could be no performance in the tent that evening. He was sure

-that Arduina would laugh more than ever at his stiff little feats on

-the circus carpet if he should have to turn somersaults after the long

-tramp.

-

-Then Natale slept, with the great green mountains closing around him,

-and Bianco the black dog and Niero the white keeping watch above his

-head from where they had stretched themselves on the edge of the

-terrace in the sun.

-

-

-

-

-CHAPTER II

-

-NONNA

-

-

-NATALE, as will have been discovered by this time, was an Italian

-circus boy, a cheerful, happy little soul, who loved his “profession”,

-and whose ambition reached to the giddy height of some day rivaling

-even Antonio Bisbini in his wonderful trapeze performances. He loved

-everything connected with the life he led,--the long slow journeyings

-through his beautiful Italy, the camping out at night along the quiet

-roads, the open-air loungings in some village through the sunny days,

-until the evening should come and the oil lamps be lighted in the tent,

-and the people come crowding in to see Arduina dance the tight rope,

-and little Olga do her wonderful turns and twists on the carpet, and

-to applaud Antonio and the clown and the horses, and--yes, and himself

-too, little Natale, stiff as his short thin legs always were and

-hopeless, as Arduina declared, in his bows and scrapes.

-

-Besides the three musicians, there were two families in the strolling

-company. Giovanni Marzuchetti was the clown, also the stepfather of

-Paulo, Arduina, Pietro, Natale and little Maria, and husband of Elvira,

-the black-haired mother of the five children. This man had no children

-of his own but was kind in his rough, clownish way to Natale and the

-rest.

-

-It is not difficult to understand why Giovanni should have married

-Elvira and her family, when it was known that the woman brought to her

-husband a small fortune in the shape of her own wonderful skill as

-a rider of horses, and the little ones as possible acrobats of the

-future. They had been married for two years now, and if Giovanni had

-counted largely upon his ready-made family for speedy reënforcements

-in the “ring”, he must have become a little discouraged even by this

-time. It is true that Paulo and Arduina were well trained in the art of

-circus acting; but poor Pietro, the middle-sized one, who was twelve

-years old, was always ailing and feeble. Sleeping out of doors in the

-marshy regions had developed in his system a chronic fever which could

-not be thrown off, even with the aid of Nonna’s assiduous doctoring,

-and lately the weakness had settled in one leg and foot, threatening

-permanent lameness.

-

-Natale, who came next, was agile enough when running about on his slim

-brown legs, but his funny stiff-legged somersaults and awkward antics

-in the ring were matters of jesting among the whole troop. Poor little

-Natale, who did so wish to be like Antonio Bisbini!

-

-Lastly there was Maria, who was a mere baby and as yet only just

-learning to stand upright on her stepfather’s head.

-

-But Antonio Bisbini, the father of the other family, was the star of

-the little troop of strolling players. Tall and lean and muscular, he

-stood six feet two in his sandals. His blond hair and skin and strong,

-clear-cut features gave him the look of some stern young Viking from

-the cold forests of the North, yet this youthful-looking, ruddy athlete

-was already the father of seven young children.

-

-No one in the company, not even the clown, could hold a candle to

-Antonio in looks or in graceful skill. Natale was sure that the noblest

-and most beautiful figure in all Italy was that of Antonio Bisbini

-as he would step forth from behind the tent-curtain, ready to thrill

-the spectators about the ring. The flesh-colored tights clothing his

-limbs showed to perfection their symmetry and grace, relieved by the

-brilliantly spangled hip garment of black velvet and fringe, while the

-proud glance of his gray eyes and the light tread of his feet never

-failed to impress the beholder.

-

-Antonio’s oldest, little red-haired Olga, tumbled and danced with all

-a healthy child’s love of activity and applause, and Oh! how Natale

-envied her the perfect “wheels” she turned, one after the other with

-dizzying swiftness across the dusty strip of carpet in the ring. But

-the rest of Antonio’s seven were as yet too small to be useful as

-tumblers or dancers, and Nonna’s hands were always full, while their

-mother did her daring dances in the air.

-

-The three musicians, then, and Nonna completed this strolling band of

-twenty, with the two horses, the dogs and the twisted-necked pony. Poor

-Caffero had grievously hurt his pretty neck one day when very young,

-while tied in his stall and leaping to reach his food from a manger

-set cruelly high. Since then he had trotted painfully through three

-years of going up and down the earth, with his brown head and long neck

-twisted far around to one side without the power of righting them.

-Caffero would have made a pretty part of the show had not this accident

-befallen him. As it was, he was good for little but helping to guide

-the house-wagon along the weary roads. Yet every one loved Caffero.

-

-On the day of the arrival at Cutigliano the two horses Tesoro and Il

-Duca were left in their stalls in the village stables during the whole

-afternoon, while Caffero was brought down the steep village street

-and allowed to graze in the public field. Nonna herself had gone up

-for him with Tito in her arms, after the midday meal of polenta, or

-thick mush of yellow meal, had been eaten. As the trio passed through

-the narrow street of the village, many heads turned to wonder at the

-strangers--the gray-haired woman, the bright-eyed child in her arms,

-and poor Caffero, who always seemed pulling against the leading rope

-and trying to twist his head after something left behind.

-

-It was while Nonna, a little later, was tying Caffero’s rope to a

-tree in the field that she spied the two dogs asleep in the sun near

-the edge of the terrace. As Tito recognized them at the same time,

-and called them in his baby voice, the grandmother added her summons,

-and was rather astonished at their failure to obey. They bounded to

-their feet, it is true, but instead of scampering to meet her, they

-stood still, quivering with nervous excitement and waving their tails

-in much perplexity. Then as Tito began to fret and belabor the air

-with his fists, Nonna started swiftly toward the dogs with something

-threatening in her gait.

-

-But where were they, those lazy brutes, which a moment before had

-defied her and then had promptly disappeared? A few more hasty steps

-brought Nonna near enough to the edge of the descent to see both Niero

-and Bianco crouching over Natale on the lower terrace. The boy had been

-awakened by the sudden onset of his faithful friends, and lay looking

-lazily upward as Nonna and Tito peered over at him.

-

-“Natalino!” the old woman exclaimed, and, at the word, Natale scrambled

-to his feet.

-

-“I am ready! Where am I to go?” he asked hurriedly, preparing to creep

-up the bank. But Nonna only laughed and reached down a helping hand to

-the child, as he clutched at the long grass for support.

-

-“Come and eat your polenta,” she said, when Natale stood at her side,

-the dogs panting close by. “I suppose they have saved you a bite. Why

-did you run away? Though, as for that, you were not missed in all this

-hurly-burly of arriving. Now, Niero, stand on your hind legs and beg.

-See, Tito is fretting for you to do it--”

-

-“But we haven’t a bone or a crust of bread for him, Nonna,” Natale

-pleaded. “See how sadly his eyes look at you. Giovanni always gives him

-a bone.”

-

-“There! take to your legs then, poor thing!” Nonna cried in a friendly

-way to the hungry dog. “Perhaps to-morrow there will be a bone. Who

-knows?”

-

-Natale ran off toward the wagon, followed by the patient animals, who

-perhaps were well assured that he was going to share with them his own

-scanty heap of polenta.

-

-The brown house on wheels leaned slightly inward against the stone wall

-for security, as the hill’s incline was steep at this point. The door

-opened directly upon the top of the wall, which formed a broad and

-convenient doorstep, reached from the ground by a short ladder. About

-the wagon and in the field close by everybody was busy.

-

-The great canvas of the tent had been unpacked from the top of the

-wagon, and the two women sat on the ground patching the holes and

-thin places worn in it by long use. Some of the men were making trips

-back and forth from wagon and field, carrying sections of board for

-inclosing the ring. These were to be set up in their places by and by,

-when Antonio should have finished marking off the circle on the grass,

-with the hole in the center for the tent pole. There was nothing, as

-yet, for the children to do but loll in the shadow of the wagon, asleep

-or awake, and chatter among themselves.

-

-As Natale and the dogs drew near, Elvira, the boy’s mother, looked up

-from her stitching and clapped her hand to her forehead on seeing them.

-

-“Natale! I had forgotten the child. Little pest, where have you been,

-away from us all, and your dinner? One would think you had friends in

-the town and had been taking your polenta in grander houses than ours

-here.”

-

-Natale replied to these mocking words with only a rather naughty shrug

-of the shoulders, and went to sit down on the lowest step of the short

-ladder against the wall.

-

-“Give him his polenta, Arduina,” Nonna called shrilly from a little way

-behind. “He was asleep, Elvira, all tired out with walking to-day as

-much as any man among us. I keep my eyes open. Don’t scold the boy.”

-

-“One would think my Natale your own grandson, Nonna,” Elvira replied,

-laughing good-naturedly.

-

-“All boys are as her own sons or grandsons,” Nonna’s daughter-in-law

-interposed carelessly, as the old woman passed on with Tito, perhaps to

-see that Arduina gave Natale his proper share of mush.

-

-In Nonna’s big warm heart there was indeed room for the sons and

-grandsons of those who were too sparing of motherly love and care for

-their own. The gray-haired woman had long ago accepted this wandering

-life for the sake of continuing near to her only son, Antonio, the

-acrobat, and Antonio’s children. When her boy at the age of twenty-two

-had given up everything that his mother thought of worth in the

-world--home, a decent, quiet life in it, books, school, a career as a

-priest--in order to marry Cara, a rosy, lithe-limbed rope-dancer out of

-Egypt, he had found that his mother was not going to be given up along

-with these. By and by, when the babies began to come every year or two,

-Nonna came to be appreciated even by the fantastic daughter-in-law

-given her by Antonio, while in the hearts of all the little ones Nonna

-was--well, Nonna,--and therefore everything good and patient and sweet.

-

-It was Nonna who cared for the ailing Pietro, who rubbed Natale’s stiff

-ankles and elbows with an ointment of her own invention to limber

-them up, who thought to tuck Olga’s long red hair out of the way when

-practice time came and the curling locks would have teased the little

-face and shoulders turned upside down and hindside before. It was Nonna

-who nursed the babies and put them to bed while the mothers rode the

-horses in the tent, and Nonna who led the poor pony about to “fresh

-fields and pastures new”, and Nonna who instructed giddy-brained

-Arduina in the simple mysteries of concocting savory stews out of next

-to nothing, and how to make corn meal for ten do service as polenta for

-twice as many. The little troop could not have done without Nonna, no,

-indeed!

-

-

-

-

-CHAPTER III

-

-IN THE RING

-

-

-IT took all of that first day and most of the next to get everything

-into shape for an exhibition on the second night after the arrival of

-the circus troop at Cutigliano.

-

-The turf had been removed from the ring, or round space inclosed by the

-low panels of wood, and the tent pole erected, by the time the canvas

-was mended and the side curtains were ready to be hung.

-

-The sun was just about to slip over the mountain rim in the west when

-everything was done, and it only remained to draw the stout ropes and

-hoist the canvas into position. Natale was generally on hand when this

-was done, listening for the creaking of the pulley at the top of the

-pole, as the dull yellow canvas slowly rose into position, till, all

-at once, it spread like a queer, pointed mushroom over the green grass

-of the field.

-

-It was a fortunate thing that there was no wind that first evening,

-for if there had been even a stiff breeze there would have been no

-performance. A very little wind caught under the canvas spread on that

-exposed hillside before it was securely roped into place might have

-carried it all away to be stranded in the tops of the chestnut trees

-below, and a new canvas for such a _circo_ as that would have cost

-certainly three hundred francs.

-

-When at last the tent was raised, Giovanni hung above the entrance a

-broad strip of blue canvas with clowns’ and horses’ heads painted upon

-it, and the sign in large letters: “Circo Equestre”, which is Italian

-for “Circus with Horses.”

-

-Lastly, figured curtains of pale green calico were hung around the

-little vestibule, so that outsiders who had not paid the entrance fee

-might not peep inside and see what was going on, without payment.

-

-Now all was ready, and it was still early, although almost dark in the

-field. Among the mountains, where one lives perhaps at the foot or even

-half-way up the slopes, night falls early, because the sinking sun is

-hidden from sight over the mountain tops long before it really drops

-into the sea behind them.

-

-Yet it was not quite time to light the lamps inside the tent, as the

-performance was not to begin until half-past eight o’clock. Cutigliano

-was full of Italians, and a few English and Americans who had left

-the hot cities behind, with their churches and picture galleries and

-ruins, and had come to the pleasant hotels of the ancient mountain town

-to enjoy the fine air and the beautiful chestnut woods during the hot

-summer months. These visitors would not be through with their dinners

-at the hotels before eight o’clock, while the servants and plain

-village folk would find a late hour convenient for coming down the hill

-to the yellow tent.

-

-At seven o’clock, however, the three men, with the big brass horn, the

-cornet and the drum, climbed the stony street into the town and made

-lively music in the little stone-paved _piazzas_, or open squares,

-where the children played in the sunset light.

-

-By this time everybody in Cutigliano had learned what had been going

-on down in the field for the past two days, and many even of the rich

-strangers had made up their minds to go to see the show, partly out of

-curiosity, partly out of kindly purpose to help the strolling players.

-It had been announced that six _soldi_, or cents, would admit to the

-side of the ring where there would be benches and a chair or two for

-seats, while three cents offered room on the other side with a few

-boards and the green grass as accommodation. Visitors were invited to

-bring chairs for their sittings, if possible.

-

-The music sounded very brave and loud as it returned down the very

-steepest street of all, which ran between high walls past Madame

-Cioche’s English _pension_ or boarding-house and ended in the field.

-As this was a dark and even dangerous descent at night for the unwary,

-Antonio had driven a nail into a tree at the foot of the street, and

-had hung there a smutty tin lamp, with the light flaring and the smoke

-pouring from two long spouts.

-

-Nonna had beguiled most of the children away from the tent by this

-time, and was putting the youngest to bed in the wagon, while the

-others rolled over the grass behind the tent.

-

-Natale was as busy as a bee in the small tent which opened out of the

-large one. This was the dressing room, and the different costumes of

-the actors lay in heaps on the boxes scattered about.

-

-As half-past eight o’clock approached, the boy became as excited as if

-this were to be his first appearance in public, and he kept lifting up

-the flap of curtain dividing the two tents to see how fast the seats

-were filling. The band had brought back a horde of village children in

-its train, and though few of these were possessed of the three cents

-charged for children, they served to keep up an appearance of bustle

-and enterprise outside, where the band now played the National Hymn of

-Italy gaily in the light of the big lamp at the entrance.

-

-Cara, the mother of Olga and the rest of the seven, stood in the

-vestibule and took in the great copper cents which by and by began to

-pile up in the bowl on the table. She was a very striking person to

-look at, with her coal-black hair frizzed bushily on each side of her

-head, with her flashing black eyes and her heavy brows, her red, red

-lips and cheeks, and her scarlet and black gown. No one dared to slip

-in behind the rustling skirts or portly form of anybody without paying,

-for her piercing eyes seemed everywhere. Once or twice, when the crowds

-about the doors seemed to hesitate and to wonder whether, after all,

-it were worth while to expend six or even three cents for what was to

-be seen behind the curtain, the pretty little figure of her Olga was

-seen to flit, as if by accident, across the vestibule, the full light

-streaming over her little full blouse of yellow satin, and her pink

-feet tripping as if on air.

-

-The anxious half-hour of expectation ended in the sight of a full

-circle surrounding the ring, and then the band came inside and all the

-performers slipped into the smaller tent and hurried on their costumes.

-

-The band played on; Arduina danced a measured dance on the tight

-rope which was stretched near the ground; the clown made his funny

-jokes; Antonio performed his clever feats on the bars; Elvira rode the

-galloping horses with Cara dancing in and out and everywhere, while

-Giovanni cracked the whip and Paulo held the bar for Il Duca to leap.

-The pantomime then brought shouts of laughter and loud hand-clappings

-from the spectators; and afterward the tumbling began.

-

-There was nothing that Olga loved so much, and she showed it in every

-line of her chubby, yet nimble little figure as she came prancing into

-the ring, and then went heels over head, over and over again, without

-stopping to breathe, as far as the strip of dusty carpet stretched.

-Then back again she tumbled, only stopping to toss a stray wisp of hair

-from her flushed face.

-

-Next Arduina came tripping in, and over and over she went too, not so

-gracefully and daintily as Olga had done, for Arduina was getting a

-little too large for that kind of thing,--a great girl of fifteen years.

-

-The clown followed Arduina, dressed in his clumsy suit of black

-and white, and what a farce his tumbling was, to be sure; only the

-spectators must have known that he failed in order to make them laugh

-at his awkwardness, and make merry they did.

-

-Somehow Natale never quite enjoyed the laughter which often accompanied

-his own performances, and now his time had come.

-

-“_Ecco!_ Natalino!” called his stepfather, the clown, rushing behind

-the curtain all breathless and covered with dust. “Over and over and

-over you go, youngster, without stopping to sneeze between!”

-

-Natale was such a little fellow, so much smaller than Olga even, that

-many of the faces outside the ring softened at sight of him, as he

-darted out into the light of the lamps and then halted to make his

-funny little salute. He was dressed in imitation of the clown, in long

-black trousers and a tailed black coat, with a pointed white waistcoat

-reaching below his waist. With an earnest seriousness very different

-from Olga’s smiling grace, Natale turned his first somersault, paused

-on his back, turned another jerkily, while the little boys watching

-him hooted, and a ripple of laughter ran around the ring. Back again

-he came, however, his thin black legs sprawling in air, and his pale

-little face flushing with the exertion. On his feet again, he clapped

-one hand to the back of his neck, bobbed his head to the spectators,

-and trotted off behind the friendly curtain, satisfied that he had,

-at least, done as well as usual, and pleased with the loud clapping

-attending his exit. Indeed, there was a clapping and a calling out of

-something with laughing voices.

-

-“_Il picino! Il picino!_”[3]

-

-[Footnote 3: “The little boy! The little boy!”]

-

-“You will have to go back, Natalino,” laughed the clown. “Salute them

-and stand on your head, boy, but don’t lose it on the way.”

-

-The music played loudly, and Natale stepped gravely back again, made

-his odd little bow, and fell over on his hands as the first step toward

-standing on his head. Poor, stiff little legs! It took more than one

-effort to throw them into an upright position above his head, but

-finally he really did accomplish it, and stood thus several seconds

-while the shouting and laughing went on.

-

-When Natale had disappeared a second time behind the curtain, there

-were a few grave faces among the laughing ones looking on. An English

-lady whispered to her companion and sighed.

-

-“The poor little fellow is evidently afraid to disobey that dreadful

-clown,” she said. “Did you see how he trembled as the man stood over

-him, when he tried to stand on his head? Something ought to be done to

-put a stop to this, Betty.”

-

-“The child looks weak, as if he were not very well fed,” Betty

-answered, “but I do not think he looks unhappy. And the clown was

-certainly smiling, and seemed to be standing by as if to help the

-little boy accomplish his wonderful feat, I thought. Don’t distress

-yourself, Aunty. He is just learning, it may be, and they bring him in

-to contrast him with that little beauty who turned the ‘wheels.’ Send

-the boy some good bread and meat to-morrow, and that will be better for

-him than our empty sympathy.”

-

-But “Aunty” was not satisfied, as we shall see.

-

-The last act of the evening again brought Natale to the fore. The big

-spotted horse, Il Duca, was again brought into the ring, and after he

-had cantered gaily around inside the ring many times, to the music of

-a schottisch, striking terror to the ladies occupying the front seats,

-with their knees pressed against the low barrier, the clown suddenly

-called a halt and caught the bridle of the panting steed. Gently the

-solemn strains of the “Dead March” sounded through the tent, and Il

-Duca fell slowly and painfully upon his knees, and then rolled over

-upon the ground, apparently dying. The light dust of the ring stirred

-under the beast’s laboring nostrils, and deep groans issued from his

-throat, while Giovanni stood mournfully by and the music played on.

-

-

-

-

-CHAPTER IV

-

-THE FESTIVAL OF SAN LORENZO

-

-

-SUDDENLY the small black figure of Natale appeared, kneeling at the

-horse’s side, although no one had seen him slip in. With his hands

-clasped in distress, he lifted his voice in such a disconsolate wail

-that even Betty started and wondered if the horse could be really dying.

-

-The solemn march was still sounding in the tent, and before speaking

-the clown gave the spectators full time to take in the tragic tableau.

-Then he exclaimed briskly:

-

-“What are you crying about, boy?”

-

-“Because our horse is dead.”

-

-“Do you think he is quite dead, Natale?”

-

-“Oh, quite,” wailed the child.

-

-“Get up and feel his pulse, boy. If there is any pulse he is not dead.”

-

-Natale went nearer and took one of the great hoofs of the horse

-fearlessly into his little hands, and felt for the “pulse.”

-

-“Well, what do you find?” asked the clown impatiently.

-

-“There isn’t any pulse,” the little fellow wailed again, laying down

-the big black hoof with the utmost tenderness.

-

-“Too bad,” quoth the clown, taking his seat deliberately on the

-prostrate horse, which lay as motionless as if certainly dead. Then,

-all in a moment, Natale’s manner changed, and he skipped around in

-front of Giovanni, remarking glibly that the gentleman had found a

-beautiful sofa to sit upon.

-

-“And I shall have a kiss to prove that the beast is not dead,”

-exclaimed the clown, chirruping a little and smacking his lips. And the

-great brown head of the horse lifted itself from the dust, the graceful

-neck turned, and Il Duca actually kissed his master, then scrambled

-hastily to his feet as if glad for that job to be over, while Giovanni

-hurried him out of the ring.

-

-“Such silly jokes!” commented Mrs. Bishop, otherwise Aunty, as the

-performance ended, and the rollicking crowd poured out of the tent.

-“Think of my having spent two whole hours listening to them, and all

-on pins too, for fear that poor, ill-used child should be forced to do

-some other unchristian thing.”

-

-“But, Aunty, what did you expect when you came?” Betty asked

-impatiently. “Surely the little show was not bad, and there was

-actually nothing but what was quite decent in every way.”

-

-“I call it ‘bad’ to beat and starve children into turning themselves

-into monkeys.”

-

-“If people would not go to see the ‘monkeys’ it would be stopped,” was

-Betty’s retort.

-

-“Well, I am sure I only went to oblige Mrs. Choky,” Aunty said in an

-injured tone. “She said she thought we ought to encourage the poor

-people on their first night. But it will be my last night there, as I

-shall very soon inform her. ‘Encourage’ them to martyrize that poor

-child, indeed!”

-

-From the first performance in Cutigliano, therefore, Natale’s trouble

-began, although he did not know it. Contented and tired he lay down

-in his corner of the brown house on wheels and went to sleep, while

-the men let down the big yellow canvas of the large tent and furled it

-about the pole. But first, he ate his supper of macaroni with the rest

-of the actors, gathered in the small tent behind. Midnight suppers were

-the rule on the nights when there were performances, as it would have

-been at the risk of upsetting their stomachs in more ways than one to

-eat food beforehand.

-

-Later, the stars kept quiet watch above the little encampment, where

-even Pietro slept well, with the open house door admitting the fresh

-air of the mountains.

-

-For ten days the yellow “mushroom” spread over the grass of the field,

-although very much in the way of the fine city gentlemen, playing

-at ball with bats like tambourines. The noisy music at night and

-the cheering in the tent may have kept the invalids in the nearest

-boarding-houses awake and nervous, and the people at large may have

-grown tired of the performances which they soon learned by heart,

-but no one felt inclined to hustle the poor people away, and no one

-grumbled except Mrs. Bishop.

-

-There was something pathetic about the clown in his everyday dress,

-his gayety and paint all gone and the deep lines of his face showing

-too plainly in the garish light of day, as he pottered about the tent,

-adjusting ropes, and keeping off the village boys who would throw

-stones upon the old canvas, or play hide and seek among the curtains.

-It gave one a queer feeling, also, to fancy the drooping figure of

-Pietro, with his pure little face like alabaster, a member of the

-“wicked circus troop.”

-

-This child was perhaps twelve years old, and he had the face of an

-angel. He had begun to lose his daily feverishness after a week in the

-mountains, and was soon able to limp, and later to run feebly about the

-field with the village boys.

-

-[Illustration: Mrs. Bishop looked down upon the tent from the garden

-terrace. _Page 45._]

-

-But Natale, spidery little Natale, interested every one more even than

-did Pietro. Yet he looked only an everyday lad during the long summer

-days, when he trotted up and down, to and from the town, carrying now

-a bowl of this, now a flask of that, but always carrying something. To

-most people he seemed as happy as the days were long, just as ready

-for a chat with a strange foreigner who might address him in broken

-Italian as with old Sora Teresa who sold fruit and vegetables in the

-piazza, and who sometimes presented him with a ripe red tomato, or a

-slice of melon all green and pink.

-

-But Mrs. Bishop looked down upon the tent from the garden terrace of

-Madame Cioche’s boarding-house every day, and slowly formed a plan for

-making Natale’s life happier. Poor little Natale!

-

-The terrace garden above the field was shaded with plane trees and the

-mountain ash, and the grass was soft and richly green. Each afternoon

-some of the boarders would gather at the palings on the edge of this

-garden and watch the gentlemen playing ball below, and the village boys

-imitating Olga and Natale at turning somersaults and wheels.

-

-One afternoon, while the boarders were drinking tea under the ash

-trees, with the berries overhead turning red, and the sun streaming

-across the croquet ground, there came a knock at the side door of the

-boarding-house. Madame Cioche herself opened the door, and there stood

-Natale, smiling up into her face, with the old blue hat set far back on

-his dark curls. The lady noticed that the boy’s face was very clean.

-

-“Happy day to you,” he said brightly, using the peasant form of

-address, “and my mamá says will you please send her a cup of tea? She

-is feeling ill to-day.”

-

-Of course Madame Cioche would send the tea, fetching it herself from

-the dining room and handing it to the boy. But she kept Natale a moment

-to ask how it was that his mamá could possibly like tea.

-

-“Oh, but she has it every day when we are in Egypt,” was the reply.

-“And to-day her head aches. Thank you, Signora.” And Natale went off

-down the hill carrying the big cup as carefully as his bowls and flasks

-were always carried.

-

-Mrs. Bishop overheard the word “Egypt” and sighed.

-

-The next day was Sunday and an important festival, being the day of

-San Lorenzo. A great harvest of _soldi_ was expected, as peasants from

-all the mountain villages would come trooping in that day, to go to

-high mass in the church under the old mountain firs, and to take part

-in the procession of the “saints” in the afternoon. So there was, of

-course, to be a performance in the tent that day, but in the afternoon

-this time, just after the procession, instead of in the evening, when

-everybody would be tired or toiling homeward along the dark mountain

-ways. As there was nothing for him to do about the tent, however, until

-five o’clock should boom from the stone tower of the church, Natale

-made good use of his legs during the whole day, for there was much to

-see.

-

-Betty Bishop had tossed a penny into his hands down over the garden

-palings that very Sunday morning. Perhaps she was thinking of some

-little child at home in England who would be clamoring for a penny

-to carry to Sunday school, but Natale had no thought of dropping his

-precious two _soldi_ into the priest’s collecting bag in the church.

-

-The _piazza_ was too fascinating a place to be passed by, when one held

-a penny of his own fast in his fist. With the dogs on each side of him,

-therefore, Natale spent most of the day above in the town, going from

-booth to booth, and in fancy spending his money over and over again.

-There were sweets of various kinds offered for sale on the little

-tables along the steep, narrow streets, and booths of everything from

-coarse stuffs and ready-made clothing to breastpins of gay mosaic work

-and filigree rings.

-

-Everywhere Natale was jostled by the peasants who all through the

-morning had flocked to the town, dressed in their best clothes and

-wearing holiday looks on their faces. The women and girls wore gay

-kerchiefs on their heads, with brilliant borderings and flowing ends,

-while even the men wore bits of vivid color in the shape of gorgeous

-neck scarfs spread over their white shirt fronts. Mingled with these

-walked the lords and ladies of a higher class dressed according to the

-fashion plates of Paris, and seeming to enjoy the hot sunshine and the

-gay restiveness of the multitude as much as the plainer folk. All day

-the frolic and prayers and the music of the town band and the church

-organ went on in the little town, till mid-afternoon, when there fell a

-hush over all and a great expectation.

-

-Natale had not a very good place from which to see the procession pass,

-for he stood between a very stout peasant woman and a visiting priest

-in his full black gown. Still, he managed to peer from under their

-elbows without attracting their attention, and he was content, holding

-securely in one hand, meanwhile, the balloon whistle which he had

-finally purchased with his penny. The pretty red bubble of rubber had

-not yet burst, and Natale was happy in its possession. The handful of

-crisp wafers flavored with anise seed, which he had almost bought--so

-very foolish he had been--would have been eaten long ere this, and it

-would be as if he had never had a penny of his own tossed over the

-fence to him by a smiling young lady, but now he still had the whistle!

-

-On they came, the straggling company of men and boys, dressed in white

-gowns and cowls, and bearing huge lighted candles in their hands.

-Natale thought he would like to have been one of the two boys bearing

-the immense candlesticks of brass; yet, after all, the candlesticks

-must be very heavy, and they were propped very uncomfortably on the

-little boys’ stomachs, and very red and perspiring were the little

-boys’ faces.

-

-Natale thought the men’s feet ugly and clumsy, showing below the white

-gowns, and their harsh, chanting voices made him shiver. But he could

-not follow the awkward marching steps of the peasants with laughing

-looks as some of the onlookers were doing, for here, behind the banners

-and crucifixes, came two very curious-looking objects.

-

-“_Ecco!_ the dead saints!” he exclaimed softly to himself. “How heavy

-they must be in the glass boxes on the men’s shoulders. Yet our Antonio

-Bisbini would never bend so under a small box as those men do. Ah!

-but the little girls are pretty, so pretty in their white veils, and

-scattering flowers before the saints.”

-

-The crowd closed in upon the end of the procession now, and Natale

-could see no more, as he was nearly overturned where he stood. After

-a breathless moment or two, he found himself left in peace and quiet

-under the great old fir trees in front of the church, with the crowd

-all gone and Nicro and Bianco with them.

-

-Nonna had told him to be sure and see the saints, if possible, so he

-went into the dark old church and sat down on a low chair to wait for

-the procession to return. He knew that San Lorenzo and Sant’ Aurelio

-would surely be brought back to spend the night in the church, perhaps

-in front of the candle-lighted altar, and he wished to please Nonna. It

-was dark and quiet in his corner under the organ gallery, and it was a

-very easy and natural thing for a tired little boy to fall asleep in

-that quiet place.

-

-When the procession returned after half an hour, it was without the

-blare of trumpets and the crash of organ music, though for a long

-while shuffling feet passed in and out. This continued until everybody

-had looked at the two saints robed in costly garments and reposing now

-at full length on their satin cushions within their caskets of glass

-set before the altar. Many touched the rich cloths draping the caskets

-with reverent fingers, and pressed kisses on the cold glass before

-passing out into the radiant sunset light.

-

-When Natale waked, the church doors were still open, but only one light

-swung before the high altar, and there was no trace anywhere of dead

-saint or living soul. He groped his way among the disarranged chairs

-and benches quite to the altar rail, but even the empty biers had been

-borne away to some inner recess of the church, so, with a dread that

-he had overslept awaking in his mind, Natale found his way out of the

-church again.

-

-The purple bloom of evening was creeping up the mountain sides, and a

-star glowed in the sky. Just above the mountain line in the west the

-crescent moon hovered, as if uncertain over which side to sink. The

-dread in Natale’s mind had nothing to do with saints or dark churches.

-On awaking, his first sensation had been a fear that he might have

-missed the afternoon performance in the beloved tent, and now, standing

-outside the church in the dusk, he knew that he had missed it!

-

-With a sob in his throat he turned his face from the telltale sky,

-and fled through the village down to the field. When he reached the

-wagon,--for he would not go to the tent, quiet now and unlighted,--the

-first words he heard came from Olga:

-

-“Have you not heard, Natalino? Giovanni has lost a hundred francs!

-Somebody stole them when he changed his coat in the little tent. Yes, I

-know you were not there! We wondered where you could be!”

-

-

-

-

-CHAPTER V

-

-A GIFT FOR THE CIRCUS

-

-

-NATALE held his breath with horror. One hundred francs lost! And he

-not at hand to hear of it, to help look for the money, among the very

-first? He could not ask Olga how it had happened, because his heart was

-almost too disappointed and sore for words. He sat down on the wall,

-with his back toward the tent, and waited for her to tell all about the

-loss, although he was not at all certain that she would condescend to

-do so. In fact, she said not a word more, but stood in front of Natale,

-wondering not a little at his unusual quiet.

-

-“You are sulky!” she exclaimed finally, “and Giovanni is very angry

-with you. So am I, for I had to feel Il Duca’s pulse, and I did not

-like it at all. Suppose he had kicked me, seeing that it was not you.”

-

-“Il Duca was dead!” Natale retorted, with a twinkle in his eye, if only

-Olga could have seen it. “He would not know you from me!”

-

-“Dead!” cried Olga. “I believe you truly do think that, when you set up

-your crying, Natale; really I did not do it half so well as you,” she

-confessed honestly.

-

-“But you ‘wheel’ much better than I do,” Natale conceded with ready

-generosity in return.

-

-“Il Duca did not shut his eyes at all,” Olga went on, nodding assent

-to Natale’s remark, “and I am sure he _winked_ at me, Natale, just to

-frighten me. It did not take _me_ long to feel his pulse! But where

-were you, Natalino, all the time? Nonna said she was afraid some of the

-peasants had stolen you and carried you off, when Niero and Bianco

-came home without you.”

-

-“As if they would have let anybody steal me! Olga, I went to sleep in

-the church, waiting for the saints to come back, and when I waked it

-was dark, almost as dark as this!”

-

-“Oho! then you must have been in the church when Arduina and I went

-in to look at the saints. Arduina said--but you must not dare to tell

-anybody--she said that she did not believe there were any bones under

-the saints’ fine velvet robes because San Lorenzo had a hand of pink

-wax, and the rest of him looked rather stuffed. But do not tell Nonna,

-Natale!”

-

-“Arduina is very wicked,” said Natale, but he laughed with Olga, and

-then felt much better, and as if he could ask about the losing of the

-money.

-

-They were in a little nook to themselves, behind the wagon, and no one

-heeded them.

-

-“_Ecco!_ it was this way,” Olga began, charmed to be the first to

-recount the misfortune to Natale, who was usually behind none in his

-knowledge of the affairs of the company. “Just when Giovanni was going

-in to do the clown in the first dance on the rope, the Signor Barbera,

-the stable man, came behind the big tent with his bill for keeping the

-horses, and Giovanni took the big pocketbook out of the pocket of his

-coat--”

-

-“Yes, I know which pocket,” Natale interposed. “I saw him put the money

-there this morning.”

-

-“Well, the signor could not make the change, so he told Giovanni it was

-all right, and any time would do, and then Antonio rang the bell for

-Giovanni, and he just put the pocketbook back in his coat and hung the

-coat on the nail in the little tent, and hurried on the black coat, and

-went into the ring.”

-

-“Yes, and then?” asked Natale breathlessly.

-

-“When he came back, he saw his coat on the ground, and he knew he had

-hung it up. ‘How comes my coat on the ground?’ he said, very loud

-indeed, and your mamá told him he must have put it there himself. But

-he did not hear her, because he was shaking the coat and feeling in the

-pocket,--but there was nothing there!

-

-“We made a great fuss about it,” Olga ended, shrugging her shoulders

-and throwing up her hands, “but what was the use?”

-

-Natale was silent with dismay. A hundred francs meant so much. It was

-all that they had made during the ten days’ stay at Cutigliano, and now

-it was gone, in a moment.

-

-“The stable man?” he questioned in a distressed tone of voice, and very

-low.

-

-“No, Giovanni said it could not have been the signor. He is a rich man

-and honest, everybody says.”

-

-So subdued were they all over the trouble of the afternoon that

-not even Elvira thought it worth while to scold the quiet boy who

-presently slipped in among the little crowd of players in the tent,

-deep in fruitless discussion over their grievous loss. They had had a

-crowded tent that afternoon, and the receipts had been so good that

-this evening would have been one of rejoicing if only the money for

-the labors of the ten other days and nights had been again safe in

-Giovanni’s pocket. There was not the slightest clew to the thief, as

-no stranger had been known to enter the tent, and Giovanni had even

-interviewed the Signor Barbera from outside the doorway. It had been

-necessary to be on the lookout for possible thieving, as the field was

-crowded all the afternoon with strange peasants, attracted by the band

-music and the big yellow tent, and by peddlers with their wares. One

-very decent-looking peddler had begged pretty, vain Arduina to look at

-his beautiful jewelry and ribbons, but she had refused him entrance

-very reluctantly, and Giovanni himself had noticed how patiently and

-decorously the man had turned away. He had worn a red fez cap over his

-long black hair, and his bushy black beard had reached nearly to his

-waist.

-

-“I saw him!” Emilio, one of the musicians exclaimed, “and his legs

-were as crooked as Pietro’s, only they bent out at the knee instead of

-in!” There was a laugh at this sally, but Pietro frowned and muttered

-something about Emilio’s having little right to criticize the legs of

-others.

-

-“I met such a man as I came out of the church in the crowd,” said

-Nonna, hastening to speak that a dispute might be avoided. “He walked

-very well notwithstanding his poor, bent legs, and he asked me if he

-were too late to get a glimpse of the blessed relics. A politer man I

-never saw, though Tito was afraid of him, and began to cry when the man

-snapped his fingers at him.”

-

-Poor Natale felt so left out in the cold with this talk that he could

-not bear it long, and was just about to creep away, down to his corner

-in the wagon, when a strange hand lifted a corner of the tent flap, and

-a strange voice inquired for “_Il piccolo Natale_.”

-

-“Some ladies up at the house there have a little present for you all,”

-the black-coated Italian butler of the boarding-house announced,

-peering in upon the group gathered about the sputtering lamp inside,

-“but they wish to send it down by the boy, Natale.”

-

-Then Natale was himself again, and without demur or bashfulness

-presented himself to the servant.

-

-“It is well you turned up in time, Natalino,” said the clown, giving

-him a little shove toward the dignified butler waiting just outside.

-“Perhaps Olga would not have done, in this case. Off with you to the

-_forestieri_[4] above!”

-

-[Footnote 4: Foreigners.]

-

-Many a boy would have been abashed at finding himself the center of

-such a group as awaited Natale in the hallway of the house in the

-garden. But Natale was too well accustomed to an array of faces fixed

-upon him to make the least show of bashfulness. The lady of the house,

-whose pleasant face he knew very well, laid her hand on his shoulder

-and asked him kindly in Italian if anything had been heard of the money

-lost that afternoon, and her soft, dark eyes looked sympathetically

-into his own.

-

-“No, signora, and my papá says we shall never see a _soldo_ of it

-again,” was Natale’s prompt answer.

-

-“Ask him if they have any idea of the person who stole it,” Betty

-Bishop suggested in English, and Madame Cioche did so. Natale’s answer

-to this was more expressive than polite perhaps, for without words

-he simply raised his shoulders as high as possible, pressing his

-elbows against his sides, and spreading his hands wide to indicate the

-complete ignorance of his people as to the coward who had taken their

-hard-earned money. And the drawn-down corners of his mouth so changed

-the expression of his face that one would hardly have known him.

-

-“Who would have believed the child could make himself so ugly,” Mrs.

-Bishop exclaimed. “Have you no tongue, boy, to answer properly?”

-

-But as English words were far less intelligible to Natale than

-Caffero’s whinny, or Niero’s bark, he only looked up into Madame

-Cioche’s face and smiled.

-

-“There! it is a bonny little face after all,” said that lady, “and now

-shall we give him the money and send him away?”

-

-“No, let me speak to him first,” demanded Mrs. Bishop, “and you, Mrs.

-Choky, must interpret. Ask him if he likes to be a wicked little circus

-boy.”

-

-“Aunty!” gasped Betty.

-

-“Never mind, I have a reason for my question, Betty. Hush, what does he

-say?”

-

-“Do you like to play in the circus, dear?” asked Mrs. Cioche’s kind

-voice, in Italian.

-

-Natale’s eyes shone.

-

-“Ah, yes, signora! And when I am a man, I shall be another Antonio

-Bisbini.”

-

-“He says he likes it very much, Mrs. Bishop,” was the interpretation.

-

-“Already corrupted, poor boy, and so young!” the old lady sighed, while

-Betty laughed outright.

-

-“Ask him if he would not like better to have some nice clothes, and go

-to school, and grow up to be a decent man some day, Mrs. Choky.” That

-lady hesitated a little before putting this question into Italian.

-

-“What does she say to me?” Natale asked, his brown eyes twinkling as he

-looked from one to the other, his teeth showing white between his red

-lips. Natale’s was a wide, good-natured mouth, very prone to laugh upon

-small provocation.

-

-“She wants to know if you would not like to go to school, and learn to

-read and write,” said Madame Cioche.

-

-“And leave the _circo_?” Natale asked with a gasp.

-

-“Yes, you could not go to school unless you should stop in one place,

-you know.”

-

-“And not travel about with the horses and wagon any more, and leave

-Nonna?”

-

-“Of course, Natale. But she is only asking you about it, _carino_, so

-do not look so troubled.”

-

-Natale laughed then, and happily.

-

-“She wanted to find out how much I love the _circo_!” he exclaimed.

-“Please tell her, signora. You know, how we all love the _circo_!”

-

-“I think I do, Natale. He does not want to go to school, Mrs. Bishop,”

-turning to the eager old lady, “because he loves his life with the

-circus and his own people too much.”

-

-“And he does not wish to leave his grandmother,” chimed in Betty who

-had very cleverly picked up a good deal of Italian during a winter and

-summer in Italy, and all grandmothers are Nonnas in that land.

-

-Mrs. Bishop was silent for a moment, her gaze taking in every detail

-of Natale’s little figure standing sturdily before her, dusty shoes,

-and rough peasant leggings, velveteen trousers, faded blue blouse, and

-rumpled curls, with the old hat held in one sun-burned hand. His face

-was not so clean as usual now, and there were tired circles about his

-eyes. It had been a long, exciting summer’s day.

-

-“Children--especially boys--do not know what is best for themselves,”

-she said presently, bending her brows, but not in the least frightening

-Natale, “and I am not going to give up my plan, for this baby’s

-nonsense. Why, he cannot be over eight years old, at the most.”

-

-“Here, Natale,” said Madame Cioche, judging that the interview might

-well be concluded, and handing the boy a small packet. “Take this to

-your papá, and tell him that the ladies and gentlemen in my house have

-heard of the loss of the money, and are sending him thirty-five francs

-as a little present. Can you carry it safely?”

-

-Again Natale’s sweet smile broke over his face, but he only nodded

-happily in reply, tucking the money away in the bosom of his blouse.

-

-“Ask him how long they are going to stay,” Mrs. Bishop called after

-Madame Cioche, who was going to the gate with Natale.

-

-“He says that the _sindaco_--the mayor--has offered them the use of the

-field for another week,” Madame Cioche said, her eyes glowing, as she

-returned to the hall. “I am glad of that, as the poor creatures will

-need all they can make here, now.”

-

-“I call it a sort of punishment, their losing the money when playing on

-Sunday,” Mrs. Bishop said severely, and one or two other English ladies

-nodded their approval of this speech. “And I think the whole business

-wrong and that it ought to be discouraged. I was not at all sure about

-the propriety of giving my francs to your little collection, Mrs.

-Choky.”

-

-“Would it have been more Christian to have let them suffer, perhaps for

-food, and the poor beasts too?” the hostess asked, pausing on her way

-through the hall.

-

-“But surely you think circusing wrong and _un_christian?” the

-disputative old lady exclaimed.

-

-“Aunty, do be quiet,” cried Betty warmly. “I am sure you ought not to

-dispute ‘on Sunday’! Besides,” she added, as everybody laughed, and two

-or three softly applauded, “they make their living that way, and we

-cannot change them into farmers, or preachers. But I think it is always

-wrong not to help honest people who are in trouble.”

-

-“If they _are_ honest,” Mrs. Bishop remonstrated, but under her breath,

-this time, for Madame Cioche’s eyes were sparkling, and she seemed

-waiting to speak.

-

-“Those poor creatures down there deserve nothing but praise,” she said

-stoutly; “they are quiet folks, who teach their children obedience and

-keep themselves remarkably clean and mended. If they make their living

-in a way we do not approve, we cannot change them, as Miss Betty says,

-but we can feed them when they are hungry, and that seems to me not

-‘unchristian’!”

-

-“I am afraid she has a little temper,” said Mrs. Bishop, as their

-hostess went upstairs.

-

-“A temper I like!” exclaimed a gentleman who had before kept silent,

-looking up from his book. “But do you still think of carrying out your

-plan, Mrs. Bishop?”

-

-“If possible, certainly,” was the reply, while Betty, shaking her head,

-walked out into the garden. There, under the stars, she stood looking

-down upon the tent in the field. There was no wind, and the heavens

-were fair, so the canvas had not been furled.

-

-“I should like it myself,” she murmured. “What a fascinating life to

-live! Camping out the year round in Italy, with no troublesome dressing

-four times a day, no tiresome _table-d’hôte_ dinners at night. But

-after all I should not like to be that girl,--Arduina, they call her.

-Of course, Aunty is right about the rope dancing and other ‘circusing’

-on Sunday, only she need not be quite so fussy over what we certainly

-cannot help. Poor Natale! how disturbed he did look when Madame Cioche

-asked him about going to school!”

-

-

-

-

-CHAPTER VI

-

-SEPARATION

-

-

-NATALE lay flat on the grass, his face hidden on his arms, and his feet

-rebelliously kicking the ground. The added week granted by the mayor

-had passed, and the circus-wagon was about to move on.

-

-“You are only to try it, child, and if it will not do, you can come

-back to us. One year is not a hundred.”

-

-No reply from Natale.

-

-“You ought to think, sometimes, of how many mouths your stepfather has

-to fill,” another voice began. “Five children, and not one his own.”

-

-“Why did he marry us then?” fiercely muttered Natale, but without

-lifting his head, so perhaps nobody heard.

-

-“You will have new clothes and shoes!”

-

-“And a new hat, Natalino!”

-

-“And you will learn to read much faster than I can teach you ’Lino,

-with all the practicings and the journeyings. Perhaps you will even

-learn to be as clever as my Antonio was, before--” Nonna ended with a

-sigh instead of more words.

-

-The women and girls were in the side tent, busied about dinner, and

-Nonna would not finish her sentence in the presence of Antonio’s wife.

-

-“I would rather be our Antonio than--than the King or the

-_principino_,”[5] Natale cried helplessly. Then he sat up on the worn

-grass, and faced them all, tearful but resolute. “I shall not stay here

-with the priest and go to school, mamá,” he said earnestly. “You shall

-not leave me behind and take Maria and Pietro and the rest.”

-

-[Footnote 5: Young prince.]

-

-“Perhaps we can persuade Giovanni to leave little Bianco with you, if

-the good priest does not object,” Nonna whispered in his ear.

-

-“No, I shall go with you,” returned Natale.

-

-“Ah! what is all this?” came suddenly in Giovanni’s gruff, good-natured

-tones. “What? Natale will not stay? The beautiful little star of the

-ring will not leave us in the darkness?” And the clown entered the tent

-and flung himself down, laughing, beside the little boy.

-

-“Hurry with the polenta, Arduina,” he called to his stepdaughter, who

-had lifted her hot face from the steam of the mush pot to laugh at the

-man’s rough wit. “The biggest hole yet torn in the tent must be mended

-this afternoon, and the canvas is almost dry now in this wind. If it

-had not rained yesterday, and if the wind had not played us such a

-trick on the very eve of our going, we should have made our fortunes

-yesterday. A cattle fair does not offer itself every day, with its

-crowd of country bumpkins who never saw a man in tights. Now, that will

-do, Natale,” turning to the boy, who was sniffing audibly. “Hours ago

-it was all decided, and there is nothing more to be said.”

-

-“Then I am _not_ to stay in this horrid place, Giovanni--papá--”

-

-“‘Giovanni--papá--!’ No more of these tears, Natalino. You are to stay

-in this beautiful place, and after polenta, you are to go up to the

-garden and thank the lady.”

-

-With a loud, rebellious howl, Natale sprang to his feet and rushed

-out into the open air. Nor did he stop until he stood among the briar

-bushes below the garden palings. Clenching his small grimy fists, he

-stood there looking up toward the many-windowed _pension_ and shook

-them vehemently, while his shrill voice cried out passionately:

-

-“I shall not stay here! I shall not go to school! I like my old hat,

-and I want Nonna to teach me to read. I shall never thank you, _never_,

-NEVER, NEVER!”

-

-He had seen no one in the garden, and was only addressing the whole

-houseful of his enemies up there in the big yellow building with the

-staring windows. Why should they interfere with him? Why should any one

-be trying to make him wretched,--the most wretched boy in all Italy?

-

-“Heyday! what’s all this about?” and a white-haired old man, speaking

-from the garden, came close to the palings and looked over at the

-small, threatening figure among the bushes. “I cannot understand your

-gibberish, if you are talking to me. You would better go away now,

-little boy, or some of your people will come and whip you.”

-

-“How suddenly you stopped the noise, Mr. Grantly,” exclaimed Betty,

-coming up to his side. “Who was it? Why, Aunty’s little protégé,

-Natale! How pitiful he looks, walking away as if his feelings were

-hurt. You must have frightened him.”

-

-“Not a bit of it, ma’am. He frightened _me_ with his fierce little

-voice. It came suddenly, just as I was dropping off to sleep in my

-chair. It is a relief to have them moving on this afternoon, with

-their horns and drum. But that boy stays, some one tells me. Is it

-possible that the family agreed to give him up? I have understood that

-the Italians cling to each other as much as even we do in America or

-England. Do they really leave the child?”

-

-“For more money than he could ever bring them by his somersaulting,

-yes,” Betty answered. “Sometimes I think Aunty really does not know

-what to do with her money,” the girl went on confidentially to the

-old gentleman, who was listening with interest. “Now, that boy has no

-desire to be taken away from ‘the evil life he is leading’ in Aunty’s

-estimation, and he does not wish to be sent to school and become ‘a

-decent man.’”

-

-“Ah! tell me the whole plan, now. I heard something of it a few days

-ago.”

-

-“It is very simple--all but getting Natale to agree to being imposed

-upon,” Betty went on a little vexedly. “Aunty has had the stepfather

-and the mother up here several times this past week to be talked to,

-and an old woman who seems to be the grandmother of them all. Miss

-Lorini has done all the interpreting, and also saw the priest about it,

-as Madame Cioche would not. They have agreed to leave Natale here for

-one year; he is to be taken care of by the priest’s mother, and to be

-sent to school and made ‘decent,’ poor little fellow.”

-

-Mr. Grantly laughed, but said nothing, for his heart was still young

-and understanding of boyish hearts, if his head was white, and he felt

-a wise interest in Mrs. Bishop’s philanthropic scheme.

-

-“Aunty is to pay everything, and she says she thinks she knows now why

-all the hotels up at Abetone were full so she could not get a good

-room there for these three weeks. She finds that she was ‘ordained’

-to rescue a boy from his persecutors, as she persists in calling

-the circus men. It is supposed, I believe, that all little boys and

-girls of circuses have been stolen from kind parents, and if not are

-half-killed with cruelty by their own.”

-

-“You speak very warmly, young lady,” Mr. Grantly remarked, a little

-reproof in his tone. “There is no doubt that many such children do

-suffer and are very unhappy.”

-

-“Those certainly do not!” retorted Betty, pointing to a number of the

-circus children frolicking in the field with Niero and Bianco. Olga’s

-red cotton dress was flitting over the grass, and her merry laugh was

-echoed by the other little ones, as Niero finally caught her red skirts

-in the chase.

-

-“Of course the clown objected at first,” Betty continued, “but Aunty

-was more determined than he and soon proved to him that it would be

-worth his while to agree. The old lady, whom they call Nonna, was

-curiously anxious for Natale to have a chance at schooling. I wondered

-at that till I heard about her son.”

-

-“Yes, I know,” Mr. Grantly assented. “Some, however, would think he

-had made a very fair exchange in giving up the future of a priest for

-the easy, out-of-doors life of an acrobat. There is no accounting for

-tastes, though. And is this boy to be made a priest?”

-

-“Only let my Aunty hear you say that!” laughed the girl. “No, indeed,

-but the priest was the only one who would agree to be troubled with

-the child, after Miss Lorini had explained all Aunty’s conditions--how

-Natale was to have a cold bath every morning, meat to eat every day,

-and new shoes as soon as his old ones come into holes. The priest,

-too, has agreed to write a letter to Aunty every month to tell her of

-Natale’s progress--”

-

-“Toward growing into a ‘decent man’?” interposed Mr. Grantly. “Well, I

-hope the plan will work well for all parties. Few Italian peasant lads

-get such a chance.” Then the old gentleman went back to his chair to

-continue his nap.

-

-All that afternoon, until four o’clock, there was an unusual bustle

-going on about the little encampment. The tattered, damp, half-ruined

-canvas was rolled up and packed along with poles and planks and ropes

-on a small cart hired for this occasion, while the cooking utensils

-and the scant furniture of the tents were gathered together for

-conveyance in the house-wagon. It was a cold and dreary day, following

-the night of stormy wind, with the clouds settling close about the

-mountain tops and the wind sweeping down the valley wet with rain. And

-in the heart of Natale there was even less promise of sunshine. He sat

-apart from the others on the damp wall, frowning and sullen.

-

-Half an hour before, he had been almost forcibly dragged up the hill

-to the house in the garden by Giovanni, who had made little jokes to

-hide the sulkiness of the boy’s replies to the questions of the ladies

-gathered there. Madame Cioche had promptly hidden herself when she saw

-the green gate open and the pair coming in, but the clown had walked

-directly through the hall and up to the little table where Mrs. Bishop

-sat taking her tea.

-

-No command of Giovanni nor persuasion of Miss Lorini, who was an

-artist, could induce Natale to say: “Thank you, signora, for your

-kindness.” His revolt had been beforehand hushed into silence by some

-very plain threats of punishment by his mother, but nothing could make

-him say that he was glad to stay in Cutigliano and go to school every

-day.

-

-He stood before them all, miserable as a child could be, his face very

-clean and pale, and a new pair of shoes already upon his feet. They

-pinched his toes woefully, but his heart ached more than his feet.

-

-“You will love the signora very much, some day, when you are a man

-and remember how good she was to the poor little boy who knew nothing

-but how to turn somersaults,” Miss Lorini had said caressingly in her

-softest Italian, studying the piteous face meanwhile with an eye to

-painting it some day, when it should smile again.

-

-“I shall learn to do something besides the _capitomboli_,[6] when I

-am a man,” Natale had said eagerly. “I shall be like our Antonio some

-day.” Perhaps these foreigners would be willing to leave him in peace

-if he could convince them that he _wished_ to be a strolling player all

-his life.

-

-[Footnote 6: Somersaults.]

-

-“He speaks as if he does not exactly understand,” said Miss Lorini,

-looking at Giovanni inquiringly. “Does he not know that he is to give

-up the circus now?”

-

-Giovanni shrugged his shoulders, then shook Natale’s slender shoulder,

-muttering:

-

-“No more of your silly talk, boy!” Then louder, “If you will not thank

-the lady, I do, with all my heart.” And with that he bowed low, then

-pushing Natale before him, went quickly away. He was, in secret, rather

-sorry for the boy, who had never before given any trouble with foolish

-willfulness, and who had moreover such high ambitions! It did seem a

-stupid life to which they were leaving the poor child, but then there

-was to be considered the roll of money already sewed into his own

-belt, with more to accumulate there, if Natale should be left still

-another year with the priest Luigi. If rich _forestieri_ had nothing

-else to do with their money but give it away in this frantic fashion,

-the stepfather was not unwilling to share the bounty, and Elvira, the

-mother, had seemed not to mind.

-

-So now Natale sat alone on the wall, feeling very much out of it all,

-and longing to hear some one say, “Natalino, do fetch me this”, or

-“Carry that”; but no one said anything of the kind. They seemed to feel

-that he was no longer one of them, and his little heart swelled to

-breaking.

-

-He was too young to long harbor ill-will and of too sunny a spirit

-to sulk for many minutes at a time, so presently he slipped off the

-wall and ran to meet Olga, who was struggling over to the traveling

-house-on-wheels, dragging two stools behind her. The very last things

-were being done, and already the horses were standing by, ready to be

-hitched at the last moment.

-

-“Do let me carry the stools, Olga,” Natale pleaded with unwonted

-entreaty in his voice. “Well, one of them, then.”

-

-“I am sorry you are going to stay behind here, Natalino,” the little

-girl panted. “Why do you? I should run after the wagon if I were you!”

-

-Natale had never thought of such a simple thing to do by way of escape!

-He promptly set down the stool he had grasped and looked fixedly away

-from Olga’s red-brown eyes.

-

-Alas! in that critical moment, what did he see approaching from the

-village? The flat, broad-brimmed hat and flowing black skirts of a

-priest, descending the street and turning in at the field!

-

-There was then not a moment to be lost! Forgetting Olga and the heavy

-stools, Natale turned and fled, away--anywhere--out of sight of the

-jailor advancing. Everything flashed out of his mind except the impulse

-to escape, to hide himself from those searching eyes under the felt hat

-brim. His flying feet skimmed across the field, and when they had borne

-him out of sight down the nearest slope, Natale flung himself on the

-ground under a thicket of thorny blackberry bushes.

-

-He lay there for what must have been a long time, for, after a while,

-a sudden shower of rain swept down the valley and for a few minutes

-enveloped everything in a gray mist. Even after it had passed, Natale

-delayed returning to the wagon until the priest should have quite gone,

-in despair of capturing his prisoner. When at last he did venture

-forth, and crept to the upper verge of the slope, his first glance was

-across the field for the brown wagon.

-

-It was not there!

-

-He set out in a headlong run for the place where it had stood. There

-was nothing left--absolutely nothing. Only a priest sat quietly waiting

-in a gap in the wall.

-

-Natale, with eyes only for the deserted spot, came stumbling upon the

-man, without so much as seeing that he was there, and then the priest

-rose, and taking the boy’s hand, spoke with the utmost quietness.

-

-“Come home with me now, Natalino,” was what he said, and Natale heard

-as one hears dream voices.

-

-Poor child! If he had only listened, he might have heard the dull

-screeching of the brakes as the wagon crawled carefully down the hill

-toward the arched bridge, and it would have been an easy matter to

-snatch his hand from the limp grasp of the priest and go hurrying down

-the short cuts in pursuit. But his head seemed so full of a hundred

-roaring noises that he could not hear, and his heart beat so fast that

-he could not speak, and so up the hill he went at the priest’s side.

-

-Nor did he see the quiet smile upon Luigi’s shaven lips, as they passed

-the green gate of the garden where Betty stood peering through. She

-would not have spoken to the boy just then for all the world, and as

-for Madame Cioche, she could not have done so if she had wished. She

-gazed down from her latticed window, her bright eyes dimmed as they

-fell upon the little caged bird of the fields fluttering by.

-

-

-

-

-CHAPTER VII

-

-THE CAGED BIRD OF THE FIELDS

-

-

-THERE is a short, crooked street in Cutigliano, which leads back of the

-church and out upon the promenade of San Vito. This street is confined

-on either hand by stone houses and stone walls of gardens, and paved

-with large square stones. Here and there a gateway gives a peep at

-lapping hills across the river. The massive church tower rises directly

-from a narrow turn in this street, and when the bells ring down from

-the arches in the top of this tower, the stony street reverberates with

-a deafening clamor.

-

-By the time the priest and Natale reached the foot of the church tower,

-the boy was weeping bitterly but quietly. His one free arm hid as much

-of his face as possible, and his feet in the clumsy new shoes stumbled

-so helplessly that Luigi had some trouble in preventing his falling.

-

-As they had passed through the town, where everybody sat at their doors

-or lounged in the _piazza_, all had recognized the little acrobat, as

-Natale realized only too well. Many accosted him in wonder, and some

-would even have stopped him to inquire into his misfortune in being

-left behind by his family. But the young priest motioned such away

-with authority, silencing with a gesture of his long finger the too

-curious. Others had already learned how it had come about that Natale

-was to spend a year with Sora Grazia, and her son the priest, and these

-contented themselves with shrugs and smiles for the boy’s companion, as

-who should say: “We wish you well of your bargain, Signor priest.”

-

-The great hands of the church clock pointed to ten minutes of four,

-as the bell boomed the hour of six. No one, however, ever thought of

-consulting the huge figures painted on the stone face of the tower

-clock, for those long iron hands had not stirred for many a day.

-

-The deep sound of the bell struck so suddenly upon Natale’s ears that

-he started, and dropping his arm from before his eyes, gazed dully

-ahead. It was not often that he had strayed farther than this corner of

-the old church, and he had never followed the San Vito promenade to the

-end. Most of the town was left behind now; whither could this man be

-taking him?

-

-A row of houses with numbers in blue figures on one side of the lintels

-extended back of the church, but before none of these did Luigi pause.

-Next came a low, broken wall, and then a house, detached from its

-neighbors and with a long, sloping roof, covered with slabs of slate.

-This house had no door opening on the street, and in the blank front

-wall there was only a very small window at one corner close under the

-eaves. Over a door in the end of the house nearest the church there was

-a small crucifix in carved stone set into the wall, but this door was

-seemingly closed and unused.

-

-The priest led Natale a few steps farther, to the other end of the

-house, and then they left the street and entered a long balcony leading

-to a wide-open door.

-

-A middle-aged woman sat just inside this doorway at the foot of a

-flight of stairs leading up into the room under the roof. She wore

-a kerchief of red and black cotton over her head and tied in a knot

-under her chin, and her eyes were bent upon a coarse piece of mending

-occupying her work-worn hands.

-

-[Illustration: The priest led Natale to the other end of the house.

-

-_Page 94._]

-

-At Luigi’s heavy step on the stone flooring of the balcony, she

-lifted her face to his and something like a smile softened the

-expression of her stern features. Her black brows unbent and she made

-way for her son to enter by twisting her stool slightly and shifting

-her feet. Luigi passed by her and took up his stand in the gathering

-gloom of the little passage, his eyes fixed warily upon Natale. The

-little boy had released his hand from the priest’s outside the door,

-and now stood leaning against the railing of the balcony, staring

-frowningly at the woman.

-

-“You are content to have it over with, Gigi?” the mother asked,

-glancing from man to boy and back again.

-

-Luigi nodded his head.

-

-“Give him something to eat and put him to bed,” he counseled in a low

-tone, “and do not argue with him to-night. To-morrow the sun will shine

-and he will begin to forget.”

-

-Natale’s sharp ears caught every word, stolid as he looked. “Forget?”

-What did they think he would forget? Not Olga’s last words, certainly:

-“I would run after the wagon, if I were you.”

-

-But, _why was he not running now_? No door, as yet, kept him prisoner.

-There was the empty street. Below ran the long, long white road. The

-night was coming down, and he was not afraid of the dark. Once out

-of sight, around one of the loops of the road, it would take but a

-moment to slip off the heavy shoes with their soles half an inch thick,

-and then on and on in the cool darkness he might run on light bare

-feet--“after the wagon.”

-

-He thrilled with the thought as it flashed through his mind, but a

-flash of the same thought thrilled Sora Grazia at the same time, for

-just then she leaned forward and laying her hand on Natale’s arm, she

-drew him to her side.

-

-“Once I had a curly-haired little boy of my own,” she said with a

-serious smile, “but after a while, he grew to be a man, and now he has

-brought to me another little boy. Natalino, I hope you will be as good

-a boy as my Gigi ever was.”

-

-Natale gazed earnestly into the woman’s face.

-

-“I am not at all good, signora,” he said unsteadily, and he could not

-help the stirring of hope in his heart, with this confession, but Sora

-Grazia only smiled again and tapped his cheek, and said that perhaps

-the good Luigi would teach him to be good.

-

-And there was no more opportunity left Natale for running away, for he

-was presently led into the kitchen where he had to sit and watch Sora

-Grazia prepare the macaroni for supper. He was hungry enough to enjoy

-a plateful of this but the slip of boiled beef served him on a clean

-plate afterward could not be choked down. He had overheard some one in

-the tent--could it have been only that very day?--say that he was to

-have meat every day in his new home, and his sister, Arduina, had added

-that she wished _she_ were sure of getting a morsel three times a week.

-Had not a doctor in Sicily said that she must have all delicate and

-nourishing food? And what were dry bread and sour wine as substitutes?

-No, Natale could not eat the meat that night. Happily the plate of

-macaroni had been generous, and what in all the land of sunny Italy is

-so filling as a plate of macaroni?

-

-The valley looked dismally dark that night, as Natale crept from his

-little trestle bed and crouched on the brick floor at the window,

-after he was supposed to be asleep. He was to share the priest’s attic

-chamber, and a few moments before Sora Grazia had carried away the

-candle. He peered out between the flower pots on the window ledge

-and again wondered in his childish way why anybody in the big world

-outside should have troubled to make him miserable.

-

-He was very sure that he had done nothing to harm the foreign lady

-with the spectacles. Once he had laughed when she had sneezed many

-times very loudly, in crossing the field near him, but he was sure no

-one had heard him, for he was lying on the ground and had buried his

-face in the grass. The pretty signorina with her had laughed too, and

-said something in their strange language which the lady had answered

-by another loud sneeze. Besides this, there was absolutely nothing he

-could have done to provoke any of the people in the garden. Yet, here

-he was being punished!

-

-The thought of Sora Grazia oppressed him, her serious face and her

-high hopes of his goodness. The house, too, was quieter than any place

-he had ever known,--he who had been used to few roofs save those of

-the caravan and tent. There were no children about, and there was no

-sound inside of crying, or laughing, or singing, or whistling. It was

-almost as bad as having to live in a solemn church when the candles

-are all out and the crowds are gone, and one feels, in the dimness and

-silence, as if something were coming up stealthily behind one to scare

-one’s wits away. It is all very well to rest for a minute in a cool

-church, out of the glare of the sunlight, when one may run out again at

-will, free as a wild bird or butterfly. But to have to stay, night and

-day, for a whole year in such a place! Natale shuddered, for this was

-just the way in which the awful quiet of the little stone house of the

-priest affected him.

-

-When Luigi came up to bed, hours later, he lifted the sleeping boy from

-the bricks at the window and covered him up snugly in bed.

-

-“My mother thinks we can do it,” he muttered to himself, as he threw

-off his black gown. “I shall do my part, but I am not sure they have

-done a wise thing.” Then he sighed a little. Perhaps he was wishing

-that he could be a little boy again, with the wide, wide world before

-him, and no one to interfere with his choice of a career,--free to be

-acrobat or priest, but always to have his own choice.

-

-With the passing of the first night all idea of running away seemed

-to have left Natale’s mind, and Sora Grazia was at first delighted to

-find her charge as submissive as a lamb to all her arrangements. After

-the first day or two, however, it became not quite so comfortable to

-see the little boy sit immovable for hours at a time, on the floor of

-the balcony, gazing down into the valley where the river ran merrily

-over the rocks. She would even have preferred to rebuke the child

-for something a little more outrageous than his listless torpor. She

-herself had to eat the meat prepared for Natale, if she would not see

-it wasted, for Natale could not touch it, nor would Luigi, her usually

-tractable son.

-

-The young priest was no less puzzled over Natale’s conduct than his

-mother was. The schoolmaster reported to him that the boy held his

-little paper-covered spelling-book before his eyes with the utmost

-diligence, and really seemed to try to remember the letters as they

-were pointed out to him with patient repetition, but that he might as

-well have been gazing off into the valley instead, for all the good the

-pages did him, and Luigi believed it.

-

-The other boys tried to lure him into their games and to practice his

-funny _capitomboli_ but he would only sit quietly by, on the stone

-steps of the church, watching them till playtime was over, when he must

-sit up on the bench in the schoolroom again and hold his book before

-his eyes.

-

-“He cannot keep up his sulking forever,” Sora Grazia said on the

-sixth day of Natale’s stay with her. Luigi was standing near her in

-the balcony, brushing the dust from the skirts of his long gown, which

-he shook vigorously with his strong hands, as his mother continued, “I

-confess that I am surprised he has taken things so quietly.”

-

-“A little too quietly!” muttered Luigi into the folds of his gown.

-

-“But now, one would like to see him brighten up a little instead of

-glooming over his food and everything else,” Sora Grazia went on.

-“He is not the same child he was a week ago, making his ridiculous

-_capitomboli_ over the circus carpet. I wonder if he could turn a

-somersault now, Luigi.” The woman lifted her head from her work to look

-over at Natale, who sat on the low street wall with his feet dangling

-into the road.

-

-“I gave him leave to go and play with the boys down in the field, this

-afternoon,” said Luigi, shaking his gown almost viciously. “He said he

-did not wish to go where his tent had been, and that he never expected

-to turn a somersault again.”

-

-“Impertinent!” exclaimed Sora Grazia. “We’ll let him alone a while

-longer, and he’ll come all right. A child cannot sulk forever, as I

-said before.”

-

-“But one can die of starvation and homesickness, perhaps,” quoth Luigi,

-stepping past his mother and springing up the stairs, his gown upon his

-arm.

-

-Grazia’s retort was stayed upon her lips by what she now saw passing in

-the street.

-

-

-

-

-CHAPTER VIII

-

-THE CAGE DOOR OPENED

-

-

-NATALE, too, was looking up, but only dully, as a party of ladies and

-gentlemen sauntered toward him laughing and talking gayly as they came.

-Many such groups had passed him already, taking afternoon strolls

-toward the beautiful promenade of San Vito leading around the mountain

-side. But this particular group paused, when a spectacled old lady

-did, and all gathered about Natale, except the white-haired gentleman

-standing a little aloof and tapping the paving stones with his stick.

-

-“Why haven’t you been to see us, Natale Marzuchetti?” Miss Lorini asked

-cheerfully in Italian. “Mrs. Bishop was sure you would come.”

-

-“He does not look like the same child!” whispered Betty to her aunt,

-who now pushed forward.

-

-“Ask him if he is a _smart_ boy in school, and if he is not _glad_ to

-be dressed so decently and to be learning something _useful_,” Mrs.

-Bishop said hurriedly to the Italian lady, all of which was repeated to

-Natale in his own language as was requested. But Natale only shook his

-head slowly and wistfully.

-

-“You used to talk fast enough!” Mrs. Bishop cried impatiently. “Look,”

-she went on, pointing to the next house, a little farther on, “don’t

-you see that white stone in the wall? The words on it tell about a man

-who was born there, two hundred and fifty years ago, who was so good

-and useful that the people here put his name up there that he might

-never be forgotten. What’s to hinder there being a stone put up on

-this house, to tell about little Natale who was only a poor circus boy,

-but who came to live here when he was eight years old and became a very

-useful and good man? Tell him, Miss Lorini, just what I say!” And Mrs.

-Bishop pointed from the memorial tablet in one house to the blank front

-wall of the other, while Luigi, peering out of his window between the

-flower pots, dodged behind a tall geranium, and hoped the sharp eyes of

-the old lady were not searching for him.

-

-Natale listened gravely to Miss Lorini’s communication, his eyes

-passing carelessly from the memorial tablet to the wall of an opposite

-house.

-

-There was a rude painting on this wall of a Madonna holding a baby

-in her arms, and it was protected from the weather by a shallow arch

-of masonry. As Natale looked at the picture, he was reminded in some

-mysterious way of Nonna, who was never without a child in her arms,

-unless she were bending over a fountain washing the children’s clothes.

-A new look sprang into his eyes.

-

-“Our Antonio had _his_ name printed in Egypt and in Turkey and in

-Greece!” he answered proudly, for the first time opening his lips. “I

-would rather be like that than have my name cut here on the priest’s

-house!”

-

-“Good for the little chap,” cried the gentleman softly. He had

-understood what the shrill little voice said.

-

-“Printed on what, child? What was ‘our Antonio’s’ name printed on, in

-all those places?” Miss Lorini asked.

-

-“On paper, of course,” answered the child simply. “And there were

-pictures of him too, all red and yellow and blue, performing on

-the bars. Everybody in the streets was looking at his name and the

-pictures.” The little fellow’s face was glowing as he spoke of his

-friend, and Miss Lorini had not the heart to translate his words to

-Mrs. Bishop, who could hardly have passed them by calmly.

-

-“But you are content here?” Betty managed to ask in intelligible

-Italian.

-

-The shadow fell again over Natale’s face, and his figure visibly

-drooped. He did not pretend to answer her question.

-

-“Oh, Aunty, let him go back to his people,” Betty pleaded, seeing the

-change. “Anybody can see that he is miserable. He is too little to be

-made to suffer.”

-

-“He is too little to suffer long,” Mrs. Bishop replied calmly, with but

-one thought in her mind, of course.

-

-“Poor little Egyptian!” sighed the gentleman. “He was born in Egypt,

-was he not, Miss Betty?”

-

-“At Port Said, yes, and Pietro in Tunis they say.”

-

-“Well, be a good boy, Natale,” said Mrs. Bishop, patting his head, in

-its new cap. “Then you will be happy. In a few days, I shall send for

-you to come to see me, and we will drink tea in the garden. Good-by!

-_Addio!_”

-

-Natale touched his hat, as he had long ago been taught to do, and the

-pedestrians moved away, all but the gentleman who had called him a

-“little Egyptian.”

-

-He stood for a moment at Natale’s side, with his back turned to the

-house and his departing friends, and in a trice a handful of copper

-coins was transferred from his pocket to Natale’s hands. Mr. Grantly

-had just had a paper note changed into small coins, at the fruit shop,

-and he was glad to relieve his pocket of some of its weight.

-

-“I hope his guardians will let him keep the money,” was his thought

-as he turned away from Natale’s brilliant smile of thanks. The boy’s

-training had made him none too proud to accept the money of a

-stranger, and he lost no time in stowing it away in his jacket pocket,

-while Mr. Grantly hurried after the echoing steps of his party.

-

-Luigi at the window above had seen the money given to Natale, but he

-asked no questions of the boy, who, after kicking his heels against the

-wall for some time longer, was presently called to his supper.

-

-There was a flush on Natale’s cheeks and a brightness in his eyes which

-even Sora Grazia noticed, and as the evening was cool, she thought it

-wise to forbid his sitting out on the balcony or the wall, as was his

-wont, until bedtime. He looked feverish, she said, and in her own mind

-she planned a cup of hot camomile tea as a remedy at bedtime. Natale’s

-disappointment at this command to keep indoors showed so plainly upon

-his childish features that Sora Grazia was provoked, and for the first

-time since the boy had been with her she used harsh tones.

-

-“There! you may as well go to bed at once!” she cried, as he was

-leaving the kitchen, without a word it is true, but with the light all

-gone from his face. “I can never please you, whatever I do, and you are

-here only to waste food and sulk. Go to bed, Natale!”

-

-Luigi had gone off directly after eating his supper, about some matter

-of business with one of his superiors at the church, so he was not

-there to take Natale’s part.

-

-It is hard enough to be sent to bed on an ordinary night and at one’s

-regular time, as any child will agree, but to be forbidden the early

-hours of a moonlit evening outdoors, especially when one’s little head

-is teeming with wild, delicious ideas of flight--away from daily baths,

-from the cramping walls of a house, and out into the freshness and

-freedom of the night, which has no terror for the dwellers in tents,

-was well-nigh unbearable.

-

-Ah! how little Sora Grazia knew of the anguish she was causing!

-

-But Natale obediently stumbled slowly upstairs in the dark to the

-bedroom, and when there, crouched in his usual place on the floor

-behind the flower pots without an audible murmur.

-

-The little acrobat had made no plans at all, but with the touch of the

-money given him by the kind old gentleman on San Vito, an impulse to

-seek his freedom had occurred to his mind, and in the half-hour while

-he continued on the wall, furtively handling the coins in his pocket,

-he had wished,--only wished, however,--that he might have the courage

-to steal out into the moonlight, after eating, while Sora Grazia should

-be about her dish-washing, and Luigi poring over one of his little

-black books, perhaps, by the light of the candle in the kitchen. He had

-often thought of Olga’s words, “I would run after the wagon, if I were

-you,” but he had been too closely watched during the first day or two

-to admit of his carrying out so bold a plan, and since then, for the

-rest of the long, dreary week since the caravan had gone, he had not

-had the spirit to undertake such a measure. The whole world seemed to

-intervene between himself and the beloved company who had gone, and he

-felt sure that he would be seen by some mistaken person and brought

-back, even before he could reach the river, if he should attempt to

-follow.

-

-Until to-night no thought of leaving under the protection of the

-friendly darkness had come to him, and he had only been able to see

-himself flying down the sunny road in full view of all the village, to

-be promptly turned back again by some carriage driver of the place, or

-some schoolboy bigger than himself and therefore stronger. Besides, he

-had had no money, and Natale had traveled enough to know that a few

-cents in one’s pocket make one’s road easier and less long. So the

-days had passed, and Natale was fast drifting into a state of listless

-torpor which must have ended in illness, had not Mr. Grantly changed

-a five-franc note at the fruit shop that sunny afternoon and taken a

-stroll along San Vito where Natale sat “sulking” on the wall!

-

-Presently, as the little child continued to gaze longingly out into the

-moonlight, a ray of further hope illumined his mind. As Luigi had gone

-to the church now, it would be late before he would return. Sora Grazia

-always sat dozing on her stool in the doorway until time for barring

-the door and going to bed. Why should he not slip past her and away

-into the shadows of the street, before Luigi should return? His heart

-leaped at the thought, and he rose noiselessly to his feet and glanced

-around the darkening room. His small cot stood smooth and white against

-the wall. Another thought struck him, and he quailed with a sense of

-utter discouragement. When Luigi should come in,--and he might be very

-early, one never knew,--the runaway would be missed straightway from

-the empty little bed, and easily overtaken if he should have taken the

-regular road down the hill.

-

-It is true there were paths innumerable down the terraces from the

-back of almost any house in the street, most of them probably leading

-down to the river far below, but Natale had been no explorer of the

-neighborhood during his week of captivity, and was ignorant of the

-precipitate windings and the final ending of even the most practicable

-of these. No, he must go by the road, and he must wait until Luigi

-should return, and get to bed and to sleep.

-

-Natale knew that the priest slept soundly, for, one night he had

-had the misfortune to knock over upon the floor a pot containing a

-carnation plant, and the crash had not awakened Luigi. The boy had

-waked and had gone to the window to peer out into the night, fancying

-that he heard the hoarse creaking of the caravan brake as the clumsy

-vehicle crawled down the hill, and in craning his head between the

-pots, his elbow had pushed over one of them. Fortunately, neither pot

-nor plant had broken, and he had spent a good deal of time in packing

-the loosened earth about the carnation’s roots and replacing the pot

-among its fellows. The next morning, Sora Grazia had bidden him be more

-careful about carrying mud upstairs on his shoes, only to be cleaned up

-by her afterward, and he supposed he must have left some of the earth

-upon the floor, in the dim light.

-

-At any rate, Luigi slept soundly, and if he, himself, could only

-manage to keep awake until all was safe, he knew that he would have

-no difficulty in unbarring the door. He had accomplished it unaided

-only that morning, with Sora Grazia standing by and saying that it was

-the first thing of use he had set his hands to do since coming there

-to live. She had spoken good-naturedly though, and Natale had nothing

-against her. No, not even now did he remember her late harsh words, for

-he was too sweet-natured to harbor malice. He had only suffered, and

-now there was a prospect of escaping more suffering of the same kind.

-

-So after sitting on his bed with a wild turmoil of thoughts engaging

-his busy little brain, he began rapidly to undress. Luigi must not find

-him up! But, after taking off the strong new suit of clothes which Mrs.

-Bishop had had made for him, he rummaged under his mattress where his

-old things had been stored by Sora Grazia and quickly got into the worn

-trousers, the faded blouse and leggings, tucking the old shoes under

-his pillow. He had set the new shoes and stockings in orderly fashion

-on the floor and folded up the new clothes and laid them at the foot of

-the little cot. How fortunate that his old shoes had not been thrown

-away, for he could hardly have traveled barefoot over the flinty stones

-of the road and the river. Natale chose to wear the old easy shoes,

-for the new ones had always hurt him, and he would not have been able

-to steal unheard out of the house with those heavy, creaking soles

-tramping over the bricks. If he had known of the long way ahead of the

-old worn shoes, perhaps he would have planned to carry the despised

-footgear in his hands. But forethought had little place in the mind of

-so young a runaway, and he was guided in his change of clothes only by

-his own desires for comfort. The old clothes were as familiar as old

-friends, and therefore he preferred them.

-

-Then, after making his preparations, not forgetting to change the money

-from the pocket of the new jacket to that of his old trousers, he laid

-himself down on the cot, and drew up the light covering snugly about

-his shoulders, devoutly hoping that he would not fall soundly asleep.

-

-If Natale had only known it, Sora Grazia, believing Natale safe for the

-night, had slipped off for a gossip with a friend living just back of

-the church, simply drawing the door to behind her and leaving the coast

-clear for flight. And it would not have been difficult for the boy to

-leave a semblance of himself tucked under the bed covering, in the

-shape of the roll of discarded clothes and shoes! But little Natale was

-not possessed of a very designing brain, and after all, Luigi _might_

-have come in untimely, and spoiled it all!

-

-In a few moments, the would-be runaway was fast asleep, while the moon

-sailed across the valley from the eastern toward the western sky.

-

-

-

-

-CHAPTER IX

-

-THE FLIGHT OF THE BIRD

-

-

-WHEN Natale next opened his eyes he became very wide awake indeed, in

-an instant. In fact, he did not know that he had been asleep at all,

-until the moonlight, slanting in, showed Luigi’s long body stretched

-upon the iron bed close by.

-

-What could have waked Natale? For a moment he lay still without

-recollection of the momentous plans made at his early bedtime. Then

-he recalled a sensation of icy cold water about his feet, and he

-remembered that he had dreamed of a sudden plunge into the river while

-trying to find the stepping-stones. It must have been the chill of the

-dream-water that had awakened him! He sat up and found that he was

-still dressed and in his old clothes.

-

-Ah! it was easy to remember all now, and after a breathless glance over

-his shoulder at Luigi, who was comfortably snoring, Natale slipped out

-of bed. Catching up his old hat and his shoes he stole softly over the

-brick floor and down the stone stairs as quietly as any mouse would

-have done.

-

-Sora Grazia slept downstairs, but the door of her room was mercifully

-closed, and Natale knew that she often locked it at night. He turned

-his back upon it, therefore, with confidence, as he felt in the

-darkness for the balcony door. He exerted all his strength to raise the

-heavy bar of iron which guarded the door. Then he was very careful to

-keep his hold on the bar, as it swung downward, lest it should rouse

-the house with its usual clanging fall. The huge key was in the lock,

-and Natale succeeded in turning it with both hands, although this was

-much more difficult than raising the bar above the lock. It creaked

-dully as it turned, and Natale’s heart leaped into his throat, and a

-dozen noises buzzed in his ears.

-

-Breathless, he stood with his hand on the latch, afraid to move lest

-the door behind him should open, and everything come to an end. But

-nothing happened, so he swung open the door, and without stopping to

-close it behind him, he again caught up his shoes, which he had had to

-set down, and ran along the balcony and out into the street, his feet

-pattering softly on the stones.

-

-In his haste he did not stop to think of the direction he should take.

-His only impulse was to get out into the night somewhere, away from the

-houses and street. So he ran swiftly along in the shadow cast by wall

-and house, in just the opposite direction from that which would have

-led him past the church tower and through the village, out upon the

-downward road. Presently he crouched in a shadow to draw on his shoes,

-then fled onward again.

-

-Once away, he lost his bearings utterly and hurried on without turning,

-past the small house with the Madonna painted on the wall, past the

-large house where the white tablet to “Pietro Pacioni” gleamed in

-the moonlight, and then downward, by a roughly paved path leading

-to the Campo Santo. Perhaps he would have kept on aimlessly along

-San Vito,--the fashionable promenade leading always higher along the

-mountain side till it ended in an open plateau high up above the

-valley,--if he had not heard steps approaching. Whether these steps

-came from behind or from ahead he did not stop to discover. The

-downward path offered safety, and a small pink villa threw a dark

-shadow across its entrance, so Natale lost not an instant in scudding

-down the friendly by-way.

-

-On he trotted, past the shrine where the tiny Della Robbia Madonna sits

-under her arch, the moonlight touching the shining blue of her hood,

-the yellow of her robe and the pink of the baby on her knees with a

-radiance that was almost startling on the edge of the shadow. Now the

-path grew level, and the stones were left behind, and no more noise of

-footsteps disturbed the quiet.

-

-A few rods more, and Natale stood in front of the small mortuary chapel

-outside the cemetery. The iron gates set in the wall of the cemetery

-were locked, as Natale found on gently shaking them. He had paused to

-peep through the slender grating into the inclosure where the moonlight

-touched the white tomb of the foreign gentleman buried close under the

-wall, and showed so plainly the numbers on the low stakes marking the

-graves of the nameless poor. The shadows of the cypress trees lay like

-long black fingers outstretched upon the wilds of weedy undergrowth,

-and the wind stirred dismally on the exposed hillside.

-

-One day, Natale and Olga had wandered together as far as these iron

-gates. He remembered it now, and with the recollection he sprang away,

-eager to continue his journey,--then stood still, uncertain as to his

-path.

-

-The way which had brought him downward came to an abrupt end with the

-little chapel, outside the gates. It would not do to lose himself among

-the chestnut woods in search of a path! Yet, how could he plunge down

-the pathless slopes among the great trees, with nothing to guide him

-but the murmur of the river far below? Still less was he willing to

-return to the road above and turn about to take his way through the

-village and so on out upon the road. He was almost sure that if he

-could only see to find his way, some downward path from where he stood

-would bring him to a river crossing, perhaps a long, long way below the

-arched bridge, and therefore much farther on his journey.

-

-Bewildered and tired, he was almost ready to give up his flight, and

-to creep into the dark portico of the little chapel, and back into the

-shade beneath the picture of the Saint with the skull in his hand, and

-there end this strange night, which already seemed to him longer than

-any night he had ever known. But he roused himself to one more effort,

-and crept around to the back wall of the chapel. There, to his joyful

-surprise, he came upon a semblance of a path!

-

-All indecision was gone now, and he fairly slid down the rocky and

-precipitous way, which was more gully than footway, being in fact a

-watercourse for the torrents leaping down the mountain side, after

-some storm of rain, as well as a short cut to the river for roughly

-shod peasant feet.

-

-More than once Natale stumbled, and once he fell headlong, bruising his

-hands and knees, but he did not mind, for the rushing of the little

-river down among the rocks was becoming very loud in his ears.

-

-When at last he came out of the woods, and stood on the edge of the

-waste of rounded stones loosely paving the river bed, he looked back

-a moment to where the village must be, high above, a huddle of gray

-wall and roof, with the square church tower in its midst. All seemed as

-silent in the sleeping town as in the home of the sleeping dead on its

-outskirts. Then, just as Natale again turned his back upon the mountain

-side, where perched Cutigliano like a bit of gray lichen growing on

-some mossy bowlder, the beautiful, bright, friendly moon slipped quite

-over the mountain in the west, and darkness fell upon the valley,

-where deep down in its darkest shadow Natale was ready to cross the

-river. The light of the moon still touched the chestnut woods higher

-up the slopes, but every moment the shadow would be creeping higher

-and higher, until there would be no more moonlight on this side the

-mountain, and only the stars would come peeping out at Natale.

-

-After slipping off his shoes and leggings, the boy began picking his

-way carefully over the large dry stones which were worn smooth and

-round by slow wasting in the wet seasons, when the river flooded its

-narrow course and spread to the grassy banks. The stones rolled under

-even his light footsteps, but Natale kept his balance in crossing the

-smaller stones, and clambered patiently over or around the largest

-ones, and presently arrived at the edge of the black, rushing water.

-The brawling Lima makes a great ado hereabouts, as it tumbles over the

-rocks, for its bed slopes decidedly all the way to Lucca and beyond,

-and there is no opportunity for it to moderate its pace, or calm its

-chafings against the rocks.

-

-With the first touch of the icy water upon his bared feet, Natale

-recalled his dream. How long ago it had been since he had lain safely

-in his bed under the slanting roof of Luigi’s house! Again and again

-he tried to plant his foot firmly in the midst of the swirling water,

-which was perhaps as much as twenty feet wide at that point, but

-always it was deeper and colder than he had expected, and the stones

-more slippery and unsteady. Then he began wandering up and down the

-bank, in quest of the stepping-stones, which here and there certainly

-crossed the river both above and below the arched bridge. Unsuccessful

-in this, Natale finally exerted himself to make a reckless dash into

-the current, where he found himself the next instant up to his waist

-in the black water and clinging desperately by one free hand to a wet

-rock, with the instinct of preserving himself from being carried off

-his feet. Then miserably he felt his way back to the dry rocks on the

-edge of the stream, and dropping down upon their harsh bosom, he began

-to cry bitterly.

-

-He had so hoped there would be a crossing place! If he could only find

-it! His feet were sore with bruises now, and he felt as if he could

-not walk another step. He grew cold as he crouched there, sobbing with

-disappointment, for though the sun shines hot during the daytime on

-the chestnut trees and the vines of the Apennines, the nights, even of

-summer, are cool, and now a chill wind came sweeping down the valley

-from the fir-crowned summits of Abetone.

-

-Presently the little wanderer roused himself and stood on his feet.

-Nothing could tempt him to try to find his way back to the house of

-the priest, not even aching feet or shivering limbs, but he began to

-think there might be a more sheltered place near by--this little boy of

-the road, who had taken many a noontide nap curled up at the foot of

-some wayside tree. Perhaps the earliest light of dawn would show him

-the stepping-stones and the road, of which there was no hint now in the

-blackness of darkness across the river. Painfully he crept back toward

-the bank, where presently he curled himself into a knot at the foot of

-a huge, distorted old chestnut tree, a short distance up the slope.

-The grass was soft and springy about the roots of the old tree, and a

-huge boulder near by shut off the wind from Natale’s shivering legs.

-So, with a sigh of content, and for the first time tasting the sweets

-of his new freedom, the little acrobat closed his eyes upon the stars

-winking down at him from above the stirring leaves, and fell asleep for

-the second time that night.

-

-

-

-

-CHAPTER X

-

-ON THE WING

-

-

-LONG before Natale waked, the day had dawned, but the sun had not long

-looked down into the valley before he turned stiffly on his grassy

-couch and rubbed his eyes. Then, however, he lost not an instant in

-taking up his journey where it had left off the night before.

-

-How easy it was in the light of the sunbeams of the early morning to

-spring over the dry stones of the bank, and with a swift glance up

-and down select a safe place to cross the water which had seemed so

-dangerous and cruel in the dark.

-

-The daylight changed everything, of course, and it was but a few

-moments after waking before he was across the stream and scrambling

-up to the low wall bounding the road on the river side. From the inner

-edge of the road the mountains rose precipitately.

-

-As Natale clambered over the wall the church bells of Cutigliano

-burst into a wrangle of sound, which must have echoed from one end of

-the village to the other. Though the distance softened the metallic

-tones, the little boy was startled by them into a scamper away down

-the sunlit road as if the mischievous village boys whose office it was

-to ring the bells were in headlong chase after him. The day must have

-been the _festa_ of some saint, and for a long time Natale heard the

-bells’ voices, sweetened more and more as his bare feet trudged onward

-and the distance fell between him and them. But he soon gave up his

-running because his legs were stiff and his feet sore, and as yet no

-one appeared coming along the road behind him, in pursuit.

-

-There had been no doubt in his own mind of the direction he should take

-after once gaining the road. He knew that Giovanni and Antonio with the

-house-wagon had been bound for the Bagni di Lucca, and also he knew

-that the road to the Bagni led downward with the stream, and not up

-toward the cold region of Abetone, the “Great Fir Tree.”

-

-So all he had to do was to follow the road, broad and white, by the way

-they had come three weeks before, without need, even, of asking his way

-of the peasants he should meet. He had turned the shoulder of a great

-green mountain-spur which entirely shut off the view of Cutigliano

-before he would stop for an instant in his lame tramping. Once assured

-that the town was out of sight behind him, he sat down breathlessly on

-one of the heaps of loose stones such as flank every mountain road in

-Italy. Then he deliberately took each foot in turn in his small hands

-and gravely and pitifully examined its bruises. There was nothing to be

-done, then, but plant them in the road again and continue his way.

-

-For an hour or more he trudged painfully on, but the stiffness in his

-legs left him after a while, and he began to be only hungry. He wished

-he had thought of hiding in his pocket, the night before, a crust of

-the dark, coarse bread he loved, and which had always been plentiful at

-Sora Grazia’s. But the coppers jingled comfortably there instead, and

-Natale contented himself to wait for breakfast till he should pass some

-bread shop along the road.

-

-The morning air was sweet with the freshness of early day, and the

-delicious odor of the wild thyme’s tiny blossoms. Tall harebells nodded

-to him from the thyme and heather bank shoulder-high above the road,

-and sparkled with the sunshine and dew upon their purple flowerets. The

-river, which in the darkness had seemed to mock him with its roaring,

-now only murmured softly as it slipped over the stones in the sunlight.

-

-By and by, Natale began to meet people in the road, men with donkeys

-bearing huge basketfuls of wet grass and wild flowers shorn from the

-steep terraces above for the cow or donkey at home, and women tramping

-in their thick-soled shoes to Cutigliano with baskets of fresh fruit

-or eggs or cheeses for the summer hotels balanced on their heads. From

-all of these Natale kept his face steadily averted, lest they should

-bear back to the town tidings of his going. Usually, after passing a

-group of these wayfarers, the boy broke into a quick run in order to

-lengthen the distance between them and himself, but these spurts of

-speed availed him little, for he had always to stop and rest afterward,

-and so lost many more minutes than he had gained of the golden day.

-

-The road had already become a curving white glare before Natale came

-in sight of a long stone house having many windows and doors, and

-standing on the inner edge of the road. He came upon it suddenly, on

-turning a sharp curve, and then he saw that another house faced it on

-the opposite side of the road, and that an inviting shade lay between.

-The back of one of the houses looked directly upon the steep slope of

-the mountain behind, while the rear wall of its opposite neighbor had

-its foundation in the rocky banks of the tumbling river. In the shade

-between, barefoot peasant children played noisily. Near by, a stream

-of spring water, clear and cold, trickled from a wooden trough into a

-rough stone basin.

-

-And here at last were rest and food and drink for the runaway,--only no

-one must learn that he was a runaway!

-

-A fat and black-eyed housewife with arms akimbo stood in one of the

-doors, and as Natale came up to her on limping feet, she eyed him with

-interest from the stone of the doorstep.

-

-“Will you give me a little piece of bread, signora? See, I have money,”

-said Natale, showing her a handful of Mr. Grantly’s copper coins in his

-open palm.

-

-“A bit of bread you shall have, to be sure, and your _soldi_ you shall

-keep, little one,” the good-natured creature promptly answered, and

-while the children left their play and gathered about Natale, with

-friendly eyes, their mother disappeared into the very small and dusky

-shop behind.

-

-“There, sit down and eat,” she said, returning with a hunk of bread and

-a generous lump of cheese on a coarse plate in her hand.

-

-As Natale received the plate and moved rather lamely toward the

-dripping fountain in the shade, the children ran ahead, and one filled

-a rusty tin cup with the cold water and had it ready for Natale by the

-time he reached the mossy brink of the fountain.

-

-These little ones of the road, wild and rude enough in their play, were

-well used to offering the “cup of cold water” to the passing wayfarer,

-and Natale’s thirsty throat gulped the draught gratefully.

-

-There was something about the child which arrested the attention of the

-woman more than the ordinary passer-by often did, and she also stood

-watching Natale breakfast hungrily.

-

-He was shy and downcast, fearing difficult questions, and as soon as

-the last crumb of bread and cheese had disappeared he got to his feet,

-setting the empty plate on the margin of the fountain.

-

-“Thank you, signora, and good-by,” he said, and was off.

-

-“No, but wait!” she cried, laying her hand on his shrinking shoulder.

-“You have eaten my bread; now answer my questions. What is your name,

-_picino_,[7] and where are you going?”

-

-[Footnote 7: Little boy.]

-

-“Down the road,” was the shyly spoken answer to the last question, with

-a quiet waiving of the first. “Please let me go, signora. It is already

-late, and I must hasten.”

-

-“Well, go!” she exclaimed then, “and a good journey to you!” But she

-stood watching him trudge briskly away from her until another curve in

-the zigzag road hid him from her sight.

-

-“Some stranger’s child!” she muttered to herself, going back to the

-doorstep. “I have never seen him pass here before, and few there be

-who pass by without the knowledge of Chiara. Well, I am glad he has

-his _soldi_ safe in his pocket. May the saints protect and feed my own

-children when they go a-wandering! You, Beppo! keep your head out of

-the dust of the road!”

-

-“Mamá, mamá, Beppino is making _capitomboli_, such as the boy who was

-here just now made in the circus at Cutigliano, on the day we went with

-our father to the big tent! Do you not remember?” cried an admiring

-small sister of Beppo. “See, our Beppo does them even better than the

-other boy, mamá!”

-

-The woman gave a little start of recollection, and then dismissed the

-idea which had occurred to her, as impossible--fortunately, perhaps,

-for Natale.

-

-“Silly girl! The circus people went down the road a week ago to the

-Bagni, do _you_ not remember? How should the boy be seven days behind?

-No more _capitomboli_, I say, Beppo _mio_, in all this dust!”

-

-[Illustration: “Capitomboli, such as the boy who was here just now made

-in the circus at Cutigliano.” _Page 142._]

-

-In a carriage, with two good horses and a fine cracking whip behind

-them, one may drive from Cutigliano down to the Baths of Lucca in the

-first half of a summer’s day. On two tired slim little legs, one

-would need much more time to accomplish the journey. Also when one has

-been for six days imprisoned within stone walls, one does not hurry--if

-fairly out of danger--along beauteous and fresh-smelling paths of

-freedom.

-

-Every hour or so after leaving the woman and children at the fountain,

-Natale stopped for a rest along the way. Sometimes he sat down

-on a heap of mending stones by the wayside, in company with some

-stone-breaker hammering away in the shade of his sun screen, a rude

-lattice of chestnut boughs propped behind the heap of stones.

-

-The monotonous clink of the hammer breaking the sharp-edged stones was

-usually stayed as the lonely worker turned to chat with the large-eyed

-child hovering near. Only once or twice was Natale’s cheerful “_Buon’

-giorno!_”[8] returned by an unwelcoming growl or by sour silence.

-In such cases, the dawdling feet made all haste to pass and seek a

-resting-place in the shade of some breeze-rustled chestnut tree quite

-out of sight of the cross stone-breaker.

-

-[Footnote 8: Good morning.]

-

-The second night was passed as the first had been, out of doors,

-after a supper of hot rice paid for at an _osteria_,[9] a short way

-back along the road. Natale might have slept, as well, at the little

-inn, but he was too unused to roofs to dream of proposing it, and the

-absent-minded old landlord had not seemed to be thinking of anything

-but puffing away at his pipe, as Natale slipped past him and out of the

-dingy passage-way, after paying for his food.

-

-[Footnote 9: Inn.]

-

-A long-bodied two-wheeled cart stood outside the inn door, its shafts’

-ends resting on the ground, its rear high in air, and Natale, with an

-instinct for sleeping above wheels, had decided to return to the cart

-for a night’s lodging place when the world should be dark again. But

-sleep overtook him as he lay waiting at the foot of a tree to which

-he had scrambled from the road below, and when he roused, dawn was

-staining the pale sky with rose color.

-

-The next day promised to pass as the first had done,--with slipping

-shyly past occasional houses of entertainment along the way, with

-lingerings to stare into the mysterious depths of some noisy mill in

-league with the tumbling river, and with long, monotonous trampings,

-between times, along the smooth road, bordered always by the mountains

-and the river. As the road neared the valley, it crossed dashing

-streams hurrying to join their waters to the broader water of the

-river, and so solid was the stone masonry of the arches that one would

-never have known that he was crossing a bridge but for the sparkle and

-the laughter of the foaming water as it dashed under the road and out

-again.

-

-Many times Natale, himself a small dark speck on the endless white

-road, looked up the long mountain slopes, green in the sunlight, purple

-in the shadow, and glimpsed high above him on the giddy heights the

-climbing roofs of some hoary old mountain town, away out of hearing of

-the busy river, out of reach of traveling circus wagons, and which,

-

-  “Like an eagle’s nest hangs on the crest

-  Of purple Apennine.”

-

-It was past noon of the second day when Natale entered a village

-on a level with the highway. Here the road suddenly changed into a

-stone-paved street, running between high houses and echoing with the

-tramp of wooden-soled shoes and the patter of donkeys’ hoofs.

-

-He stopped at the door of a sour-smelling wine shop where sat a man on

-a stool outside the door. To him the little boy put his question as

-to whether this town might perhaps be very near to the Bagni di Lucca.

-This man wore a red fez on his bushy, black head, and down his long,

-black beard trickled drops from the wine cup at his lips. The fellow

-did not stop his drinking long enough to reply in so many words to the

-question, but a decided shaking of his head and the pointing of a long,

-dirty finger onward sufficiently enlightened Natale, and he kept slowly

-on his way.

-

-In passing a small baker’s shop, he stopped and bought a great ring of

-sweetish bread, and then slipping his arm through this, he went more

-cheerily onward. There were still many _soldi_ left in his pocket, and

-surely this beautiful ring of bread would last until the Bagni di Lucca

-should come in sight, with, of course, the dear yellow tent set in its

-midst!

-

-One of the last houses he passed as he left the town was entered

-through a garden by a huge wooden door opening upon the cobblestones

-of the street. This door stood ajar, and Natale stayed his steps for a

-moment to gaze through the aperture down a charming vista of trellised

-vines supported on crumbling white columns of masonry. Green and

-gold lights played over the rough paving-stones of the cloister-like

-colonnade through the latticework above. Halfway down this corridor,

-two or three girls romped and sang together, their scarlet kerchiefs

-and the rich blues of their skirts making dashes of vivid color in the

-shade where they lounged. Pale jewels of grapes, already growing pink

-and amethystine, crowded the vines with promise of luscious sweetness

-when their full time should come.

-

-The girls peered back at the travel-worn lad peering in at them, but

-when the largest of them called mockingly to him, “Enter, signore!”

-Natale ran away down the street and again out upon the road. The girls

-had made him think of Arduina and Olga and little Maria, and away down

-at the end of the corridor he had caught a glimpse of a gray-haired

-woman sitting on a flight of broken stone steps, with an infant on her

-lap. His heart swelled with homesickness. If only he might see Nonna

-once again! How long was the monotonous road to Bagni di Lucca!

-

-The day, however, was not to close without an exciting and important

-event.

-

-

-

-

-CHAPTER XI

-

-FLUTTERING A LITTLE FARTHER

-

-

-NATALE sat down in his leisurely fashion on the low wall bounding the

-road just beyond the town and began daintily nibbling around the crisp,

-sugared edges of his bread ring. It was mid-afternoon, and while his

-jaws worked steadily, his wide bright eyes watched with interest two

-bicyclists toiling up the hill and trundling their wheels alongside. As

-they passed him by without a glance, their faces red and perspiring,

-and their shoes whitened with the light dust, the boy’s eyes still

-followed them and lighted upon a queer figure coming from the town he

-had just quitted. It was the red-capped, swarthy-faced man of the

-wine-shop door, and now his shoulders were bent under a pack slung on

-his back, and his legs were bowed as he limped along, and he wore an

-old overcoat much too long, which had seen better days upon another’s

-shoulders.

-

-The wheelmen paid no attention to this fellow, as he stopped on meeting

-them and perhaps offered them a sight of his wares hidden in the pack,

-so the peddler presently came up with Natale, grumbling sourly.

-

-“These foreigners without manners!” he growled, planting himself in

-front of the little boy’s swinging legs. “Ah! you are the boy who goes

-to the Bagni. Come, I also go thither. We shall be companions merry

-enough!”

-

-Natale had no fancy for joining company with this man who frowned with

-his black brows and grinned, in turn, with big white teeth gleaming in

-his hairy face, but neither had he the courage to demur. Therefore,

-he slipped down unwillingly from his perch and trotted along at the

-peddler’s side.

-

-Fortunately, the man asked no questions and spoke little, and before

-evening, his steady tramp had led Natale over more miles than the whole

-previous day had carried him. Little cared this strange, silent fellow

-for leaning over walls to gaze at the foaming water singing over the

-rocks, or for idly resting on a bridge to watch the white cloud-ships

-crossing the azure sea overhead, as the white sails of the orange boats

-ply the blue waves between Sicily and the Italian coast, and to dream

-of future glory as an acrobat of renown!

-

-The sun had again sunk behind the rounded summits in the west, when the

-peddler at last stood still and grinned down upon the panting child.

-

-“One easily sees that you are no traveler,” he said in his hoarse,

-unpleasant voice. “Now we will sit down here by the roadside and make

-our beds for the night. Did you mention supper? The bracelet you wear

-on your arm will suffice for us both, if we divide it according to the

-size of our stomachs. _Ecco!_” And Natale’s precious ring of sweetened

-bread was rudely snatched from his arm.

-

-Naturally, Natale was most indignant at being treated in this manner by

-so perfect a stranger, and he did not hesitate to remonstrate.

-

-“But the bread is mine, signore! I bought it with my own _soldi_ in

-the town,” he cried, clutching at the beautiful ring of bread, already

-being broken in two by the peddler’s dirty fingers.

-

-“_Soldi!_” echoed the man; “and where are your precious _soldi_?”

-

-“At the shop where I bought the bread, of course,” was the shrewd

-reply, and not a coin remaining in Natale’s pocket jostled against its

-neighbor now. They kept as quiet as if they knew that long, eager

-fingers were ready to pounce upon them.

-

-Then a change came over the peddler’s manner, and he showed his

-unpleasant-looking teeth in a broad smile. Perhaps he was planning a

-look into those little pockets by and by, who knows?

-

-“What a clever boy you are!” he cried. “Well, as you are also such a

-hungry little beast, take back your bread, and for a relish I shall

-give you a smell of my own supper. See!”

-

-So speaking, he drew a roll of sausage from a pocket of his long coat.

-The sausage was wrapped in a soiled handkerchief, and there was a

-hunk of black bread with it. A knife with a curious curved handle and

-long, shining blade was next produced, and the peddler went to work,

-alternately whacking off bits of the highly seasoned meat and the hard

-bread, and devouring them with crunching teeth and smacking lips.

-

-Natale gnawed industriously at his own bread without even thinking of

-offering to barter a portion of it for a taste of the savory sausage.

-There was a kind of fascination in watching the ugly fellow eat, and

-the wondering brown eyes were fixed upon the peddler’s surly face.

-

-It was now the close of a warm afternoon. A light haze wrapped the

-more distant mountains in misty blue, a chirring of insects stirred

-the silence about the travelers, and now and then a carriage or cart

-whisked downward, or toiled upward, along the road, accompanied by the

-jingle of harness bells and the whooping cries of the drivers. A fog of

-white dust rose behind every passing vehicle, and the chestnut leaves

-overhead, long unwashed by rain, hung grimy and listless in the heavy

-air.

-

-As the peddler supped, large drops of sweat gathered on his long, red

-nose and dripped down his black beard, while his face grew flushed

-and more scowling than ever. Presently, with an angry movement which

-startled Natale half out of his wits, he dropped the sausage and knife

-to the ground and tore off his coat.

-

-“Poor men have no choice!” he muttered. “Bare shoulders in winter, the

-cast-off winter coat of an Englishman in summer!”

-

-The soiled and tattered old coat was tossed aside, falling

-uncomfortably close to Natale’s feet, but he did not dare to push it

-away with disdainful touch. The peddler’s meal now came to an end, the

-remains of the sausage were gathered up with the cruel-looking knife

-and laid aside with the handkerchief, after which the peddler, with

-a satisfied grunt, sprawled himself on his side--to sleep, as Natale

-devoutly hoped.

-

-But not quite yet was the man ready for sleep. Reaching for his pack,

-with a lazy movement from where he lay, he unstrapped it and drew from

-among the coarse laces and horn buttons inside a flat bottle, which

-he uncorked and turned up to his lips. As the liquor gurgled down his

-throat and its strong odor tainted the air, Natale let his eyes fall to

-the uncomely garment lying within touch of his fingers.

-

-Then the boy’s heart leaped into his throat, and it seemed as if he

-would suffocate where he sat. He dared not move, and bravely he looked

-away from the thing which lay within such easy reach of his longing

-hands, half-in, half-out of the fellow’s old coat pocket.

-

-If only the peddling thief would go off into a drunken sleep!

-

-For there, close by, lay Giovanni’s old pocketbook of stamped Spanish

-leather, stained and battered, as Natale had always known it!

-

-Who could tell whether any money still remained in it? There was

-nothing to do but wait till the man should go to sleep, and then,

-stealthily drawing the pocketbook away from the overcoat, speed down

-the road to a safe distance and find out all about it.

-

-He had not long to wait before the peddler returned the bottle to

-the pack, and then, disposing himself on the ground, sank into an

-open-mouthed slumber.

-

-Only when quite sure that the sleep was real did Natale steal away on

-noiseless feet, prize in hand, across the shallow ditch bordering the

-road, and onward to the shelter of a ruined shed quite out of sight of

-their resting-place. Putting the shed between him and the road, Natale

-unstrapped the pocketbook with trembling eagerness.

-

-There lay the notes into which Giovanni had from time to time changed

-the cumbersome copper soldi of their earnings! There were the dingy

-blue five-franc notes, with many one and two-franc notes of a most

-uncompromising dirt color!

-

-The boy dared not take time to count them all. The fierce ogre asleep

-under the tree might rouse at any moment and find the pocketbook gone.

-Away, away, he must fly, on and on toward the Bagni di Lucca, even

-though evening was at hand, and a gray blanket of cloud threatened

-to hide the coming stars. So the little feet twinkled away through

-the dust, Natale’s heart now heavy with the dread of what was behind,

-now light with the joy of what might be ahead. As the warm dusk fell,

-it seemed safe to walk again, although every sound from behind made

-Natale’s heart seem to leap into his throat. Indeed, it seemed pretty

-much to stay in his throat, until, by and by, he came upon some one who

-was to give him most welcome news.

-

-He had traveled half a mile farther, and still it was not yet dark when

-he sighted a cluster of houses ahead and heard cheerful human voices.

-Coming up to the first house, he found a pretty, plump young mother on

-her doorstep, cuddling a nursling on her breast. From across the road

-and about the house came busy sounds of sheep and cows being housed for

-the night in their thatched pens, and nobody seemed at leisure except

-the laughing woman with the crowing baby in her arms.

-

-On plying the woman with his usual question, Natale learned that

-the end of his pilgrimage was indeed “just down the road a little

-distance”, although, on such short legs as his, the woman added

-thoughtfully, it might take two hours more of brisk walking to reach

-even the big circus tent, standing on the outskirts of the Bagni all

-the past week.

-

-Ah! and was the circus still there?

-

-Of that the woman could not speak certainly, as some passer-by had

-mentioned only the day before that but one or two more performances

-were to be given before the _circo_ moved on to Lucca. She herself had

-wished to go to see the wonderful Antonio Bisbini, also the little Olga

-who had no more fear of a great horse’s hoofs than she herself of her

-baby’s brown toes. But how was a woman to leave her house and the tired

-men folks, to tramp down the hill and up again at night, with a heavy

-baby in her arms? Was the little boy hoping to reach the tent in time

-for the night’s exhibition?

-

-Natale’s heart had thrilled at the mention of Antonio’s magic name,

-and his spine straightened and his head was lifted with the pride of

-conscious relationship with the hero of the circus. He gave but a

-thought now to Olga’s usurpation of his place in the ring. For was

-he not returning to his own again, with the stolen pocketbook in the

-breast of his blouse? What a welcome there would be for him now!

-

-“Well, good night, _bimbo_, if you will go, and may you enjoy seeing

-the riding in the tent!” the woman called to him, looking wistfully

-after the little figure plodding away, after a polite return of her

-farewell.

-

-Natale’s heart was carefree now, as he limped lamely onward to the tune

-of the “Dead March,” humming the air as he went.

-

-The road had been growing more level for some hours as it entered the

-valley, and the river flowed more still and deep. The hush of night

-gathered under the trees, and the birds and insects went to rest or

-noiselessly crept from their haunts about vine and root, intent upon

-the business of the hour.

-

-As signs of the famous Baths of Lucca began to appear at certain curves

-in the road, Natale became possessed of but one idea. Down the river he

-began to see the lights of the town, and he even thought he heard the

-notes of band music, which, in truth, were wafted to his ears from the

-terrace of the Casino. His head was full of plans of stealing into the

-tent, and for at least this last night at Bagni di Lucca, playing his

-own part in the dying-horse act. He would not take precious moments now

-for practicing a somersault or wheel, as he went along, but it was easy

-to rehearse the dialogue over the dying brute--if only his tired, tired

-legs could keep the road, and his aching eyes find the old yellow tent

-set up somewhere among the trees.

-

-Presently, the gleaming eyes of bicycles began to whiz by, and a

-squarely built, many-windowed villa or two rose flush with the road. A

-little farther now, and the tent would surely appear, with perhaps Cara

-in her red dress at the doorway, and the band playing outside in the

-light of the big lamp!

-

-Laughing stragglers now sauntered here and there, none noticing the

-child making his dizzy way among them toward a flare of light on one

-side where the trees fell apart. One would have hardly believed it

-possible that there was room for even the tent of the Circo Equestre of

-Antonio Bisbini and Giovanni Marzuchetti in the space between the long

-storehouse of corn and the terraced hillside behind. Yet, not only was

-the tent there, spread to its full circle and height, but the brown

-wagon also was visible, drawn within its shadow, and now the staring

-brown eyes of the little wanderer had found them both.

-

-Yes, there was the dear old tent, with its white patches upon the dull

-yellow, showing against the vine-clad hillsides of the Bagni. Also,

-there was the smoky lamp fastened to a post, where two ways met and

-parted. There was the usual crowd gathered outside about the entrance

-where Cara in her red dress and gauzy veil watched over the money bowl,

-in wait for some possible late-arriving spectator. The big reflecting

-lantern on the table showed the wistful features of the outsiders as

-they crowded about the tent.

-

-As Natale crept around the tent, he saw the bare, brown legs of some

-trespassing youngster following squirming head and shoulders inside,

-under the curtain by way of the ground. In former times, the little

-acrobat would have been the first to raise an alarm and assist with

-alacrity in the ignominious expulsion of the intruder who wanted to see

-the show, and yet keep his _soldi_ in his pocket, if such were there.

-But the sight of the enterprising offender made little impression on

-Natale’s mind now, as he stepped past the struggling legs, for, the

-hour being much later than he thought, the band inside just then struck

-up the familiar schottisch, and Natale knew that Il Duca was even

-now treading the ring in a dignified dance, led by Giovanni himself.

-His heart gave a suffocating throb, and his cheeks burned. Then he

-shivered with cold, and his weary legs faltered before the daring deed

-about to be perpetrated.

-

-There was plenty of time, even yet, and he would do it even if Giovanni

-should strike him to the ground with his cracking whip, which had never

-yet, however, been raised against him with more than threatening intent.

-

-He stopped to listen a moment longer to the music before entering. Yes,

-there it was, the schottisch, accompanied by the beat of the clever

-hoofs. Then, as he knew the moment was at hand for Il Duca to drop

-dying in the ring, Natale crept swiftly in among the players gathered

-as usual in the small tent behind. Olga was there and Arduina, in their

-fanciful costumes, and Elvira, his mother, waiting for their “cues.”

-

-

-

-

-CHAPTER XII

-

-AT LAST

-

-

-THE small, pale apparition of Natale, suddenly projected into their

-midst, so startled them all that even Olga forgot to listen for the

-thud of Il Duca’s heavy body on the ground and the sound of his groans.

-They stared open-mouthed for an instant, and then the apparition

-vanished as suddenly as it had appeared.

-

-But the strains of the “Dead March” now recalled little Olga to

-herself, and she darted from behind the curtain and out into the light

-of the oil lamp, only to hear a familiar boyish voice instead of her

-own answering shrilly Giovanni’s question, “What are you crying about,

-child?”

-

-“Because our horse is dead!”

-

-“But are you sure he is quite dead?” And Giovanni’s voice faltered with

-sudden fear, as he gazed at Natale’s small, dusty figure kneeling at

-the horse’s head, with Oh! such a world of pleading in his dark eyes

-and folded hands.

-

-“Quite dead!” wailed Natale.

-

-“Get up and feel his pulse, boy. If there is any pulse he is _not_

-dead!” Giovanni spoke fiercely, but there was no frown upon his face.

-

-And so the farce went on as usual, to the end, while Olga, with pouting

-lips, slipped behind the curtain again and joined the others who were,

-every one, peeping in to see little Natale do his beloved dying-horse

-act.

-

-The little girl had come to enjoy her bit of acting with Giovanni and

-Il Duca, for kneeling with folded hands and sobbing breath was a pretty

-attitude, always loudly applauded, and she no longer feared that Il

-Duca would lift his faithful hoof against her. But now, here was Natale

-back again, and his shrill little voice going over the silly replies

-to the clown in his own, old way. Well, it would be rather nice, after

-all, to have Natale again, and she would not fuss about it as there

-were so few things he could really do, while she was learning new feats

-already, and would soon be riding Tesoro bareback around the ring.

-

-A perfect storm of applause succeeded the end of the dialogue, when Il

-Duca scrambled to his feet, and the tent was filled with cries for a

-repetition of the scene. But Giovanni turned swiftly and lifted Natale

-to the horse’s back, only in time to prevent the child’s falling to the

-ground, as if stunned by the noise of the shouting. Out of the ring

-and through the smaller tent to the open air beyond Il Duca pranced

-proudly, with Giovanni at his bridle, holding Natale in his place with

-his free hand.

-

-Outside, they laid the child down on the warm ground in the dim light,

-and Arduina brought a cupful of water and bathed his face, while Olga

-stood by, and Antonio and Elvira went back to help Giovanni with his

-table-leaping inside.

-

-“He is not dead, is he, Arduina?” Olga asked in a frightened voice.

-“Feel his pulse as we do Il Duca’s!”

-

-“Hurry and call Nonna!” the older girl urged nervously. “We shall have

-to go in, the very next thing after this, and Nonna will know what to

-do.”

-

-So when Natale next opened his eyes, the light of a sputtering candle

-showed him the gray head of dear Nonna bent over him. He lay on a small

-mattress in a corner, and the smoke-stained ceiling of the house-wagon

-shut out the sky.

-

-“_Ecco!_ he opens his eyes, my _bimbo_! my Natalino! _Carino_,[10] what

-does it all mean? Tell Nonna how you have come back to the _circo_!”

-

-[Footnote 10: Darling.]

-

-But at first Natale only lifted one hand to stroke the dear, wrinkled

-face of Nonna, in smiling content. After a little, he laid his hand on

-the breast of his blouse and begged to be allowed to go to Giovanni.

-

-“He will not scold me for coming back when he sees what I have brought

-with me,” he urged.

-

-But Nonna reminded him that the tent was still crowded with

-spectators,--did he not hear the music close by, and the laughter

-of the people, as the clown and Antonio and Arduina did the funny

-pantomime?

-

-Natale lay back listening, with a happy smile on his lips, while Nonna

-went to blow up the coals of a small fire on the ground outside, and

-to hurry the broth that Natale might have nourishment. She could not

-prevail upon the boy to confide to her what he was so anxious to tell

-his stepfather, and she left him alone, too glad to have him returned

-to them, to grumble over his reticence.

-

-Of all the children, Natale most sweetly recalled her own son’s

-childhood, and Antonio’s boyish affection for her, his cheeriness and

-obedience, had seemed to live again in Natale, although he was Elvira’s

-son, and no grandson, at all, of her own.

-

-The little ones, Tito, Maria, Gigi and the rest, were asleep in their

-corners, and Nonna had been sitting at rest in the wagon door when

-Olga had rushed up with the news that Natale had arrived and lay

-dying, perhaps, on the ground outside the tent. It was Nonna’s strong

-arms that had borne him away to the house-wagon, and Nonna’s vigorous

-rubbings and applications of cold water that had brought him out of

-the half-swoon of exhaustion. So Nonna was content with her work, and

-would not press Natalino’s secret from him.

-

-By the time the performance was over, and the merry-makers had streamed

-out whistling, chatting and laughing together, and had gone their ways

-homeward, Natale, fed and rested, was sitting up bright-eyed and eager

-to announce his news.

-

-It was stuffy and hot in the wagon, and Giovanni went to fetch the

-boy outside, the moment the tent had emptied and the players were at

-leisure. Olga had not even taken time to change the yellow satin blouse

-and pink tights for her usual faded cotton frock. As for Antonio, he

-had only slipped his feet into a pair of loose slippers, so the great

-acrobat stood before Natale in all the glory of his spangled black

-velvet and shapely, pink-clad limbs.

-

-As the night was dark, one of the lamps was brought from the tent, and

-a wild, gypsy-like scene its rays revealed under the trees about the

-steps of the house-wagon. Elvira, in an access of motherly tenderness,

-gathered Natale to her red satin bosom, and called him by all the

-musical pet names belonging to the boys and girls of Italy, while

-the musicians peeped over the shoulders of the actors and wondered

-how little Natale had ever found his way on foot all the way from

-Cutigliano to the Bagni.

-

-“The tramping will have limbered up his legs!” one whispered to another.

-

-“Stiffened them, rather!” was the reply, and then everybody stopped

-talking and only gazed the harder as Natale put his hand within the

-breast of his blouse and drew out the old leather pocketbook.

-

-“There, Giovanni!” he said simply, reaching the book toward his

-stepfather. “The ugly, black peddler with the red cap like our Leo’s

-stole the money, and while he slept on his back, by the road, I stole

-it from him, and then--Oh, how fast I ran and ran that he might not

-catch me and kill me with his long, sharp knife!”

-

-Giovanni, speechless with astonishment and joy, solemnly received and

-kissed and opened the pocketbook, and then spread out the notes, one by

-one, on his knee, while the rest crowded around, counting them aloud.

-

-What if all should not be there? Natale’s eyes shone feverishly as he

-leaned forward from his mother’s knee, his gaze alternately upon the

-clown’s face, and the long, lithe fingers handling the money.

-

-Five, ten, fifteen, twenty, twenty-five, thirty, thirty-five,

-forty, forty-five, fifty, fifty-five, sixty, sixty-five, seventy,

-seventy-five, eighty, eighty-two, eighty-four, eighty-six,

-eighty-eight, ninety, ninety-one, ninety-two, ninety-three,

-ninety-four, ninety-five, ninety-six, ninety-seven, ninety-eight,

-ninety-nine, _one hundred_!

-

-Natale’s head dropped back against the red satin shoulder of his

-mother, and his large eyes gazed wistfully into Giovanni’s face.

-

-Would they let him stay now that he had come all the weary way “after

-the wagon”, bringing them the lost money? Their welcome had been

-encouraging; would they let him remain, or must he be sent back to

-Cutigliano, to the priest, to Sora Grazia, to school, to imprisonment

-in a house without wheels, and without Nonna?

-

-It was Antonio Bisbini who brought up the question finally and in a

-manner settled it with his slow-spoken words. Everybody had wondered

-and rejoiced over the safe return of the pocketbook, with the money

-untouched, and Natale had had to tell all about the peddler, and the

-risks he had run of rousing the fellow from sleep in making his escape

-with the pocketbook.

-

-“He was the man who teased me to buy the beautiful diamond brooch on

-the day of San Lorenzo!” cried pretty Arduina, who well remembered

-the peddler’s flattering attentions to her in his hope of finding a

-purchaser for his paltry glass jewelry.

-

-“And the same who so frightened our Tito outside the church,” Nonna

-chimed in indignantly. “And he all the time pretended to be so pious

-and anxious to see the saints’ relics in the church! No wonder Tito

-cried at the snapping of those dirty, thievish fingers in his little

-face. The saints only know how he found the money in Giovanni’s

-coat-pocket hung in the tent!”

-

-“Mamá _mia_, do you remember how stiff my legs were when I played at

-leaping with the boys at school in Florence?” Antonio, the finished

-acrobat, asked thoughtfully, breaking a long straw with his fingers and

-looking at nobody. His blond head reached almost to the lowest boughs

-of the chestnut tree under which he stood, and the lamplight flared

-over his fair face and glittering costume.

-

-Natale sat up to hear the words of this oracle, and even slipped off

-the satin lap of Elvira to the ground, in order to be nearer Antonio.

-

-“I remember that you were a studious boy,” Nonna murmured in reply,

-with a note of the old bitterness in her voice.

-

-“Natale has done a good work in returning the money to us, Giovanni,”

-the acrobat continued. “Why send him back to the foreigners? He was

-unhappy, or he would never have come all this distance alone--mere baby

-that he is.”

-

-“And the Englishwoman’s money?” Giovanni asked in a businesslike tone.

-

-“What has been used, replace from the pocketbook. It is not much, as we

-have taken in so good a sum, here at the Bagni. Leo can ride back with

-it to Cutigliano to-morrow morning, and return in time for our last

-night here.”

-

-“_Ebbene!_” said Giovanni, and this meaning “All right, with a very

-good will,” so it was decided, and then everybody hurried to get into

-comfortable old clothes and to eat supper.

-

-Leo was sent to the nearest wine shop for a bottle of good red wine

-that the troop might drink to the joy of Natale’s return and the

-recovery of the money; also to the just discomfiture of all thieving

-peddlers.

-

-Long before the evening came to an end, a tired but most happy little

-boy had crept into the shadow and fallen asleep, with his head pillowed

-against Nonna’s knee.

-

-“I am glad thou art come back to us, Natalino,” she whispered in the

-softest Italian above the tangled brown curls, while the rest sang and

-made merry, “and if thy little legs will only grow as straight and as

-strong as my Antonio’s, and thy heart remain as faithful to old Nonna,

-the saints forgive me if I care very much whether thou be acrobat or

-priest!”

-

-       *       *       *       *       *

-

-For some reason known best to himself, but readily guessed by the clown

-and the rest of the older members of the circus, the swarthy peddler

-was not seen in Bagni di Lucca for many a day after. But Natale did

-not lose his dread of encountering the fierce eyes and the cruel knife

-until long after the circus troop had taken to the road again.

-

-Nothing in the world could have induced Mrs. Bishop, the English lady

-at Cutigliano, to touch the money returned with, what was to her, most

-astonishing promptness and honesty through Leo, one of the musicians.

-

-In the first place, the notes were very dirty, much more so, she was

-sure, than when she had paid them to the clown a little more than a

-week before. Secondly, she would not reclaim money which had been once

-devoted to the cause of civilization and of education. If the “little

-ingrate” despised his opportunities and had finally returned to his

-“wallowing in the mire”, let the money which would have bought him

-for decency and for usefulness go with him. Thirdly--but this was not

-acknowledged even to Betty--the old lady’s heart had been touched by

-the tale Luigi the priest had come to tell her on the morning after

-the flight of the birdling. So her heart was not quite so hard as

-her words sounded, and she was in truth rather rejoiced, as well as

-very much relieved in mind, when Leo had arrived to tell of runaway

-Natale’s return to the troop in safety. Therefore, generously, Mrs.

-Bishop would not receive the money because it seemed to her no longer

-her own; surely Giovanni and Elvira and Nonna had kept their part of

-the bargain in giving up the child, while Natale had not even been

-consulted in their plan.

-

-The roll of notes was therefore returned by Leo to Giovanni, with the

-foreign lady’s instructions that the money was to be spent in providing

-meat for broth for the children so long as it should last. There would

-still be plenty of cold water always, free as air, for daily baths

-along the roads of Italy, and Mrs. Bishop hoped that Sora Grazia’s

-ministrations in that line would not soon be forgotten by Natale, who

-for one short week had been a scrubbed little lad. (It is safe to say

-that they were not!)

-

-Along with the money, Mrs. Bishop sent a school primer to Natale,

-with the admonition that he would at least try to learn to read

-while jogging up and down the earth and upsetting his stomach in all

-heathenish sports.

-

-But Madame Cioche and Betty rejoiced in open triumph over Natale’s

-freedom, to say nothing of the priest Luigi and the wise old gentleman

-who had in fact unwittingly opened the cage door for flight.

-

-Sora Grazia was a trifle glum for a day or two at finding her pains

-thrown away upon the sulky little protégé of the foreign lady, but as

-the month’s pay for his board and lodging had been in advance, and the

-nearly new clothes and shoes and cap were now thrown into the bargain

-by Mrs. Bishop, to repay her for her extra trouble, she too soon became

-content and even pleased with the ending of the rich lady’s scheme.

-

-So the bare front wall of the priest’s house in Cutigliano among the

-mountains has, as yet, no prospect of being adorned by a memorial

-tablet to a waif of all outdoors who was willing to be a great man in

-books and goodness.

-

-And Natale?

-

-Well, Natale is learning, better and better, how to turn his

-_capitomboli_ over the dusty circus carpet, and he still feels Il

-Duca’s pulse with sorrowful apprehension to the tune of the “Dead March

-in Saul”--by night among the oil lamps.

-

-By day, he trudges along hot white roads, under the marvelous blue of

-Italy’s sky, with Niero and Bianco for company. Or, he lies on the

-ground at Nonna’s side under some spreading tree in the camping-out

-times, sometimes spelling out words in a dog-eared primer, oftener

-gazing past the tree tops at the cloud-ships sailing overhead, while

-Nonna tells of Antonio’s wonderful childhood.

-

-By and by, when Natale grows too large to do the dying-horse act, and

-little Tito, or Gigi takes his place, he will be dashing with the

-horses around the ring. And then, in the still further and sweeter by

-and by, when Antonio’s agile legs will perhaps have begun to stiffen

-again, and the straight back to bend forward a little as he walks, who

-but Natale will be the shining star of the Circo Equestre, like another

-bespangled, pink-clad Antonio, with crisp brown curls and laughing

-eyes, and the nimblest, straightest legs in all Italy?

-

-

-

-

-_The story of a little patriotic Cuban girl_

-

-  LITTLE CUBA LIBRE

-

-_By_ JANIE PRICHARD DUGGAN

-

-Illustrated. 282 pages. 12mo. $1.35 _net._

-

-In all the big city of Havana there was no more patriotic little girl

-than Amada Trueno, daughter of one of the city gardeners. With all her

-heart she hated the Spaniards who ruled her beloved island of Cuba.

-“Little Cuba Libre” they called her when she stamped her foot and

-called the Spaniards enemies and tyrants. When she went to her cousin’s

-house in the country, although she played on friendly terms with the

-children of a Spanish planter, still her hatred of the oppressors

-slumbered. How the Cubans finally revolted, and how little Amada

-herself took part in that revolution, even to the extent of bearing

-arms, is told in this charming story. “Little Cuba Libre” contains

-faithful pictures of Cuban life and Cuban people, and while written

-especially for young readers, its fine qualities should also appeal to

-older ones. Besides being an interesting story of Cuban girlhood it is

-a depiction of the very spirit of patriotism.

-

-

-LITTLE, BROWN & CO., PUBLISHERS

-

-34 BEACON STREET, BOSTON

-

-

-

-

-_Real stories of three famous elephants_

-

-  THE ADVENTURES OF

-  MOLLIE, WADDY and TONY

-

-_By_ PAUL WAITT

-

-Illustrated in color by Clara E. Atwood.

-

-75 cents net.

-

-Mollie, Waddy and Tony are three of the most wonderful elephants in the

-world. Born in India, they have traveled all over Europe and our own

-America, showing their clever tricks to thousands of boys and girls.

-They were bought by the children of Boston and are now kept in the

-Franklin Park Zoo, where they will remain the rest of their lives.

-

-Mr. Waitt writes of their adventures when they were traveling, and

-tells of some tricks they played which their keeper never taught them.

-Little Tony is the roguish one, and he is always getting into mischief.

-That clever little trunk of his pokes into all sorts of places where it

-doesn’t belong, and sometimes it takes Mollie, Waddy and Johann, the

-keeper, to make him behave as a proper little elephant should.

-

- “This is the most bewitching elephant story we ever read. It is

- the story of their travels through many countries. It is as good a

- story for boys and girls as any boys and girls will ever want to

- read.”--_Journal of Education_, Boston.

-

- “The story of ‘The Adventure of Mollie, Waddy, and Tony’ is one of

- the nicest that little people who like animals can read.”--_New York

- Times._

-

-

-LITTLE, BROWN & CO., PUBLISHERS

-

-34 BEACON STREET, BOSTON

-

-

-

-

-TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:

-

-On page 4, Tesore has been changed to Tesoro.

-

-On page 71, up-stairs has been changed to upstairs.

-

-Illustrations have been moved to avoid interrupting the flow of

-paragraphs.

-

-In text edition of this e-book, footnotes have been moved to

-immediately below the paragraph where they occurred.

-

-All other spelling, hyphenation, and non-English dialogue have been

-retained.

-

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+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 69064 ***
+
+THE LITTLE ACROBAT
+
+[Illustration: The pale apparition of Natale startled them all.
+_Frontispiece._
+
+_See page 167._]
+
+
+
+
+  THE
+
+  LITTLE ACROBAT
+
+  A STORY OF ITALY
+
+
+  BY
+
+  JANIE PRICHARD DUGGAN
+
+
+  _WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY_
+
+  NANA FRENCH BICKFORD
+
+  BOSTON
+
+  LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY
+  1919
+
+
+
+
+  _Copyright, 1919_,
+
+  BY LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY.
+
+  _All rights reserved_
+
+  Published, September, 1919
+
+  Norwood Press
+  Set up and electrotyped by J. S. Cushing Co., Norwood, Mass., U.S.A.
+  Presswork by S. J. Parkhill & Co., Boston, Mass., U.S.A.
+
+
+
+
+  DEDICATED
+  TO MEMORIES OF
+  TWO LITTLE “ANGELICALS” OF ROME
+  SPOTTISWOODE AND SUSIE
+  BY
+  “CUDDIE”
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+
+  CHAPTER                               PAGE
+
+     I ALONG THE WHITE ROAD                1
+
+    II NONNA                              12
+
+   III IN THE RING                        26
+
+    IV THE FESTIVAL OF SAN LORENZO        39
+
+     V A GIFT FOR THE CIRCUS              55
+
+    VI SEPARATION                         73
+
+   VII THE CAGED BIRD OF THE FIELDS       91
+
+  VIII THE CAGE DOOR OPENED              105
+
+    IX THE FLIGHT OF THE BIRD            121
+
+     X ON THE WING                       133
+
+    XI FLUTTERING A LITTLE FARTHER       150
+
+   XII AT LAST                           167
+
+
+
+
+LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
+
+
+  The pale apparition of Natale startled
+  them all               _Frontispiece_
+
+  Mrs. Bishop looked down upon the tent
+  from the garden terrace       PAGE 45
+
+  The priest led Natale to the other end of
+  the house                     “    94
+
+  “_Capitomboli_, such as the boy who was
+  here just now made in the circus at
+  Cutigliano”                   “   142
+
+
+
+
+THE LITTLE ACROBAT
+
+_A STORY OF ITALY_
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I
+
+ALONG THE WHITE ROAD
+
+
+THE July sunshine lay hot and golden over the fields of wheat on the
+Italian hillsides, and the deep shade of the chestnut woods along the
+road was more inviting than the white glare beyond. The sun stood
+directly overhead, and along the middle of that white, dusty road there
+was not an inch of shadow.
+
+A small brown house on wheels crept slowly along this sunny way,
+drawn by a queer, ill-matched team of three--a plump white horse with
+long, silky mane and tail, a large spotted horse with fierce eyes and
+nostrils, and a lean, little brown pony, with strangely twisted neck.
+
+Up and up, always a little higher up, the horses toiled with the
+house-wagon, as the road rose into the mountains. From the interior
+of the wagon came the sound of voices, mingled now and then with a
+complaining note, or an exclamation of pain. The travelers were very
+tired, and poor Pietro’s fever was rising with every turn of the wheels.
+
+Several men and a sturdy girl of fifteen walked beside the horses in
+the powdery white dust. Behind the big wagon lagged a boy of eight or
+nine years. This was Natale,[1] a slight little fellow, with dusty lean
+legs and dragging feet. His light brown hair curled damply about his
+sun-browned forehead, and he wore an old, misshapen hat set far back on
+his pretty head. His loosely fitting clothes were dingy with dust but
+Natale did not mind, for, presently, they would come to Cutigliano,
+the old, old town on the mountain side, and there they would camp out
+on the soft, green grass. And Natale knew from much experience that
+nothing could clean the dust from travel-stained clothes so well as
+rolling down the grassy slopes of the chestnut woods, with Niero and
+Bianco as companions.
+
+[Footnote 1: Pronounced Nah-tah´le.]
+
+Of course the sun was hot; was it not always hot at noon of a summer’s
+day in the Apennines? But Niero did not complain, and why should Natale?
+
+Bianco had tired of trotting along at Natale’s side, and at the last
+stopping-place, when Pietro had had a drink of water from the wayside
+fountain, the tired little black dog had begged to be allowed to ride,
+and had been willingly taken inside the wagon.
+
+Natale never asked to ride in the wagon, unless he were very tired and
+sleepy. They were rather crowded in there even without him, for Pietro
+took up a great deal of room, now that he had to lie down all the time.
+Besides, the other children, good travelers as they usually were,
+sometimes grew quarrelsome and made the mothers and the grandmother
+angry. Natale did not like quarreling and loud voices, so he always
+preferred his resting times to be given him on the back of one of the
+horses. But now Tesoro and Il Duca were tired also, and they were so
+near Cutigliano, it did not matter if Natale did lag behind a little,
+always with big Niero for company.
+
+Niero was a large, lean, white dog with a closely sheared body. About
+his neck, however, he wore a fluffy collar of long white hair, and
+bracelets of the same adorned his four paws, while his long tail ended
+in a tuft, having very much the appearance of a dishmop. Why this
+white dog should have been named Niero, meaning black, the clown who
+had also named the little black dog Bianco, white, could have best
+explained.
+
+By and by, long after the gray church tower had come in sight and the
+red-tiled roofs of the town showed bunched together against the green
+of the wooded hillside, the travelers reached the arched stone bridge
+across the river at the foot of the mountain. Here the wagon made a
+halt before beginning the last steep climb to the town. Above, they
+could see the stone wall which was the boundary of the road winding by
+loops, one above the other, up the mountain side, but the town had now
+disappeared from view, so sheer was the rise of the chestnut woods.
+
+This halt gave Natale time to come up with the wagon, and then he sat
+down with a tired sigh on a heap of mending-stones by the roadside, in
+front of the wagon door. His legs ached with weariness, but this was
+no time to think of riding, as even the women and all the children but
+Pietro must alight now, to relieve the horses in the last pull up hill.
+Natale watched them descend from the wagon one by one, by the steps one
+of the musicians placed at the door.
+
+First came Nonna, the grandmother of Rudolfo and Tito and the five
+other children of the blond acrobat, Antonio Bisbini. She was not
+Natale’s Nonna, of course, yet everybody called her Nonna, and why
+should not he, who had no grandmother of his own?
+
+Nonna carried Tito in her arms and led Rudolfo by the hand. Then
+came Tito’s mother, the three-months’-old infant, Gigi, in her arms,
+followed by Olga, who held little Maria by the hand. Next, Natale’s own
+mamá stepped down, glad to stretch her active limbs by walking, after
+nursing Pietro for so many tedious hours. Then the rest of Bisbini’s
+children scrambled out, aided by the music-man’s helping hands.
+
+On they went again then, the clown, who was Natale’s stepfather,
+walking at the horses’ heads, and cracking his long whip, and
+chirruping to them while the other men strode behind the wagon, pushing
+upon it with all their might at the steep places in the road.
+
+The women and children, meanwhile, left the road to climb the short
+cuts upward, leading directly from terrace to terrace,--mere paths
+paved with rough stones, here and there loosened and displaced by
+rushing rain-torrents of the past. The little ones bore the heat and
+the roughness of the way without murmuring, being allowed to straggle
+along as they pleased, now stopping to gather a red poppy from the
+edge of the wheat, now dropping on the ground to search for a briar
+afflicting some tired foot. Natale was not the last in the procession
+now, for he was anxious to get to the top and see what the tall wheat
+and the green slopes were hiding from his eyes.
+
+At last they reached the wide turn in the road where the wagon must
+finally stop, at the edge of the town field. The wagon also came
+toiling upward, and now the good horses might rest. So these were
+unhitched from the wagon, and while one or two of the men led them
+up the steep, paved street into the village to find food and shelter
+for them, the others attended to the house-wagon, drawn close against
+the low stone wall inclosing the field, placing great stones against
+the wheels to steady it in its place. Now was Natale’s hour and the
+dogs’, and they understood this as well as he! Over the low wall they
+scampered and down on the soft, hot grass they lay, rolling over and
+over down the gentle slope of the field until, suddenly, Natale found
+himself landing directly upon his feet, with a whirring in his head,
+and the sound of distressed barking in his ears.
+
+The dogs had had the wit to stop on the very edge of a sharp descent
+which Natale had not noticed, and now they stood on the bank,
+half-a-dozen feet above him, their forefeet firmly planted on the brink
+of the grassy precipice, and their tufty tails high in the air, begging
+with all their might to know whether their dear little comrade were
+hurt. Natale was not hurt, but the jar of the descent gave him a queer
+feeling under the waistband of his trousers, and he sat down directly
+where he stood, on the lower terrace, turning his back upon the dogs.
+
+A fringe of bushes threw a narrow band of shade about him from above,
+and he made up his mind to stay there till something should be made
+ready for dinner. He hoped he would not be wanted to fetch anything
+from the village,--he was always fetching something for somebody. He
+had heard his mother calling to her husband to bring a little meal for
+the polenta,[2] when he should finish stabling the horses, and he knew
+there was wine left in the flask in the wagon.
+
+[Footnote 2: Mush of corn meal.]
+
+From where Natale sat he could look directly down upon the roof of a
+house far down by the stone bridge and could faintly hear the rushing
+of the little river Lima over the rocks. Presently he eased himself
+out on the grass at full length, with his arms crossed beneath his
+head. As he dropped off to sleep, he was thinking how well it was that
+there could be no performance in the tent that evening. He was sure
+that Arduina would laugh more than ever at his stiff little feats on
+the circus carpet if he should have to turn somersaults after the long
+tramp.
+
+Then Natale slept, with the great green mountains closing around him,
+and Bianco the black dog and Niero the white keeping watch above his
+head from where they had stretched themselves on the edge of the
+terrace in the sun.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II
+
+NONNA
+
+
+NATALE, as will have been discovered by this time, was an Italian
+circus boy, a cheerful, happy little soul, who loved his “profession”,
+and whose ambition reached to the giddy height of some day rivaling
+even Antonio Bisbini in his wonderful trapeze performances. He loved
+everything connected with the life he led,--the long slow journeyings
+through his beautiful Italy, the camping out at night along the quiet
+roads, the open-air loungings in some village through the sunny days,
+until the evening should come and the oil lamps be lighted in the tent,
+and the people come crowding in to see Arduina dance the tight rope,
+and little Olga do her wonderful turns and twists on the carpet, and
+to applaud Antonio and the clown and the horses, and--yes, and himself
+too, little Natale, stiff as his short thin legs always were and
+hopeless, as Arduina declared, in his bows and scrapes.
+
+Besides the three musicians, there were two families in the strolling
+company. Giovanni Marzuchetti was the clown, also the stepfather of
+Paulo, Arduina, Pietro, Natale and little Maria, and husband of Elvira,
+the black-haired mother of the five children. This man had no children
+of his own but was kind in his rough, clownish way to Natale and the
+rest.
+
+It is not difficult to understand why Giovanni should have married
+Elvira and her family, when it was known that the woman brought to her
+husband a small fortune in the shape of her own wonderful skill as
+a rider of horses, and the little ones as possible acrobats of the
+future. They had been married for two years now, and if Giovanni had
+counted largely upon his ready-made family for speedy reënforcements
+in the “ring”, he must have become a little discouraged even by this
+time. It is true that Paulo and Arduina were well trained in the art of
+circus acting; but poor Pietro, the middle-sized one, who was twelve
+years old, was always ailing and feeble. Sleeping out of doors in the
+marshy regions had developed in his system a chronic fever which could
+not be thrown off, even with the aid of Nonna’s assiduous doctoring,
+and lately the weakness had settled in one leg and foot, threatening
+permanent lameness.
+
+Natale, who came next, was agile enough when running about on his slim
+brown legs, but his funny stiff-legged somersaults and awkward antics
+in the ring were matters of jesting among the whole troop. Poor little
+Natale, who did so wish to be like Antonio Bisbini!
+
+Lastly there was Maria, who was a mere baby and as yet only just
+learning to stand upright on her stepfather’s head.
+
+But Antonio Bisbini, the father of the other family, was the star of
+the little troop of strolling players. Tall and lean and muscular, he
+stood six feet two in his sandals. His blond hair and skin and strong,
+clear-cut features gave him the look of some stern young Viking from
+the cold forests of the North, yet this youthful-looking, ruddy athlete
+was already the father of seven young children.
+
+No one in the company, not even the clown, could hold a candle to
+Antonio in looks or in graceful skill. Natale was sure that the noblest
+and most beautiful figure in all Italy was that of Antonio Bisbini
+as he would step forth from behind the tent-curtain, ready to thrill
+the spectators about the ring. The flesh-colored tights clothing his
+limbs showed to perfection their symmetry and grace, relieved by the
+brilliantly spangled hip garment of black velvet and fringe, while the
+proud glance of his gray eyes and the light tread of his feet never
+failed to impress the beholder.
+
+Antonio’s oldest, little red-haired Olga, tumbled and danced with all
+a healthy child’s love of activity and applause, and Oh! how Natale
+envied her the perfect “wheels” she turned, one after the other with
+dizzying swiftness across the dusty strip of carpet in the ring. But
+the rest of Antonio’s seven were as yet too small to be useful as
+tumblers or dancers, and Nonna’s hands were always full, while their
+mother did her daring dances in the air.
+
+The three musicians, then, and Nonna completed this strolling band of
+twenty, with the two horses, the dogs and the twisted-necked pony. Poor
+Caffero had grievously hurt his pretty neck one day when very young,
+while tied in his stall and leaping to reach his food from a manger
+set cruelly high. Since then he had trotted painfully through three
+years of going up and down the earth, with his brown head and long neck
+twisted far around to one side without the power of righting them.
+Caffero would have made a pretty part of the show had not this accident
+befallen him. As it was, he was good for little but helping to guide
+the house-wagon along the weary roads. Yet every one loved Caffero.
+
+On the day of the arrival at Cutigliano the two horses Tesoro and Il
+Duca were left in their stalls in the village stables during the whole
+afternoon, while Caffero was brought down the steep village street
+and allowed to graze in the public field. Nonna herself had gone up
+for him with Tito in her arms, after the midday meal of polenta, or
+thick mush of yellow meal, had been eaten. As the trio passed through
+the narrow street of the village, many heads turned to wonder at the
+strangers--the gray-haired woman, the bright-eyed child in her arms,
+and poor Caffero, who always seemed pulling against the leading rope
+and trying to twist his head after something left behind.
+
+It was while Nonna, a little later, was tying Caffero’s rope to a
+tree in the field that she spied the two dogs asleep in the sun near
+the edge of the terrace. As Tito recognized them at the same time,
+and called them in his baby voice, the grandmother added her summons,
+and was rather astonished at their failure to obey. They bounded to
+their feet, it is true, but instead of scampering to meet her, they
+stood still, quivering with nervous excitement and waving their tails
+in much perplexity. Then as Tito began to fret and belabor the air
+with his fists, Nonna started swiftly toward the dogs with something
+threatening in her gait.
+
+But where were they, those lazy brutes, which a moment before had
+defied her and then had promptly disappeared? A few more hasty steps
+brought Nonna near enough to the edge of the descent to see both Niero
+and Bianco crouching over Natale on the lower terrace. The boy had been
+awakened by the sudden onset of his faithful friends, and lay looking
+lazily upward as Nonna and Tito peered over at him.
+
+“Natalino!” the old woman exclaimed, and, at the word, Natale scrambled
+to his feet.
+
+“I am ready! Where am I to go?” he asked hurriedly, preparing to creep
+up the bank. But Nonna only laughed and reached down a helping hand to
+the child, as he clutched at the long grass for support.
+
+“Come and eat your polenta,” she said, when Natale stood at her side,
+the dogs panting close by. “I suppose they have saved you a bite. Why
+did you run away? Though, as for that, you were not missed in all this
+hurly-burly of arriving. Now, Niero, stand on your hind legs and beg.
+See, Tito is fretting for you to do it--”
+
+“But we haven’t a bone or a crust of bread for him, Nonna,” Natale
+pleaded. “See how sadly his eyes look at you. Giovanni always gives him
+a bone.”
+
+“There! take to your legs then, poor thing!” Nonna cried in a friendly
+way to the hungry dog. “Perhaps to-morrow there will be a bone. Who
+knows?”
+
+Natale ran off toward the wagon, followed by the patient animals, who
+perhaps were well assured that he was going to share with them his own
+scanty heap of polenta.
+
+The brown house on wheels leaned slightly inward against the stone wall
+for security, as the hill’s incline was steep at this point. The door
+opened directly upon the top of the wall, which formed a broad and
+convenient doorstep, reached from the ground by a short ladder. About
+the wagon and in the field close by everybody was busy.
+
+The great canvas of the tent had been unpacked from the top of the
+wagon, and the two women sat on the ground patching the holes and
+thin places worn in it by long use. Some of the men were making trips
+back and forth from wagon and field, carrying sections of board for
+inclosing the ring. These were to be set up in their places by and by,
+when Antonio should have finished marking off the circle on the grass,
+with the hole in the center for the tent pole. There was nothing, as
+yet, for the children to do but loll in the shadow of the wagon, asleep
+or awake, and chatter among themselves.
+
+As Natale and the dogs drew near, Elvira, the boy’s mother, looked up
+from her stitching and clapped her hand to her forehead on seeing them.
+
+“Natale! I had forgotten the child. Little pest, where have you been,
+away from us all, and your dinner? One would think you had friends in
+the town and had been taking your polenta in grander houses than ours
+here.”
+
+Natale replied to these mocking words with only a rather naughty shrug
+of the shoulders, and went to sit down on the lowest step of the short
+ladder against the wall.
+
+“Give him his polenta, Arduina,” Nonna called shrilly from a little way
+behind. “He was asleep, Elvira, all tired out with walking to-day as
+much as any man among us. I keep my eyes open. Don’t scold the boy.”
+
+“One would think my Natale your own grandson, Nonna,” Elvira replied,
+laughing good-naturedly.
+
+“All boys are as her own sons or grandsons,” Nonna’s daughter-in-law
+interposed carelessly, as the old woman passed on with Tito, perhaps to
+see that Arduina gave Natale his proper share of mush.
+
+In Nonna’s big warm heart there was indeed room for the sons and
+grandsons of those who were too sparing of motherly love and care for
+their own. The gray-haired woman had long ago accepted this wandering
+life for the sake of continuing near to her only son, Antonio, the
+acrobat, and Antonio’s children. When her boy at the age of twenty-two
+had given up everything that his mother thought of worth in the
+world--home, a decent, quiet life in it, books, school, a career as a
+priest--in order to marry Cara, a rosy, lithe-limbed rope-dancer out of
+Egypt, he had found that his mother was not going to be given up along
+with these. By and by, when the babies began to come every year or two,
+Nonna came to be appreciated even by the fantastic daughter-in-law
+given her by Antonio, while in the hearts of all the little ones Nonna
+was--well, Nonna,--and therefore everything good and patient and sweet.
+
+It was Nonna who cared for the ailing Pietro, who rubbed Natale’s stiff
+ankles and elbows with an ointment of her own invention to limber
+them up, who thought to tuck Olga’s long red hair out of the way when
+practice time came and the curling locks would have teased the little
+face and shoulders turned upside down and hindside before. It was Nonna
+who nursed the babies and put them to bed while the mothers rode the
+horses in the tent, and Nonna who led the poor pony about to “fresh
+fields and pastures new”, and Nonna who instructed giddy-brained
+Arduina in the simple mysteries of concocting savory stews out of next
+to nothing, and how to make corn meal for ten do service as polenta for
+twice as many. The little troop could not have done without Nonna, no,
+indeed!
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III
+
+IN THE RING
+
+
+IT took all of that first day and most of the next to get everything
+into shape for an exhibition on the second night after the arrival of
+the circus troop at Cutigliano.
+
+The turf had been removed from the ring, or round space inclosed by the
+low panels of wood, and the tent pole erected, by the time the canvas
+was mended and the side curtains were ready to be hung.
+
+The sun was just about to slip over the mountain rim in the west when
+everything was done, and it only remained to draw the stout ropes and
+hoist the canvas into position. Natale was generally on hand when this
+was done, listening for the creaking of the pulley at the top of the
+pole, as the dull yellow canvas slowly rose into position, till, all
+at once, it spread like a queer, pointed mushroom over the green grass
+of the field.
+
+It was a fortunate thing that there was no wind that first evening,
+for if there had been even a stiff breeze there would have been no
+performance. A very little wind caught under the canvas spread on that
+exposed hillside before it was securely roped into place might have
+carried it all away to be stranded in the tops of the chestnut trees
+below, and a new canvas for such a _circo_ as that would have cost
+certainly three hundred francs.
+
+When at last the tent was raised, Giovanni hung above the entrance a
+broad strip of blue canvas with clowns’ and horses’ heads painted upon
+it, and the sign in large letters: “Circo Equestre”, which is Italian
+for “Circus with Horses.”
+
+Lastly, figured curtains of pale green calico were hung around the
+little vestibule, so that outsiders who had not paid the entrance fee
+might not peep inside and see what was going on, without payment.
+
+Now all was ready, and it was still early, although almost dark in the
+field. Among the mountains, where one lives perhaps at the foot or even
+half-way up the slopes, night falls early, because the sinking sun is
+hidden from sight over the mountain tops long before it really drops
+into the sea behind them.
+
+Yet it was not quite time to light the lamps inside the tent, as the
+performance was not to begin until half-past eight o’clock. Cutigliano
+was full of Italians, and a few English and Americans who had left
+the hot cities behind, with their churches and picture galleries and
+ruins, and had come to the pleasant hotels of the ancient mountain town
+to enjoy the fine air and the beautiful chestnut woods during the hot
+summer months. These visitors would not be through with their dinners
+at the hotels before eight o’clock, while the servants and plain
+village folk would find a late hour convenient for coming down the hill
+to the yellow tent.
+
+At seven o’clock, however, the three men, with the big brass horn, the
+cornet and the drum, climbed the stony street into the town and made
+lively music in the little stone-paved _piazzas_, or open squares,
+where the children played in the sunset light.
+
+By this time everybody in Cutigliano had learned what had been going
+on down in the field for the past two days, and many even of the rich
+strangers had made up their minds to go to see the show, partly out of
+curiosity, partly out of kindly purpose to help the strolling players.
+It had been announced that six _soldi_, or cents, would admit to the
+side of the ring where there would be benches and a chair or two for
+seats, while three cents offered room on the other side with a few
+boards and the green grass as accommodation. Visitors were invited to
+bring chairs for their sittings, if possible.
+
+The music sounded very brave and loud as it returned down the very
+steepest street of all, which ran between high walls past Madame
+Cioche’s English _pension_ or boarding-house and ended in the field.
+As this was a dark and even dangerous descent at night for the unwary,
+Antonio had driven a nail into a tree at the foot of the street, and
+had hung there a smutty tin lamp, with the light flaring and the smoke
+pouring from two long spouts.
+
+Nonna had beguiled most of the children away from the tent by this
+time, and was putting the youngest to bed in the wagon, while the
+others rolled over the grass behind the tent.
+
+Natale was as busy as a bee in the small tent which opened out of the
+large one. This was the dressing room, and the different costumes of
+the actors lay in heaps on the boxes scattered about.
+
+As half-past eight o’clock approached, the boy became as excited as if
+this were to be his first appearance in public, and he kept lifting up
+the flap of curtain dividing the two tents to see how fast the seats
+were filling. The band had brought back a horde of village children in
+its train, and though few of these were possessed of the three cents
+charged for children, they served to keep up an appearance of bustle
+and enterprise outside, where the band now played the National Hymn of
+Italy gaily in the light of the big lamp at the entrance.
+
+Cara, the mother of Olga and the rest of the seven, stood in the
+vestibule and took in the great copper cents which by and by began to
+pile up in the bowl on the table. She was a very striking person to
+look at, with her coal-black hair frizzed bushily on each side of her
+head, with her flashing black eyes and her heavy brows, her red, red
+lips and cheeks, and her scarlet and black gown. No one dared to slip
+in behind the rustling skirts or portly form of anybody without paying,
+for her piercing eyes seemed everywhere. Once or twice, when the crowds
+about the doors seemed to hesitate and to wonder whether, after all,
+it were worth while to expend six or even three cents for what was to
+be seen behind the curtain, the pretty little figure of her Olga was
+seen to flit, as if by accident, across the vestibule, the full light
+streaming over her little full blouse of yellow satin, and her pink
+feet tripping as if on air.
+
+The anxious half-hour of expectation ended in the sight of a full
+circle surrounding the ring, and then the band came inside and all the
+performers slipped into the smaller tent and hurried on their costumes.
+
+The band played on; Arduina danced a measured dance on the tight
+rope which was stretched near the ground; the clown made his funny
+jokes; Antonio performed his clever feats on the bars; Elvira rode the
+galloping horses with Cara dancing in and out and everywhere, while
+Giovanni cracked the whip and Paulo held the bar for Il Duca to leap.
+The pantomime then brought shouts of laughter and loud hand-clappings
+from the spectators; and afterward the tumbling began.
+
+There was nothing that Olga loved so much, and she showed it in every
+line of her chubby, yet nimble little figure as she came prancing into
+the ring, and then went heels over head, over and over again, without
+stopping to breathe, as far as the strip of dusty carpet stretched.
+Then back again she tumbled, only stopping to toss a stray wisp of hair
+from her flushed face.
+
+Next Arduina came tripping in, and over and over she went too, not so
+gracefully and daintily as Olga had done, for Arduina was getting a
+little too large for that kind of thing,--a great girl of fifteen years.
+
+The clown followed Arduina, dressed in his clumsy suit of black
+and white, and what a farce his tumbling was, to be sure; only the
+spectators must have known that he failed in order to make them laugh
+at his awkwardness, and make merry they did.
+
+Somehow Natale never quite enjoyed the laughter which often accompanied
+his own performances, and now his time had come.
+
+“_Ecco!_ Natalino!” called his stepfather, the clown, rushing behind
+the curtain all breathless and covered with dust. “Over and over and
+over you go, youngster, without stopping to sneeze between!”
+
+Natale was such a little fellow, so much smaller than Olga even, that
+many of the faces outside the ring softened at sight of him, as he
+darted out into the light of the lamps and then halted to make his
+funny little salute. He was dressed in imitation of the clown, in long
+black trousers and a tailed black coat, with a pointed white waistcoat
+reaching below his waist. With an earnest seriousness very different
+from Olga’s smiling grace, Natale turned his first somersault, paused
+on his back, turned another jerkily, while the little boys watching
+him hooted, and a ripple of laughter ran around the ring. Back again
+he came, however, his thin black legs sprawling in air, and his pale
+little face flushing with the exertion. On his feet again, he clapped
+one hand to the back of his neck, bobbed his head to the spectators,
+and trotted off behind the friendly curtain, satisfied that he had,
+at least, done as well as usual, and pleased with the loud clapping
+attending his exit. Indeed, there was a clapping and a calling out of
+something with laughing voices.
+
+“_Il picino! Il picino!_”[3]
+
+[Footnote 3: “The little boy! The little boy!”]
+
+“You will have to go back, Natalino,” laughed the clown. “Salute them
+and stand on your head, boy, but don’t lose it on the way.”
+
+The music played loudly, and Natale stepped gravely back again, made
+his odd little bow, and fell over on his hands as the first step toward
+standing on his head. Poor, stiff little legs! It took more than one
+effort to throw them into an upright position above his head, but
+finally he really did accomplish it, and stood thus several seconds
+while the shouting and laughing went on.
+
+When Natale had disappeared a second time behind the curtain, there
+were a few grave faces among the laughing ones looking on. An English
+lady whispered to her companion and sighed.
+
+“The poor little fellow is evidently afraid to disobey that dreadful
+clown,” she said. “Did you see how he trembled as the man stood over
+him, when he tried to stand on his head? Something ought to be done to
+put a stop to this, Betty.”
+
+“The child looks weak, as if he were not very well fed,” Betty
+answered, “but I do not think he looks unhappy. And the clown was
+certainly smiling, and seemed to be standing by as if to help the
+little boy accomplish his wonderful feat, I thought. Don’t distress
+yourself, Aunty. He is just learning, it may be, and they bring him in
+to contrast him with that little beauty who turned the ‘wheels.’ Send
+the boy some good bread and meat to-morrow, and that will be better for
+him than our empty sympathy.”
+
+But “Aunty” was not satisfied, as we shall see.
+
+The last act of the evening again brought Natale to the fore. The big
+spotted horse, Il Duca, was again brought into the ring, and after he
+had cantered gaily around inside the ring many times, to the music of
+a schottisch, striking terror to the ladies occupying the front seats,
+with their knees pressed against the low barrier, the clown suddenly
+called a halt and caught the bridle of the panting steed. Gently the
+solemn strains of the “Dead March” sounded through the tent, and Il
+Duca fell slowly and painfully upon his knees, and then rolled over
+upon the ground, apparently dying. The light dust of the ring stirred
+under the beast’s laboring nostrils, and deep groans issued from his
+throat, while Giovanni stood mournfully by and the music played on.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV
+
+THE FESTIVAL OF SAN LORENZO
+
+
+SUDDENLY the small black figure of Natale appeared, kneeling at the
+horse’s side, although no one had seen him slip in. With his hands
+clasped in distress, he lifted his voice in such a disconsolate wail
+that even Betty started and wondered if the horse could be really dying.
+
+The solemn march was still sounding in the tent, and before speaking
+the clown gave the spectators full time to take in the tragic tableau.
+Then he exclaimed briskly:
+
+“What are you crying about, boy?”
+
+“Because our horse is dead.”
+
+“Do you think he is quite dead, Natale?”
+
+“Oh, quite,” wailed the child.
+
+“Get up and feel his pulse, boy. If there is any pulse he is not dead.”
+
+Natale went nearer and took one of the great hoofs of the horse
+fearlessly into his little hands, and felt for the “pulse.”
+
+“Well, what do you find?” asked the clown impatiently.
+
+“There isn’t any pulse,” the little fellow wailed again, laying down
+the big black hoof with the utmost tenderness.
+
+“Too bad,” quoth the clown, taking his seat deliberately on the
+prostrate horse, which lay as motionless as if certainly dead. Then,
+all in a moment, Natale’s manner changed, and he skipped around in
+front of Giovanni, remarking glibly that the gentleman had found a
+beautiful sofa to sit upon.
+
+“And I shall have a kiss to prove that the beast is not dead,”
+exclaimed the clown, chirruping a little and smacking his lips. And the
+great brown head of the horse lifted itself from the dust, the graceful
+neck turned, and Il Duca actually kissed his master, then scrambled
+hastily to his feet as if glad for that job to be over, while Giovanni
+hurried him out of the ring.
+
+“Such silly jokes!” commented Mrs. Bishop, otherwise Aunty, as the
+performance ended, and the rollicking crowd poured out of the tent.
+“Think of my having spent two whole hours listening to them, and all
+on pins too, for fear that poor, ill-used child should be forced to do
+some other unchristian thing.”
+
+“But, Aunty, what did you expect when you came?” Betty asked
+impatiently. “Surely the little show was not bad, and there was
+actually nothing but what was quite decent in every way.”
+
+“I call it ‘bad’ to beat and starve children into turning themselves
+into monkeys.”
+
+“If people would not go to see the ‘monkeys’ it would be stopped,” was
+Betty’s retort.
+
+“Well, I am sure I only went to oblige Mrs. Choky,” Aunty said in an
+injured tone. “She said she thought we ought to encourage the poor
+people on their first night. But it will be my last night there, as I
+shall very soon inform her. ‘Encourage’ them to martyrize that poor
+child, indeed!”
+
+From the first performance in Cutigliano, therefore, Natale’s trouble
+began, although he did not know it. Contented and tired he lay down
+in his corner of the brown house on wheels and went to sleep, while
+the men let down the big yellow canvas of the large tent and furled it
+about the pole. But first, he ate his supper of macaroni with the rest
+of the actors, gathered in the small tent behind. Midnight suppers were
+the rule on the nights when there were performances, as it would have
+been at the risk of upsetting their stomachs in more ways than one to
+eat food beforehand.
+
+Later, the stars kept quiet watch above the little encampment, where
+even Pietro slept well, with the open house door admitting the fresh
+air of the mountains.
+
+For ten days the yellow “mushroom” spread over the grass of the field,
+although very much in the way of the fine city gentlemen, playing
+at ball with bats like tambourines. The noisy music at night and
+the cheering in the tent may have kept the invalids in the nearest
+boarding-houses awake and nervous, and the people at large may have
+grown tired of the performances which they soon learned by heart,
+but no one felt inclined to hustle the poor people away, and no one
+grumbled except Mrs. Bishop.
+
+There was something pathetic about the clown in his everyday dress,
+his gayety and paint all gone and the deep lines of his face showing
+too plainly in the garish light of day, as he pottered about the tent,
+adjusting ropes, and keeping off the village boys who would throw
+stones upon the old canvas, or play hide and seek among the curtains.
+It gave one a queer feeling, also, to fancy the drooping figure of
+Pietro, with his pure little face like alabaster, a member of the
+“wicked circus troop.”
+
+This child was perhaps twelve years old, and he had the face of an
+angel. He had begun to lose his daily feverishness after a week in the
+mountains, and was soon able to limp, and later to run feebly about the
+field with the village boys.
+
+[Illustration: Mrs. Bishop looked down upon the tent from the garden
+terrace. _Page 45._]
+
+But Natale, spidery little Natale, interested every one more even than
+did Pietro. Yet he looked only an everyday lad during the long summer
+days, when he trotted up and down, to and from the town, carrying now
+a bowl of this, now a flask of that, but always carrying something. To
+most people he seemed as happy as the days were long, just as ready
+for a chat with a strange foreigner who might address him in broken
+Italian as with old Sora Teresa who sold fruit and vegetables in the
+piazza, and who sometimes presented him with a ripe red tomato, or a
+slice of melon all green and pink.
+
+But Mrs. Bishop looked down upon the tent from the garden terrace of
+Madame Cioche’s boarding-house every day, and slowly formed a plan for
+making Natale’s life happier. Poor little Natale!
+
+The terrace garden above the field was shaded with plane trees and the
+mountain ash, and the grass was soft and richly green. Each afternoon
+some of the boarders would gather at the palings on the edge of this
+garden and watch the gentlemen playing ball below, and the village boys
+imitating Olga and Natale at turning somersaults and wheels.
+
+One afternoon, while the boarders were drinking tea under the ash
+trees, with the berries overhead turning red, and the sun streaming
+across the croquet ground, there came a knock at the side door of the
+boarding-house. Madame Cioche herself opened the door, and there stood
+Natale, smiling up into her face, with the old blue hat set far back on
+his dark curls. The lady noticed that the boy’s face was very clean.
+
+“Happy day to you,” he said brightly, using the peasant form of
+address, “and my mamá says will you please send her a cup of tea? She
+is feeling ill to-day.”
+
+Of course Madame Cioche would send the tea, fetching it herself from
+the dining room and handing it to the boy. But she kept Natale a moment
+to ask how it was that his mamá could possibly like tea.
+
+“Oh, but she has it every day when we are in Egypt,” was the reply.
+“And to-day her head aches. Thank you, Signora.” And Natale went off
+down the hill carrying the big cup as carefully as his bowls and flasks
+were always carried.
+
+Mrs. Bishop overheard the word “Egypt” and sighed.
+
+The next day was Sunday and an important festival, being the day of
+San Lorenzo. A great harvest of _soldi_ was expected, as peasants from
+all the mountain villages would come trooping in that day, to go to
+high mass in the church under the old mountain firs, and to take part
+in the procession of the “saints” in the afternoon. So there was, of
+course, to be a performance in the tent that day, but in the afternoon
+this time, just after the procession, instead of in the evening, when
+everybody would be tired or toiling homeward along the dark mountain
+ways. As there was nothing for him to do about the tent, however, until
+five o’clock should boom from the stone tower of the church, Natale
+made good use of his legs during the whole day, for there was much to
+see.
+
+Betty Bishop had tossed a penny into his hands down over the garden
+palings that very Sunday morning. Perhaps she was thinking of some
+little child at home in England who would be clamoring for a penny
+to carry to Sunday school, but Natale had no thought of dropping his
+precious two _soldi_ into the priest’s collecting bag in the church.
+
+The _piazza_ was too fascinating a place to be passed by, when one held
+a penny of his own fast in his fist. With the dogs on each side of him,
+therefore, Natale spent most of the day above in the town, going from
+booth to booth, and in fancy spending his money over and over again.
+There were sweets of various kinds offered for sale on the little
+tables along the steep, narrow streets, and booths of everything from
+coarse stuffs and ready-made clothing to breastpins of gay mosaic work
+and filigree rings.
+
+Everywhere Natale was jostled by the peasants who all through the
+morning had flocked to the town, dressed in their best clothes and
+wearing holiday looks on their faces. The women and girls wore gay
+kerchiefs on their heads, with brilliant borderings and flowing ends,
+while even the men wore bits of vivid color in the shape of gorgeous
+neck scarfs spread over their white shirt fronts. Mingled with these
+walked the lords and ladies of a higher class dressed according to the
+fashion plates of Paris, and seeming to enjoy the hot sunshine and the
+gay restiveness of the multitude as much as the plainer folk. All day
+the frolic and prayers and the music of the town band and the church
+organ went on in the little town, till mid-afternoon, when there fell a
+hush over all and a great expectation.
+
+Natale had not a very good place from which to see the procession pass,
+for he stood between a very stout peasant woman and a visiting priest
+in his full black gown. Still, he managed to peer from under their
+elbows without attracting their attention, and he was content, holding
+securely in one hand, meanwhile, the balloon whistle which he had
+finally purchased with his penny. The pretty red bubble of rubber had
+not yet burst, and Natale was happy in its possession. The handful of
+crisp wafers flavored with anise seed, which he had almost bought--so
+very foolish he had been--would have been eaten long ere this, and it
+would be as if he had never had a penny of his own tossed over the
+fence to him by a smiling young lady, but now he still had the whistle!
+
+On they came, the straggling company of men and boys, dressed in white
+gowns and cowls, and bearing huge lighted candles in their hands.
+Natale thought he would like to have been one of the two boys bearing
+the immense candlesticks of brass; yet, after all, the candlesticks
+must be very heavy, and they were propped very uncomfortably on the
+little boys’ stomachs, and very red and perspiring were the little
+boys’ faces.
+
+Natale thought the men’s feet ugly and clumsy, showing below the white
+gowns, and their harsh, chanting voices made him shiver. But he could
+not follow the awkward marching steps of the peasants with laughing
+looks as some of the onlookers were doing, for here, behind the banners
+and crucifixes, came two very curious-looking objects.
+
+“_Ecco!_ the dead saints!” he exclaimed softly to himself. “How heavy
+they must be in the glass boxes on the men’s shoulders. Yet our Antonio
+Bisbini would never bend so under a small box as those men do. Ah!
+but the little girls are pretty, so pretty in their white veils, and
+scattering flowers before the saints.”
+
+The crowd closed in upon the end of the procession now, and Natale
+could see no more, as he was nearly overturned where he stood. After
+a breathless moment or two, he found himself left in peace and quiet
+under the great old fir trees in front of the church, with the crowd
+all gone and Nicro and Bianco with them.
+
+Nonna had told him to be sure and see the saints, if possible, so he
+went into the dark old church and sat down on a low chair to wait for
+the procession to return. He knew that San Lorenzo and Sant’ Aurelio
+would surely be brought back to spend the night in the church, perhaps
+in front of the candle-lighted altar, and he wished to please Nonna. It
+was dark and quiet in his corner under the organ gallery, and it was a
+very easy and natural thing for a tired little boy to fall asleep in
+that quiet place.
+
+When the procession returned after half an hour, it was without the
+blare of trumpets and the crash of organ music, though for a long
+while shuffling feet passed in and out. This continued until everybody
+had looked at the two saints robed in costly garments and reposing now
+at full length on their satin cushions within their caskets of glass
+set before the altar. Many touched the rich cloths draping the caskets
+with reverent fingers, and pressed kisses on the cold glass before
+passing out into the radiant sunset light.
+
+When Natale waked, the church doors were still open, but only one light
+swung before the high altar, and there was no trace anywhere of dead
+saint or living soul. He groped his way among the disarranged chairs
+and benches quite to the altar rail, but even the empty biers had been
+borne away to some inner recess of the church, so, with a dread that
+he had overslept awaking in his mind, Natale found his way out of the
+church again.
+
+The purple bloom of evening was creeping up the mountain sides, and a
+star glowed in the sky. Just above the mountain line in the west the
+crescent moon hovered, as if uncertain over which side to sink. The
+dread in Natale’s mind had nothing to do with saints or dark churches.
+On awaking, his first sensation had been a fear that he might have
+missed the afternoon performance in the beloved tent, and now, standing
+outside the church in the dusk, he knew that he had missed it!
+
+With a sob in his throat he turned his face from the telltale sky,
+and fled through the village down to the field. When he reached the
+wagon,--for he would not go to the tent, quiet now and unlighted,--the
+first words he heard came from Olga:
+
+“Have you not heard, Natalino? Giovanni has lost a hundred francs!
+Somebody stole them when he changed his coat in the little tent. Yes, I
+know you were not there! We wondered where you could be!”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V
+
+A GIFT FOR THE CIRCUS
+
+
+NATALE held his breath with horror. One hundred francs lost! And he
+not at hand to hear of it, to help look for the money, among the very
+first? He could not ask Olga how it had happened, because his heart was
+almost too disappointed and sore for words. He sat down on the wall,
+with his back toward the tent, and waited for her to tell all about the
+loss, although he was not at all certain that she would condescend to
+do so. In fact, she said not a word more, but stood in front of Natale,
+wondering not a little at his unusual quiet.
+
+“You are sulky!” she exclaimed finally, “and Giovanni is very angry
+with you. So am I, for I had to feel Il Duca’s pulse, and I did not
+like it at all. Suppose he had kicked me, seeing that it was not you.”
+
+“Il Duca was dead!” Natale retorted, with a twinkle in his eye, if only
+Olga could have seen it. “He would not know you from me!”
+
+“Dead!” cried Olga. “I believe you truly do think that, when you set up
+your crying, Natale; really I did not do it half so well as you,” she
+confessed honestly.
+
+“But you ‘wheel’ much better than I do,” Natale conceded with ready
+generosity in return.
+
+“Il Duca did not shut his eyes at all,” Olga went on, nodding assent
+to Natale’s remark, “and I am sure he _winked_ at me, Natale, just to
+frighten me. It did not take _me_ long to feel his pulse! But where
+were you, Natalino, all the time? Nonna said she was afraid some of the
+peasants had stolen you and carried you off, when Niero and Bianco
+came home without you.”
+
+“As if they would have let anybody steal me! Olga, I went to sleep in
+the church, waiting for the saints to come back, and when I waked it
+was dark, almost as dark as this!”
+
+“Oho! then you must have been in the church when Arduina and I went
+in to look at the saints. Arduina said--but you must not dare to tell
+anybody--she said that she did not believe there were any bones under
+the saints’ fine velvet robes because San Lorenzo had a hand of pink
+wax, and the rest of him looked rather stuffed. But do not tell Nonna,
+Natale!”
+
+“Arduina is very wicked,” said Natale, but he laughed with Olga, and
+then felt much better, and as if he could ask about the losing of the
+money.
+
+They were in a little nook to themselves, behind the wagon, and no one
+heeded them.
+
+“_Ecco!_ it was this way,” Olga began, charmed to be the first to
+recount the misfortune to Natale, who was usually behind none in his
+knowledge of the affairs of the company. “Just when Giovanni was going
+in to do the clown in the first dance on the rope, the Signor Barbera,
+the stable man, came behind the big tent with his bill for keeping the
+horses, and Giovanni took the big pocketbook out of the pocket of his
+coat--”
+
+“Yes, I know which pocket,” Natale interposed. “I saw him put the money
+there this morning.”
+
+“Well, the signor could not make the change, so he told Giovanni it was
+all right, and any time would do, and then Antonio rang the bell for
+Giovanni, and he just put the pocketbook back in his coat and hung the
+coat on the nail in the little tent, and hurried on the black coat, and
+went into the ring.”
+
+“Yes, and then?” asked Natale breathlessly.
+
+“When he came back, he saw his coat on the ground, and he knew he had
+hung it up. ‘How comes my coat on the ground?’ he said, very loud
+indeed, and your mamá told him he must have put it there himself. But
+he did not hear her, because he was shaking the coat and feeling in the
+pocket,--but there was nothing there!
+
+“We made a great fuss about it,” Olga ended, shrugging her shoulders
+and throwing up her hands, “but what was the use?”
+
+Natale was silent with dismay. A hundred francs meant so much. It was
+all that they had made during the ten days’ stay at Cutigliano, and now
+it was gone, in a moment.
+
+“The stable man?” he questioned in a distressed tone of voice, and very
+low.
+
+“No, Giovanni said it could not have been the signor. He is a rich man
+and honest, everybody says.”
+
+So subdued were they all over the trouble of the afternoon that
+not even Elvira thought it worth while to scold the quiet boy who
+presently slipped in among the little crowd of players in the tent,
+deep in fruitless discussion over their grievous loss. They had had a
+crowded tent that afternoon, and the receipts had been so good that
+this evening would have been one of rejoicing if only the money for
+the labors of the ten other days and nights had been again safe in
+Giovanni’s pocket. There was not the slightest clew to the thief, as
+no stranger had been known to enter the tent, and Giovanni had even
+interviewed the Signor Barbera from outside the doorway. It had been
+necessary to be on the lookout for possible thieving, as the field was
+crowded all the afternoon with strange peasants, attracted by the band
+music and the big yellow tent, and by peddlers with their wares. One
+very decent-looking peddler had begged pretty, vain Arduina to look at
+his beautiful jewelry and ribbons, but she had refused him entrance
+very reluctantly, and Giovanni himself had noticed how patiently and
+decorously the man had turned away. He had worn a red fez cap over his
+long black hair, and his bushy black beard had reached nearly to his
+waist.
+
+“I saw him!” Emilio, one of the musicians exclaimed, “and his legs
+were as crooked as Pietro’s, only they bent out at the knee instead of
+in!” There was a laugh at this sally, but Pietro frowned and muttered
+something about Emilio’s having little right to criticize the legs of
+others.
+
+“I met such a man as I came out of the church in the crowd,” said
+Nonna, hastening to speak that a dispute might be avoided. “He walked
+very well notwithstanding his poor, bent legs, and he asked me if he
+were too late to get a glimpse of the blessed relics. A politer man I
+never saw, though Tito was afraid of him, and began to cry when the man
+snapped his fingers at him.”
+
+Poor Natale felt so left out in the cold with this talk that he could
+not bear it long, and was just about to creep away, down to his corner
+in the wagon, when a strange hand lifted a corner of the tent flap, and
+a strange voice inquired for “_Il piccolo Natale_.”
+
+“Some ladies up at the house there have a little present for you all,”
+the black-coated Italian butler of the boarding-house announced,
+peering in upon the group gathered about the sputtering lamp inside,
+“but they wish to send it down by the boy, Natale.”
+
+Then Natale was himself again, and without demur or bashfulness
+presented himself to the servant.
+
+“It is well you turned up in time, Natalino,” said the clown, giving
+him a little shove toward the dignified butler waiting just outside.
+“Perhaps Olga would not have done, in this case. Off with you to the
+_forestieri_[4] above!”
+
+[Footnote 4: Foreigners.]
+
+Many a boy would have been abashed at finding himself the center of
+such a group as awaited Natale in the hallway of the house in the
+garden. But Natale was too well accustomed to an array of faces fixed
+upon him to make the least show of bashfulness. The lady of the house,
+whose pleasant face he knew very well, laid her hand on his shoulder
+and asked him kindly in Italian if anything had been heard of the money
+lost that afternoon, and her soft, dark eyes looked sympathetically
+into his own.
+
+“No, signora, and my papá says we shall never see a _soldo_ of it
+again,” was Natale’s prompt answer.
+
+“Ask him if they have any idea of the person who stole it,” Betty
+Bishop suggested in English, and Madame Cioche did so. Natale’s answer
+to this was more expressive than polite perhaps, for without words
+he simply raised his shoulders as high as possible, pressing his
+elbows against his sides, and spreading his hands wide to indicate the
+complete ignorance of his people as to the coward who had taken their
+hard-earned money. And the drawn-down corners of his mouth so changed
+the expression of his face that one would hardly have known him.
+
+“Who would have believed the child could make himself so ugly,” Mrs.
+Bishop exclaimed. “Have you no tongue, boy, to answer properly?”
+
+But as English words were far less intelligible to Natale than
+Caffero’s whinny, or Niero’s bark, he only looked up into Madame
+Cioche’s face and smiled.
+
+“There! it is a bonny little face after all,” said that lady, “and now
+shall we give him the money and send him away?”
+
+“No, let me speak to him first,” demanded Mrs. Bishop, “and you, Mrs.
+Choky, must interpret. Ask him if he likes to be a wicked little circus
+boy.”
+
+“Aunty!” gasped Betty.
+
+“Never mind, I have a reason for my question, Betty. Hush, what does he
+say?”
+
+“Do you like to play in the circus, dear?” asked Mrs. Cioche’s kind
+voice, in Italian.
+
+Natale’s eyes shone.
+
+“Ah, yes, signora! And when I am a man, I shall be another Antonio
+Bisbini.”
+
+“He says he likes it very much, Mrs. Bishop,” was the interpretation.
+
+“Already corrupted, poor boy, and so young!” the old lady sighed, while
+Betty laughed outright.
+
+“Ask him if he would not like better to have some nice clothes, and go
+to school, and grow up to be a decent man some day, Mrs. Choky.” That
+lady hesitated a little before putting this question into Italian.
+
+“What does she say to me?” Natale asked, his brown eyes twinkling as he
+looked from one to the other, his teeth showing white between his red
+lips. Natale’s was a wide, good-natured mouth, very prone to laugh upon
+small provocation.
+
+“She wants to know if you would not like to go to school, and learn to
+read and write,” said Madame Cioche.
+
+“And leave the _circo_?” Natale asked with a gasp.
+
+“Yes, you could not go to school unless you should stop in one place,
+you know.”
+
+“And not travel about with the horses and wagon any more, and leave
+Nonna?”
+
+“Of course, Natale. But she is only asking you about it, _carino_, so
+do not look so troubled.”
+
+Natale laughed then, and happily.
+
+“She wanted to find out how much I love the _circo_!” he exclaimed.
+“Please tell her, signora. You know, how we all love the _circo_!”
+
+“I think I do, Natale. He does not want to go to school, Mrs. Bishop,”
+turning to the eager old lady, “because he loves his life with the
+circus and his own people too much.”
+
+“And he does not wish to leave his grandmother,” chimed in Betty who
+had very cleverly picked up a good deal of Italian during a winter and
+summer in Italy, and all grandmothers are Nonnas in that land.
+
+Mrs. Bishop was silent for a moment, her gaze taking in every detail
+of Natale’s little figure standing sturdily before her, dusty shoes,
+and rough peasant leggings, velveteen trousers, faded blue blouse, and
+rumpled curls, with the old hat held in one sun-burned hand. His face
+was not so clean as usual now, and there were tired circles about his
+eyes. It had been a long, exciting summer’s day.
+
+“Children--especially boys--do not know what is best for themselves,”
+she said presently, bending her brows, but not in the least frightening
+Natale, “and I am not going to give up my plan, for this baby’s
+nonsense. Why, he cannot be over eight years old, at the most.”
+
+“Here, Natale,” said Madame Cioche, judging that the interview might
+well be concluded, and handing the boy a small packet. “Take this to
+your papá, and tell him that the ladies and gentlemen in my house have
+heard of the loss of the money, and are sending him thirty-five francs
+as a little present. Can you carry it safely?”
+
+Again Natale’s sweet smile broke over his face, but he only nodded
+happily in reply, tucking the money away in the bosom of his blouse.
+
+“Ask him how long they are going to stay,” Mrs. Bishop called after
+Madame Cioche, who was going to the gate with Natale.
+
+“He says that the _sindaco_--the mayor--has offered them the use of the
+field for another week,” Madame Cioche said, her eyes glowing, as she
+returned to the hall. “I am glad of that, as the poor creatures will
+need all they can make here, now.”
+
+“I call it a sort of punishment, their losing the money when playing on
+Sunday,” Mrs. Bishop said severely, and one or two other English ladies
+nodded their approval of this speech. “And I think the whole business
+wrong and that it ought to be discouraged. I was not at all sure about
+the propriety of giving my francs to your little collection, Mrs.
+Choky.”
+
+“Would it have been more Christian to have let them suffer, perhaps for
+food, and the poor beasts too?” the hostess asked, pausing on her way
+through the hall.
+
+“But surely you think circusing wrong and _un_christian?” the
+disputative old lady exclaimed.
+
+“Aunty, do be quiet,” cried Betty warmly. “I am sure you ought not to
+dispute ‘on Sunday’! Besides,” she added, as everybody laughed, and two
+or three softly applauded, “they make their living that way, and we
+cannot change them into farmers, or preachers. But I think it is always
+wrong not to help honest people who are in trouble.”
+
+“If they _are_ honest,” Mrs. Bishop remonstrated, but under her breath,
+this time, for Madame Cioche’s eyes were sparkling, and she seemed
+waiting to speak.
+
+“Those poor creatures down there deserve nothing but praise,” she said
+stoutly; “they are quiet folks, who teach their children obedience and
+keep themselves remarkably clean and mended. If they make their living
+in a way we do not approve, we cannot change them, as Miss Betty says,
+but we can feed them when they are hungry, and that seems to me not
+‘unchristian’!”
+
+“I am afraid she has a little temper,” said Mrs. Bishop, as their
+hostess went upstairs.
+
+“A temper I like!” exclaimed a gentleman who had before kept silent,
+looking up from his book. “But do you still think of carrying out your
+plan, Mrs. Bishop?”
+
+“If possible, certainly,” was the reply, while Betty, shaking her head,
+walked out into the garden. There, under the stars, she stood looking
+down upon the tent in the field. There was no wind, and the heavens
+were fair, so the canvas had not been furled.
+
+“I should like it myself,” she murmured. “What a fascinating life to
+live! Camping out the year round in Italy, with no troublesome dressing
+four times a day, no tiresome _table-d’hôte_ dinners at night. But
+after all I should not like to be that girl,--Arduina, they call her.
+Of course, Aunty is right about the rope dancing and other ‘circusing’
+on Sunday, only she need not be quite so fussy over what we certainly
+cannot help. Poor Natale! how disturbed he did look when Madame Cioche
+asked him about going to school!”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI
+
+SEPARATION
+
+
+NATALE lay flat on the grass, his face hidden on his arms, and his feet
+rebelliously kicking the ground. The added week granted by the mayor
+had passed, and the circus-wagon was about to move on.
+
+“You are only to try it, child, and if it will not do, you can come
+back to us. One year is not a hundred.”
+
+No reply from Natale.
+
+“You ought to think, sometimes, of how many mouths your stepfather has
+to fill,” another voice began. “Five children, and not one his own.”
+
+“Why did he marry us then?” fiercely muttered Natale, but without
+lifting his head, so perhaps nobody heard.
+
+“You will have new clothes and shoes!”
+
+“And a new hat, Natalino!”
+
+“And you will learn to read much faster than I can teach you ’Lino,
+with all the practicings and the journeyings. Perhaps you will even
+learn to be as clever as my Antonio was, before--” Nonna ended with a
+sigh instead of more words.
+
+The women and girls were in the side tent, busied about dinner, and
+Nonna would not finish her sentence in the presence of Antonio’s wife.
+
+“I would rather be our Antonio than--than the King or the
+_principino_,”[5] Natale cried helplessly. Then he sat up on the worn
+grass, and faced them all, tearful but resolute. “I shall not stay here
+with the priest and go to school, mamá,” he said earnestly. “You shall
+not leave me behind and take Maria and Pietro and the rest.”
+
+[Footnote 5: Young prince.]
+
+“Perhaps we can persuade Giovanni to leave little Bianco with you, if
+the good priest does not object,” Nonna whispered in his ear.
+
+“No, I shall go with you,” returned Natale.
+
+“Ah! what is all this?” came suddenly in Giovanni’s gruff, good-natured
+tones. “What? Natale will not stay? The beautiful little star of the
+ring will not leave us in the darkness?” And the clown entered the tent
+and flung himself down, laughing, beside the little boy.
+
+“Hurry with the polenta, Arduina,” he called to his stepdaughter, who
+had lifted her hot face from the steam of the mush pot to laugh at the
+man’s rough wit. “The biggest hole yet torn in the tent must be mended
+this afternoon, and the canvas is almost dry now in this wind. If it
+had not rained yesterday, and if the wind had not played us such a
+trick on the very eve of our going, we should have made our fortunes
+yesterday. A cattle fair does not offer itself every day, with its
+crowd of country bumpkins who never saw a man in tights. Now, that will
+do, Natale,” turning to the boy, who was sniffing audibly. “Hours ago
+it was all decided, and there is nothing more to be said.”
+
+“Then I am _not_ to stay in this horrid place, Giovanni--papá--”
+
+“‘Giovanni--papá--!’ No more of these tears, Natalino. You are to stay
+in this beautiful place, and after polenta, you are to go up to the
+garden and thank the lady.”
+
+With a loud, rebellious howl, Natale sprang to his feet and rushed
+out into the open air. Nor did he stop until he stood among the briar
+bushes below the garden palings. Clenching his small grimy fists, he
+stood there looking up toward the many-windowed _pension_ and shook
+them vehemently, while his shrill voice cried out passionately:
+
+“I shall not stay here! I shall not go to school! I like my old hat,
+and I want Nonna to teach me to read. I shall never thank you, _never_,
+NEVER, NEVER!”
+
+He had seen no one in the garden, and was only addressing the whole
+houseful of his enemies up there in the big yellow building with the
+staring windows. Why should they interfere with him? Why should any one
+be trying to make him wretched,--the most wretched boy in all Italy?
+
+“Heyday! what’s all this about?” and a white-haired old man, speaking
+from the garden, came close to the palings and looked over at the
+small, threatening figure among the bushes. “I cannot understand your
+gibberish, if you are talking to me. You would better go away now,
+little boy, or some of your people will come and whip you.”
+
+“How suddenly you stopped the noise, Mr. Grantly,” exclaimed Betty,
+coming up to his side. “Who was it? Why, Aunty’s little protégé,
+Natale! How pitiful he looks, walking away as if his feelings were
+hurt. You must have frightened him.”
+
+“Not a bit of it, ma’am. He frightened _me_ with his fierce little
+voice. It came suddenly, just as I was dropping off to sleep in my
+chair. It is a relief to have them moving on this afternoon, with
+their horns and drum. But that boy stays, some one tells me. Is it
+possible that the family agreed to give him up? I have understood that
+the Italians cling to each other as much as even we do in America or
+England. Do they really leave the child?”
+
+“For more money than he could ever bring them by his somersaulting,
+yes,” Betty answered. “Sometimes I think Aunty really does not know
+what to do with her money,” the girl went on confidentially to the
+old gentleman, who was listening with interest. “Now, that boy has no
+desire to be taken away from ‘the evil life he is leading’ in Aunty’s
+estimation, and he does not wish to be sent to school and become ‘a
+decent man.’”
+
+“Ah! tell me the whole plan, now. I heard something of it a few days
+ago.”
+
+“It is very simple--all but getting Natale to agree to being imposed
+upon,” Betty went on a little vexedly. “Aunty has had the stepfather
+and the mother up here several times this past week to be talked to,
+and an old woman who seems to be the grandmother of them all. Miss
+Lorini has done all the interpreting, and also saw the priest about it,
+as Madame Cioche would not. They have agreed to leave Natale here for
+one year; he is to be taken care of by the priest’s mother, and to be
+sent to school and made ‘decent,’ poor little fellow.”
+
+Mr. Grantly laughed, but said nothing, for his heart was still young
+and understanding of boyish hearts, if his head was white, and he felt
+a wise interest in Mrs. Bishop’s philanthropic scheme.
+
+“Aunty is to pay everything, and she says she thinks she knows now why
+all the hotels up at Abetone were full so she could not get a good
+room there for these three weeks. She finds that she was ‘ordained’
+to rescue a boy from his persecutors, as she persists in calling
+the circus men. It is supposed, I believe, that all little boys and
+girls of circuses have been stolen from kind parents, and if not are
+half-killed with cruelty by their own.”
+
+“You speak very warmly, young lady,” Mr. Grantly remarked, a little
+reproof in his tone. “There is no doubt that many such children do
+suffer and are very unhappy.”
+
+“Those certainly do not!” retorted Betty, pointing to a number of the
+circus children frolicking in the field with Niero and Bianco. Olga’s
+red cotton dress was flitting over the grass, and her merry laugh was
+echoed by the other little ones, as Niero finally caught her red skirts
+in the chase.
+
+“Of course the clown objected at first,” Betty continued, “but Aunty
+was more determined than he and soon proved to him that it would be
+worth his while to agree. The old lady, whom they call Nonna, was
+curiously anxious for Natale to have a chance at schooling. I wondered
+at that till I heard about her son.”
+
+“Yes, I know,” Mr. Grantly assented. “Some, however, would think he
+had made a very fair exchange in giving up the future of a priest for
+the easy, out-of-doors life of an acrobat. There is no accounting for
+tastes, though. And is this boy to be made a priest?”
+
+“Only let my Aunty hear you say that!” laughed the girl. “No, indeed,
+but the priest was the only one who would agree to be troubled with
+the child, after Miss Lorini had explained all Aunty’s conditions--how
+Natale was to have a cold bath every morning, meat to eat every day,
+and new shoes as soon as his old ones come into holes. The priest,
+too, has agreed to write a letter to Aunty every month to tell her of
+Natale’s progress--”
+
+“Toward growing into a ‘decent man’?” interposed Mr. Grantly. “Well, I
+hope the plan will work well for all parties. Few Italian peasant lads
+get such a chance.” Then the old gentleman went back to his chair to
+continue his nap.
+
+All that afternoon, until four o’clock, there was an unusual bustle
+going on about the little encampment. The tattered, damp, half-ruined
+canvas was rolled up and packed along with poles and planks and ropes
+on a small cart hired for this occasion, while the cooking utensils
+and the scant furniture of the tents were gathered together for
+conveyance in the house-wagon. It was a cold and dreary day, following
+the night of stormy wind, with the clouds settling close about the
+mountain tops and the wind sweeping down the valley wet with rain. And
+in the heart of Natale there was even less promise of sunshine. He sat
+apart from the others on the damp wall, frowning and sullen.
+
+Half an hour before, he had been almost forcibly dragged up the hill
+to the house in the garden by Giovanni, who had made little jokes to
+hide the sulkiness of the boy’s replies to the questions of the ladies
+gathered there. Madame Cioche had promptly hidden herself when she saw
+the green gate open and the pair coming in, but the clown had walked
+directly through the hall and up to the little table where Mrs. Bishop
+sat taking her tea.
+
+No command of Giovanni nor persuasion of Miss Lorini, who was an
+artist, could induce Natale to say: “Thank you, signora, for your
+kindness.” His revolt had been beforehand hushed into silence by some
+very plain threats of punishment by his mother, but nothing could make
+him say that he was glad to stay in Cutigliano and go to school every
+day.
+
+He stood before them all, miserable as a child could be, his face very
+clean and pale, and a new pair of shoes already upon his feet. They
+pinched his toes woefully, but his heart ached more than his feet.
+
+“You will love the signora very much, some day, when you are a man
+and remember how good she was to the poor little boy who knew nothing
+but how to turn somersaults,” Miss Lorini had said caressingly in her
+softest Italian, studying the piteous face meanwhile with an eye to
+painting it some day, when it should smile again.
+
+“I shall learn to do something besides the _capitomboli_,[6] when I
+am a man,” Natale had said eagerly. “I shall be like our Antonio some
+day.” Perhaps these foreigners would be willing to leave him in peace
+if he could convince them that he _wished_ to be a strolling player all
+his life.
+
+[Footnote 6: Somersaults.]
+
+“He speaks as if he does not exactly understand,” said Miss Lorini,
+looking at Giovanni inquiringly. “Does he not know that he is to give
+up the circus now?”
+
+Giovanni shrugged his shoulders, then shook Natale’s slender shoulder,
+muttering:
+
+“No more of your silly talk, boy!” Then louder, “If you will not thank
+the lady, I do, with all my heart.” And with that he bowed low, then
+pushing Natale before him, went quickly away. He was, in secret, rather
+sorry for the boy, who had never before given any trouble with foolish
+willfulness, and who had moreover such high ambitions! It did seem a
+stupid life to which they were leaving the poor child, but then there
+was to be considered the roll of money already sewed into his own
+belt, with more to accumulate there, if Natale should be left still
+another year with the priest Luigi. If rich _forestieri_ had nothing
+else to do with their money but give it away in this frantic fashion,
+the stepfather was not unwilling to share the bounty, and Elvira, the
+mother, had seemed not to mind.
+
+So now Natale sat alone on the wall, feeling very much out of it all,
+and longing to hear some one say, “Natalino, do fetch me this”, or
+“Carry that”; but no one said anything of the kind. They seemed to feel
+that he was no longer one of them, and his little heart swelled to
+breaking.
+
+He was too young to long harbor ill-will and of too sunny a spirit
+to sulk for many minutes at a time, so presently he slipped off the
+wall and ran to meet Olga, who was struggling over to the traveling
+house-on-wheels, dragging two stools behind her. The very last things
+were being done, and already the horses were standing by, ready to be
+hitched at the last moment.
+
+“Do let me carry the stools, Olga,” Natale pleaded with unwonted
+entreaty in his voice. “Well, one of them, then.”
+
+“I am sorry you are going to stay behind here, Natalino,” the little
+girl panted. “Why do you? I should run after the wagon if I were you!”
+
+Natale had never thought of such a simple thing to do by way of escape!
+He promptly set down the stool he had grasped and looked fixedly away
+from Olga’s red-brown eyes.
+
+Alas! in that critical moment, what did he see approaching from the
+village? The flat, broad-brimmed hat and flowing black skirts of a
+priest, descending the street and turning in at the field!
+
+There was then not a moment to be lost! Forgetting Olga and the heavy
+stools, Natale turned and fled, away--anywhere--out of sight of the
+jailor advancing. Everything flashed out of his mind except the impulse
+to escape, to hide himself from those searching eyes under the felt hat
+brim. His flying feet skimmed across the field, and when they had borne
+him out of sight down the nearest slope, Natale flung himself on the
+ground under a thicket of thorny blackberry bushes.
+
+He lay there for what must have been a long time, for, after a while,
+a sudden shower of rain swept down the valley and for a few minutes
+enveloped everything in a gray mist. Even after it had passed, Natale
+delayed returning to the wagon until the priest should have quite gone,
+in despair of capturing his prisoner. When at last he did venture
+forth, and crept to the upper verge of the slope, his first glance was
+across the field for the brown wagon.
+
+It was not there!
+
+He set out in a headlong run for the place where it had stood. There
+was nothing left--absolutely nothing. Only a priest sat quietly waiting
+in a gap in the wall.
+
+Natale, with eyes only for the deserted spot, came stumbling upon the
+man, without so much as seeing that he was there, and then the priest
+rose, and taking the boy’s hand, spoke with the utmost quietness.
+
+“Come home with me now, Natalino,” was what he said, and Natale heard
+as one hears dream voices.
+
+Poor child! If he had only listened, he might have heard the dull
+screeching of the brakes as the wagon crawled carefully down the hill
+toward the arched bridge, and it would have been an easy matter to
+snatch his hand from the limp grasp of the priest and go hurrying down
+the short cuts in pursuit. But his head seemed so full of a hundred
+roaring noises that he could not hear, and his heart beat so fast that
+he could not speak, and so up the hill he went at the priest’s side.
+
+Nor did he see the quiet smile upon Luigi’s shaven lips, as they passed
+the green gate of the garden where Betty stood peering through. She
+would not have spoken to the boy just then for all the world, and as
+for Madame Cioche, she could not have done so if she had wished. She
+gazed down from her latticed window, her bright eyes dimmed as they
+fell upon the little caged bird of the fields fluttering by.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII
+
+THE CAGED BIRD OF THE FIELDS
+
+
+THERE is a short, crooked street in Cutigliano, which leads back of the
+church and out upon the promenade of San Vito. This street is confined
+on either hand by stone houses and stone walls of gardens, and paved
+with large square stones. Here and there a gateway gives a peep at
+lapping hills across the river. The massive church tower rises directly
+from a narrow turn in this street, and when the bells ring down from
+the arches in the top of this tower, the stony street reverberates with
+a deafening clamor.
+
+By the time the priest and Natale reached the foot of the church tower,
+the boy was weeping bitterly but quietly. His one free arm hid as much
+of his face as possible, and his feet in the clumsy new shoes stumbled
+so helplessly that Luigi had some trouble in preventing his falling.
+
+As they had passed through the town, where everybody sat at their doors
+or lounged in the _piazza_, all had recognized the little acrobat, as
+Natale realized only too well. Many accosted him in wonder, and some
+would even have stopped him to inquire into his misfortune in being
+left behind by his family. But the young priest motioned such away
+with authority, silencing with a gesture of his long finger the too
+curious. Others had already learned how it had come about that Natale
+was to spend a year with Sora Grazia, and her son the priest, and these
+contented themselves with shrugs and smiles for the boy’s companion, as
+who should say: “We wish you well of your bargain, Signor priest.”
+
+The great hands of the church clock pointed to ten minutes of four,
+as the bell boomed the hour of six. No one, however, ever thought of
+consulting the huge figures painted on the stone face of the tower
+clock, for those long iron hands had not stirred for many a day.
+
+The deep sound of the bell struck so suddenly upon Natale’s ears that
+he started, and dropping his arm from before his eyes, gazed dully
+ahead. It was not often that he had strayed farther than this corner of
+the old church, and he had never followed the San Vito promenade to the
+end. Most of the town was left behind now; whither could this man be
+taking him?
+
+A row of houses with numbers in blue figures on one side of the lintels
+extended back of the church, but before none of these did Luigi pause.
+Next came a low, broken wall, and then a house, detached from its
+neighbors and with a long, sloping roof, covered with slabs of slate.
+This house had no door opening on the street, and in the blank front
+wall there was only a very small window at one corner close under the
+eaves. Over a door in the end of the house nearest the church there was
+a small crucifix in carved stone set into the wall, but this door was
+seemingly closed and unused.
+
+The priest led Natale a few steps farther, to the other end of the
+house, and then they left the street and entered a long balcony leading
+to a wide-open door.
+
+A middle-aged woman sat just inside this doorway at the foot of a
+flight of stairs leading up into the room under the roof. She wore
+a kerchief of red and black cotton over her head and tied in a knot
+under her chin, and her eyes were bent upon a coarse piece of mending
+occupying her work-worn hands.
+
+[Illustration: The priest led Natale to the other end of the house.
+
+_Page 94._]
+
+At Luigi’s heavy step on the stone flooring of the balcony, she
+lifted her face to his and something like a smile softened the
+expression of her stern features. Her black brows unbent and she made
+way for her son to enter by twisting her stool slightly and shifting
+her feet. Luigi passed by her and took up his stand in the gathering
+gloom of the little passage, his eyes fixed warily upon Natale. The
+little boy had released his hand from the priest’s outside the door,
+and now stood leaning against the railing of the balcony, staring
+frowningly at the woman.
+
+“You are content to have it over with, Gigi?” the mother asked,
+glancing from man to boy and back again.
+
+Luigi nodded his head.
+
+“Give him something to eat and put him to bed,” he counseled in a low
+tone, “and do not argue with him to-night. To-morrow the sun will shine
+and he will begin to forget.”
+
+Natale’s sharp ears caught every word, stolid as he looked. “Forget?”
+What did they think he would forget? Not Olga’s last words, certainly:
+“I would run after the wagon, if I were you.”
+
+But, _why was he not running now_? No door, as yet, kept him prisoner.
+There was the empty street. Below ran the long, long white road. The
+night was coming down, and he was not afraid of the dark. Once out
+of sight, around one of the loops of the road, it would take but a
+moment to slip off the heavy shoes with their soles half an inch thick,
+and then on and on in the cool darkness he might run on light bare
+feet--“after the wagon.”
+
+He thrilled with the thought as it flashed through his mind, but a
+flash of the same thought thrilled Sora Grazia at the same time, for
+just then she leaned forward and laying her hand on Natale’s arm, she
+drew him to her side.
+
+“Once I had a curly-haired little boy of my own,” she said with a
+serious smile, “but after a while, he grew to be a man, and now he has
+brought to me another little boy. Natalino, I hope you will be as good
+a boy as my Gigi ever was.”
+
+Natale gazed earnestly into the woman’s face.
+
+“I am not at all good, signora,” he said unsteadily, and he could not
+help the stirring of hope in his heart, with this confession, but Sora
+Grazia only smiled again and tapped his cheek, and said that perhaps
+the good Luigi would teach him to be good.
+
+And there was no more opportunity left Natale for running away, for he
+was presently led into the kitchen where he had to sit and watch Sora
+Grazia prepare the macaroni for supper. He was hungry enough to enjoy
+a plateful of this but the slip of boiled beef served him on a clean
+plate afterward could not be choked down. He had overheard some one in
+the tent--could it have been only that very day?--say that he was to
+have meat every day in his new home, and his sister, Arduina, had added
+that she wished _she_ were sure of getting a morsel three times a week.
+Had not a doctor in Sicily said that she must have all delicate and
+nourishing food? And what were dry bread and sour wine as substitutes?
+No, Natale could not eat the meat that night. Happily the plate of
+macaroni had been generous, and what in all the land of sunny Italy is
+so filling as a plate of macaroni?
+
+The valley looked dismally dark that night, as Natale crept from his
+little trestle bed and crouched on the brick floor at the window,
+after he was supposed to be asleep. He was to share the priest’s attic
+chamber, and a few moments before Sora Grazia had carried away the
+candle. He peered out between the flower pots on the window ledge
+and again wondered in his childish way why anybody in the big world
+outside should have troubled to make him miserable.
+
+He was very sure that he had done nothing to harm the foreign lady
+with the spectacles. Once he had laughed when she had sneezed many
+times very loudly, in crossing the field near him, but he was sure no
+one had heard him, for he was lying on the ground and had buried his
+face in the grass. The pretty signorina with her had laughed too, and
+said something in their strange language which the lady had answered
+by another loud sneeze. Besides this, there was absolutely nothing he
+could have done to provoke any of the people in the garden. Yet, here
+he was being punished!
+
+The thought of Sora Grazia oppressed him, her serious face and her
+high hopes of his goodness. The house, too, was quieter than any place
+he had ever known,--he who had been used to few roofs save those of
+the caravan and tent. There were no children about, and there was no
+sound inside of crying, or laughing, or singing, or whistling. It was
+almost as bad as having to live in a solemn church when the candles
+are all out and the crowds are gone, and one feels, in the dimness and
+silence, as if something were coming up stealthily behind one to scare
+one’s wits away. It is all very well to rest for a minute in a cool
+church, out of the glare of the sunlight, when one may run out again at
+will, free as a wild bird or butterfly. But to have to stay, night and
+day, for a whole year in such a place! Natale shuddered, for this was
+just the way in which the awful quiet of the little stone house of the
+priest affected him.
+
+When Luigi came up to bed, hours later, he lifted the sleeping boy from
+the bricks at the window and covered him up snugly in bed.
+
+“My mother thinks we can do it,” he muttered to himself, as he threw
+off his black gown. “I shall do my part, but I am not sure they have
+done a wise thing.” Then he sighed a little. Perhaps he was wishing
+that he could be a little boy again, with the wide, wide world before
+him, and no one to interfere with his choice of a career,--free to be
+acrobat or priest, but always to have his own choice.
+
+With the passing of the first night all idea of running away seemed
+to have left Natale’s mind, and Sora Grazia was at first delighted to
+find her charge as submissive as a lamb to all her arrangements. After
+the first day or two, however, it became not quite so comfortable to
+see the little boy sit immovable for hours at a time, on the floor of
+the balcony, gazing down into the valley where the river ran merrily
+over the rocks. She would even have preferred to rebuke the child
+for something a little more outrageous than his listless torpor. She
+herself had to eat the meat prepared for Natale, if she would not see
+it wasted, for Natale could not touch it, nor would Luigi, her usually
+tractable son.
+
+The young priest was no less puzzled over Natale’s conduct than his
+mother was. The schoolmaster reported to him that the boy held his
+little paper-covered spelling-book before his eyes with the utmost
+diligence, and really seemed to try to remember the letters as they
+were pointed out to him with patient repetition, but that he might as
+well have been gazing off into the valley instead, for all the good the
+pages did him, and Luigi believed it.
+
+The other boys tried to lure him into their games and to practice his
+funny _capitomboli_ but he would only sit quietly by, on the stone
+steps of the church, watching them till playtime was over, when he must
+sit up on the bench in the schoolroom again and hold his book before
+his eyes.
+
+“He cannot keep up his sulking forever,” Sora Grazia said on the
+sixth day of Natale’s stay with her. Luigi was standing near her in
+the balcony, brushing the dust from the skirts of his long gown, which
+he shook vigorously with his strong hands, as his mother continued, “I
+confess that I am surprised he has taken things so quietly.”
+
+“A little too quietly!” muttered Luigi into the folds of his gown.
+
+“But now, one would like to see him brighten up a little instead of
+glooming over his food and everything else,” Sora Grazia went on.
+“He is not the same child he was a week ago, making his ridiculous
+_capitomboli_ over the circus carpet. I wonder if he could turn a
+somersault now, Luigi.” The woman lifted her head from her work to look
+over at Natale, who sat on the low street wall with his feet dangling
+into the road.
+
+“I gave him leave to go and play with the boys down in the field, this
+afternoon,” said Luigi, shaking his gown almost viciously. “He said he
+did not wish to go where his tent had been, and that he never expected
+to turn a somersault again.”
+
+“Impertinent!” exclaimed Sora Grazia. “We’ll let him alone a while
+longer, and he’ll come all right. A child cannot sulk forever, as I
+said before.”
+
+“But one can die of starvation and homesickness, perhaps,” quoth Luigi,
+stepping past his mother and springing up the stairs, his gown upon his
+arm.
+
+Grazia’s retort was stayed upon her lips by what she now saw passing in
+the street.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII
+
+THE CAGE DOOR OPENED
+
+
+NATALE, too, was looking up, but only dully, as a party of ladies and
+gentlemen sauntered toward him laughing and talking gayly as they came.
+Many such groups had passed him already, taking afternoon strolls
+toward the beautiful promenade of San Vito leading around the mountain
+side. But this particular group paused, when a spectacled old lady
+did, and all gathered about Natale, except the white-haired gentleman
+standing a little aloof and tapping the paving stones with his stick.
+
+“Why haven’t you been to see us, Natale Marzuchetti?” Miss Lorini asked
+cheerfully in Italian. “Mrs. Bishop was sure you would come.”
+
+“He does not look like the same child!” whispered Betty to her aunt,
+who now pushed forward.
+
+“Ask him if he is a _smart_ boy in school, and if he is not _glad_ to
+be dressed so decently and to be learning something _useful_,” Mrs.
+Bishop said hurriedly to the Italian lady, all of which was repeated to
+Natale in his own language as was requested. But Natale only shook his
+head slowly and wistfully.
+
+“You used to talk fast enough!” Mrs. Bishop cried impatiently. “Look,”
+she went on, pointing to the next house, a little farther on, “don’t
+you see that white stone in the wall? The words on it tell about a man
+who was born there, two hundred and fifty years ago, who was so good
+and useful that the people here put his name up there that he might
+never be forgotten. What’s to hinder there being a stone put up on
+this house, to tell about little Natale who was only a poor circus boy,
+but who came to live here when he was eight years old and became a very
+useful and good man? Tell him, Miss Lorini, just what I say!” And Mrs.
+Bishop pointed from the memorial tablet in one house to the blank front
+wall of the other, while Luigi, peering out of his window between the
+flower pots, dodged behind a tall geranium, and hoped the sharp eyes of
+the old lady were not searching for him.
+
+Natale listened gravely to Miss Lorini’s communication, his eyes
+passing carelessly from the memorial tablet to the wall of an opposite
+house.
+
+There was a rude painting on this wall of a Madonna holding a baby
+in her arms, and it was protected from the weather by a shallow arch
+of masonry. As Natale looked at the picture, he was reminded in some
+mysterious way of Nonna, who was never without a child in her arms,
+unless she were bending over a fountain washing the children’s clothes.
+A new look sprang into his eyes.
+
+“Our Antonio had _his_ name printed in Egypt and in Turkey and in
+Greece!” he answered proudly, for the first time opening his lips. “I
+would rather be like that than have my name cut here on the priest’s
+house!”
+
+“Good for the little chap,” cried the gentleman softly. He had
+understood what the shrill little voice said.
+
+“Printed on what, child? What was ‘our Antonio’s’ name printed on, in
+all those places?” Miss Lorini asked.
+
+“On paper, of course,” answered the child simply. “And there were
+pictures of him too, all red and yellow and blue, performing on
+the bars. Everybody in the streets was looking at his name and the
+pictures.” The little fellow’s face was glowing as he spoke of his
+friend, and Miss Lorini had not the heart to translate his words to
+Mrs. Bishop, who could hardly have passed them by calmly.
+
+“But you are content here?” Betty managed to ask in intelligible
+Italian.
+
+The shadow fell again over Natale’s face, and his figure visibly
+drooped. He did not pretend to answer her question.
+
+“Oh, Aunty, let him go back to his people,” Betty pleaded, seeing the
+change. “Anybody can see that he is miserable. He is too little to be
+made to suffer.”
+
+“He is too little to suffer long,” Mrs. Bishop replied calmly, with but
+one thought in her mind, of course.
+
+“Poor little Egyptian!” sighed the gentleman. “He was born in Egypt,
+was he not, Miss Betty?”
+
+“At Port Said, yes, and Pietro in Tunis they say.”
+
+“Well, be a good boy, Natale,” said Mrs. Bishop, patting his head, in
+its new cap. “Then you will be happy. In a few days, I shall send for
+you to come to see me, and we will drink tea in the garden. Good-by!
+_Addio!_”
+
+Natale touched his hat, as he had long ago been taught to do, and the
+pedestrians moved away, all but the gentleman who had called him a
+“little Egyptian.”
+
+He stood for a moment at Natale’s side, with his back turned to the
+house and his departing friends, and in a trice a handful of copper
+coins was transferred from his pocket to Natale’s hands. Mr. Grantly
+had just had a paper note changed into small coins, at the fruit shop,
+and he was glad to relieve his pocket of some of its weight.
+
+“I hope his guardians will let him keep the money,” was his thought
+as he turned away from Natale’s brilliant smile of thanks. The boy’s
+training had made him none too proud to accept the money of a
+stranger, and he lost no time in stowing it away in his jacket pocket,
+while Mr. Grantly hurried after the echoing steps of his party.
+
+Luigi at the window above had seen the money given to Natale, but he
+asked no questions of the boy, who, after kicking his heels against the
+wall for some time longer, was presently called to his supper.
+
+There was a flush on Natale’s cheeks and a brightness in his eyes which
+even Sora Grazia noticed, and as the evening was cool, she thought it
+wise to forbid his sitting out on the balcony or the wall, as was his
+wont, until bedtime. He looked feverish, she said, and in her own mind
+she planned a cup of hot camomile tea as a remedy at bedtime. Natale’s
+disappointment at this command to keep indoors showed so plainly upon
+his childish features that Sora Grazia was provoked, and for the first
+time since the boy had been with her she used harsh tones.
+
+“There! you may as well go to bed at once!” she cried, as he was
+leaving the kitchen, without a word it is true, but with the light all
+gone from his face. “I can never please you, whatever I do, and you are
+here only to waste food and sulk. Go to bed, Natale!”
+
+Luigi had gone off directly after eating his supper, about some matter
+of business with one of his superiors at the church, so he was not
+there to take Natale’s part.
+
+It is hard enough to be sent to bed on an ordinary night and at one’s
+regular time, as any child will agree, but to be forbidden the early
+hours of a moonlit evening outdoors, especially when one’s little head
+is teeming with wild, delicious ideas of flight--away from daily baths,
+from the cramping walls of a house, and out into the freshness and
+freedom of the night, which has no terror for the dwellers in tents,
+was well-nigh unbearable.
+
+Ah! how little Sora Grazia knew of the anguish she was causing!
+
+But Natale obediently stumbled slowly upstairs in the dark to the
+bedroom, and when there, crouched in his usual place on the floor
+behind the flower pots without an audible murmur.
+
+The little acrobat had made no plans at all, but with the touch of the
+money given him by the kind old gentleman on San Vito, an impulse to
+seek his freedom had occurred to his mind, and in the half-hour while
+he continued on the wall, furtively handling the coins in his pocket,
+he had wished,--only wished, however,--that he might have the courage
+to steal out into the moonlight, after eating, while Sora Grazia should
+be about her dish-washing, and Luigi poring over one of his little
+black books, perhaps, by the light of the candle in the kitchen. He had
+often thought of Olga’s words, “I would run after the wagon, if I were
+you,” but he had been too closely watched during the first day or two
+to admit of his carrying out so bold a plan, and since then, for the
+rest of the long, dreary week since the caravan had gone, he had not
+had the spirit to undertake such a measure. The whole world seemed to
+intervene between himself and the beloved company who had gone, and he
+felt sure that he would be seen by some mistaken person and brought
+back, even before he could reach the river, if he should attempt to
+follow.
+
+Until to-night no thought of leaving under the protection of the
+friendly darkness had come to him, and he had only been able to see
+himself flying down the sunny road in full view of all the village, to
+be promptly turned back again by some carriage driver of the place, or
+some schoolboy bigger than himself and therefore stronger. Besides, he
+had had no money, and Natale had traveled enough to know that a few
+cents in one’s pocket make one’s road easier and less long. So the
+days had passed, and Natale was fast drifting into a state of listless
+torpor which must have ended in illness, had not Mr. Grantly changed
+a five-franc note at the fruit shop that sunny afternoon and taken a
+stroll along San Vito where Natale sat “sulking” on the wall!
+
+Presently, as the little child continued to gaze longingly out into the
+moonlight, a ray of further hope illumined his mind. As Luigi had gone
+to the church now, it would be late before he would return. Sora Grazia
+always sat dozing on her stool in the doorway until time for barring
+the door and going to bed. Why should he not slip past her and away
+into the shadows of the street, before Luigi should return? His heart
+leaped at the thought, and he rose noiselessly to his feet and glanced
+around the darkening room. His small cot stood smooth and white against
+the wall. Another thought struck him, and he quailed with a sense of
+utter discouragement. When Luigi should come in,--and he might be very
+early, one never knew,--the runaway would be missed straightway from
+the empty little bed, and easily overtaken if he should have taken the
+regular road down the hill.
+
+It is true there were paths innumerable down the terraces from the
+back of almost any house in the street, most of them probably leading
+down to the river far below, but Natale had been no explorer of the
+neighborhood during his week of captivity, and was ignorant of the
+precipitate windings and the final ending of even the most practicable
+of these. No, he must go by the road, and he must wait until Luigi
+should return, and get to bed and to sleep.
+
+Natale knew that the priest slept soundly, for, one night he had
+had the misfortune to knock over upon the floor a pot containing a
+carnation plant, and the crash had not awakened Luigi. The boy had
+waked and had gone to the window to peer out into the night, fancying
+that he heard the hoarse creaking of the caravan brake as the clumsy
+vehicle crawled down the hill, and in craning his head between the
+pots, his elbow had pushed over one of them. Fortunately, neither pot
+nor plant had broken, and he had spent a good deal of time in packing
+the loosened earth about the carnation’s roots and replacing the pot
+among its fellows. The next morning, Sora Grazia had bidden him be more
+careful about carrying mud upstairs on his shoes, only to be cleaned up
+by her afterward, and he supposed he must have left some of the earth
+upon the floor, in the dim light.
+
+At any rate, Luigi slept soundly, and if he, himself, could only
+manage to keep awake until all was safe, he knew that he would have
+no difficulty in unbarring the door. He had accomplished it unaided
+only that morning, with Sora Grazia standing by and saying that it was
+the first thing of use he had set his hands to do since coming there
+to live. She had spoken good-naturedly though, and Natale had nothing
+against her. No, not even now did he remember her late harsh words, for
+he was too sweet-natured to harbor malice. He had only suffered, and
+now there was a prospect of escaping more suffering of the same kind.
+
+So after sitting on his bed with a wild turmoil of thoughts engaging
+his busy little brain, he began rapidly to undress. Luigi must not find
+him up! But, after taking off the strong new suit of clothes which Mrs.
+Bishop had had made for him, he rummaged under his mattress where his
+old things had been stored by Sora Grazia and quickly got into the worn
+trousers, the faded blouse and leggings, tucking the old shoes under
+his pillow. He had set the new shoes and stockings in orderly fashion
+on the floor and folded up the new clothes and laid them at the foot of
+the little cot. How fortunate that his old shoes had not been thrown
+away, for he could hardly have traveled barefoot over the flinty stones
+of the road and the river. Natale chose to wear the old easy shoes,
+for the new ones had always hurt him, and he would not have been able
+to steal unheard out of the house with those heavy, creaking soles
+tramping over the bricks. If he had known of the long way ahead of the
+old worn shoes, perhaps he would have planned to carry the despised
+footgear in his hands. But forethought had little place in the mind of
+so young a runaway, and he was guided in his change of clothes only by
+his own desires for comfort. The old clothes were as familiar as old
+friends, and therefore he preferred them.
+
+Then, after making his preparations, not forgetting to change the money
+from the pocket of the new jacket to that of his old trousers, he laid
+himself down on the cot, and drew up the light covering snugly about
+his shoulders, devoutly hoping that he would not fall soundly asleep.
+
+If Natale had only known it, Sora Grazia, believing Natale safe for the
+night, had slipped off for a gossip with a friend living just back of
+the church, simply drawing the door to behind her and leaving the coast
+clear for flight. And it would not have been difficult for the boy to
+leave a semblance of himself tucked under the bed covering, in the
+shape of the roll of discarded clothes and shoes! But little Natale was
+not possessed of a very designing brain, and after all, Luigi _might_
+have come in untimely, and spoiled it all!
+
+In a few moments, the would-be runaway was fast asleep, while the moon
+sailed across the valley from the eastern toward the western sky.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX
+
+THE FLIGHT OF THE BIRD
+
+
+WHEN Natale next opened his eyes he became very wide awake indeed, in
+an instant. In fact, he did not know that he had been asleep at all,
+until the moonlight, slanting in, showed Luigi’s long body stretched
+upon the iron bed close by.
+
+What could have waked Natale? For a moment he lay still without
+recollection of the momentous plans made at his early bedtime. Then
+he recalled a sensation of icy cold water about his feet, and he
+remembered that he had dreamed of a sudden plunge into the river while
+trying to find the stepping-stones. It must have been the chill of the
+dream-water that had awakened him! He sat up and found that he was
+still dressed and in his old clothes.
+
+Ah! it was easy to remember all now, and after a breathless glance over
+his shoulder at Luigi, who was comfortably snoring, Natale slipped out
+of bed. Catching up his old hat and his shoes he stole softly over the
+brick floor and down the stone stairs as quietly as any mouse would
+have done.
+
+Sora Grazia slept downstairs, but the door of her room was mercifully
+closed, and Natale knew that she often locked it at night. He turned
+his back upon it, therefore, with confidence, as he felt in the
+darkness for the balcony door. He exerted all his strength to raise the
+heavy bar of iron which guarded the door. Then he was very careful to
+keep his hold on the bar, as it swung downward, lest it should rouse
+the house with its usual clanging fall. The huge key was in the lock,
+and Natale succeeded in turning it with both hands, although this was
+much more difficult than raising the bar above the lock. It creaked
+dully as it turned, and Natale’s heart leaped into his throat, and a
+dozen noises buzzed in his ears.
+
+Breathless, he stood with his hand on the latch, afraid to move lest
+the door behind him should open, and everything come to an end. But
+nothing happened, so he swung open the door, and without stopping to
+close it behind him, he again caught up his shoes, which he had had to
+set down, and ran along the balcony and out into the street, his feet
+pattering softly on the stones.
+
+In his haste he did not stop to think of the direction he should take.
+His only impulse was to get out into the night somewhere, away from the
+houses and street. So he ran swiftly along in the shadow cast by wall
+and house, in just the opposite direction from that which would have
+led him past the church tower and through the village, out upon the
+downward road. Presently he crouched in a shadow to draw on his shoes,
+then fled onward again.
+
+Once away, he lost his bearings utterly and hurried on without turning,
+past the small house with the Madonna painted on the wall, past the
+large house where the white tablet to “Pietro Pacioni” gleamed in
+the moonlight, and then downward, by a roughly paved path leading
+to the Campo Santo. Perhaps he would have kept on aimlessly along
+San Vito,--the fashionable promenade leading always higher along the
+mountain side till it ended in an open plateau high up above the
+valley,--if he had not heard steps approaching. Whether these steps
+came from behind or from ahead he did not stop to discover. The
+downward path offered safety, and a small pink villa threw a dark
+shadow across its entrance, so Natale lost not an instant in scudding
+down the friendly by-way.
+
+On he trotted, past the shrine where the tiny Della Robbia Madonna sits
+under her arch, the moonlight touching the shining blue of her hood,
+the yellow of her robe and the pink of the baby on her knees with a
+radiance that was almost startling on the edge of the shadow. Now the
+path grew level, and the stones were left behind, and no more noise of
+footsteps disturbed the quiet.
+
+A few rods more, and Natale stood in front of the small mortuary chapel
+outside the cemetery. The iron gates set in the wall of the cemetery
+were locked, as Natale found on gently shaking them. He had paused to
+peep through the slender grating into the inclosure where the moonlight
+touched the white tomb of the foreign gentleman buried close under the
+wall, and showed so plainly the numbers on the low stakes marking the
+graves of the nameless poor. The shadows of the cypress trees lay like
+long black fingers outstretched upon the wilds of weedy undergrowth,
+and the wind stirred dismally on the exposed hillside.
+
+One day, Natale and Olga had wandered together as far as these iron
+gates. He remembered it now, and with the recollection he sprang away,
+eager to continue his journey,--then stood still, uncertain as to his
+path.
+
+The way which had brought him downward came to an abrupt end with the
+little chapel, outside the gates. It would not do to lose himself among
+the chestnut woods in search of a path! Yet, how could he plunge down
+the pathless slopes among the great trees, with nothing to guide him
+but the murmur of the river far below? Still less was he willing to
+return to the road above and turn about to take his way through the
+village and so on out upon the road. He was almost sure that if he
+could only see to find his way, some downward path from where he stood
+would bring him to a river crossing, perhaps a long, long way below the
+arched bridge, and therefore much farther on his journey.
+
+Bewildered and tired, he was almost ready to give up his flight, and
+to creep into the dark portico of the little chapel, and back into the
+shade beneath the picture of the Saint with the skull in his hand, and
+there end this strange night, which already seemed to him longer than
+any night he had ever known. But he roused himself to one more effort,
+and crept around to the back wall of the chapel. There, to his joyful
+surprise, he came upon a semblance of a path!
+
+All indecision was gone now, and he fairly slid down the rocky and
+precipitous way, which was more gully than footway, being in fact a
+watercourse for the torrents leaping down the mountain side, after
+some storm of rain, as well as a short cut to the river for roughly
+shod peasant feet.
+
+More than once Natale stumbled, and once he fell headlong, bruising his
+hands and knees, but he did not mind, for the rushing of the little
+river down among the rocks was becoming very loud in his ears.
+
+When at last he came out of the woods, and stood on the edge of the
+waste of rounded stones loosely paving the river bed, he looked back
+a moment to where the village must be, high above, a huddle of gray
+wall and roof, with the square church tower in its midst. All seemed as
+silent in the sleeping town as in the home of the sleeping dead on its
+outskirts. Then, just as Natale again turned his back upon the mountain
+side, where perched Cutigliano like a bit of gray lichen growing on
+some mossy bowlder, the beautiful, bright, friendly moon slipped quite
+over the mountain in the west, and darkness fell upon the valley,
+where deep down in its darkest shadow Natale was ready to cross the
+river. The light of the moon still touched the chestnut woods higher
+up the slopes, but every moment the shadow would be creeping higher
+and higher, until there would be no more moonlight on this side the
+mountain, and only the stars would come peeping out at Natale.
+
+After slipping off his shoes and leggings, the boy began picking his
+way carefully over the large dry stones which were worn smooth and
+round by slow wasting in the wet seasons, when the river flooded its
+narrow course and spread to the grassy banks. The stones rolled under
+even his light footsteps, but Natale kept his balance in crossing the
+smaller stones, and clambered patiently over or around the largest
+ones, and presently arrived at the edge of the black, rushing water.
+The brawling Lima makes a great ado hereabouts, as it tumbles over the
+rocks, for its bed slopes decidedly all the way to Lucca and beyond,
+and there is no opportunity for it to moderate its pace, or calm its
+chafings against the rocks.
+
+With the first touch of the icy water upon his bared feet, Natale
+recalled his dream. How long ago it had been since he had lain safely
+in his bed under the slanting roof of Luigi’s house! Again and again
+he tried to plant his foot firmly in the midst of the swirling water,
+which was perhaps as much as twenty feet wide at that point, but
+always it was deeper and colder than he had expected, and the stones
+more slippery and unsteady. Then he began wandering up and down the
+bank, in quest of the stepping-stones, which here and there certainly
+crossed the river both above and below the arched bridge. Unsuccessful
+in this, Natale finally exerted himself to make a reckless dash into
+the current, where he found himself the next instant up to his waist
+in the black water and clinging desperately by one free hand to a wet
+rock, with the instinct of preserving himself from being carried off
+his feet. Then miserably he felt his way back to the dry rocks on the
+edge of the stream, and dropping down upon their harsh bosom, he began
+to cry bitterly.
+
+He had so hoped there would be a crossing place! If he could only find
+it! His feet were sore with bruises now, and he felt as if he could
+not walk another step. He grew cold as he crouched there, sobbing with
+disappointment, for though the sun shines hot during the daytime on
+the chestnut trees and the vines of the Apennines, the nights, even of
+summer, are cool, and now a chill wind came sweeping down the valley
+from the fir-crowned summits of Abetone.
+
+Presently the little wanderer roused himself and stood on his feet.
+Nothing could tempt him to try to find his way back to the house of
+the priest, not even aching feet or shivering limbs, but he began to
+think there might be a more sheltered place near by--this little boy of
+the road, who had taken many a noontide nap curled up at the foot of
+some wayside tree. Perhaps the earliest light of dawn would show him
+the stepping-stones and the road, of which there was no hint now in the
+blackness of darkness across the river. Painfully he crept back toward
+the bank, where presently he curled himself into a knot at the foot of
+a huge, distorted old chestnut tree, a short distance up the slope.
+The grass was soft and springy about the roots of the old tree, and a
+huge boulder near by shut off the wind from Natale’s shivering legs.
+So, with a sigh of content, and for the first time tasting the sweets
+of his new freedom, the little acrobat closed his eyes upon the stars
+winking down at him from above the stirring leaves, and fell asleep for
+the second time that night.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X
+
+ON THE WING
+
+
+LONG before Natale waked, the day had dawned, but the sun had not long
+looked down into the valley before he turned stiffly on his grassy
+couch and rubbed his eyes. Then, however, he lost not an instant in
+taking up his journey where it had left off the night before.
+
+How easy it was in the light of the sunbeams of the early morning to
+spring over the dry stones of the bank, and with a swift glance up
+and down select a safe place to cross the water which had seemed so
+dangerous and cruel in the dark.
+
+The daylight changed everything, of course, and it was but a few
+moments after waking before he was across the stream and scrambling
+up to the low wall bounding the road on the river side. From the inner
+edge of the road the mountains rose precipitately.
+
+As Natale clambered over the wall the church bells of Cutigliano
+burst into a wrangle of sound, which must have echoed from one end of
+the village to the other. Though the distance softened the metallic
+tones, the little boy was startled by them into a scamper away down
+the sunlit road as if the mischievous village boys whose office it was
+to ring the bells were in headlong chase after him. The day must have
+been the _festa_ of some saint, and for a long time Natale heard the
+bells’ voices, sweetened more and more as his bare feet trudged onward
+and the distance fell between him and them. But he soon gave up his
+running because his legs were stiff and his feet sore, and as yet no
+one appeared coming along the road behind him, in pursuit.
+
+There had been no doubt in his own mind of the direction he should take
+after once gaining the road. He knew that Giovanni and Antonio with the
+house-wagon had been bound for the Bagni di Lucca, and also he knew
+that the road to the Bagni led downward with the stream, and not up
+toward the cold region of Abetone, the “Great Fir Tree.”
+
+So all he had to do was to follow the road, broad and white, by the way
+they had come three weeks before, without need, even, of asking his way
+of the peasants he should meet. He had turned the shoulder of a great
+green mountain-spur which entirely shut off the view of Cutigliano
+before he would stop for an instant in his lame tramping. Once assured
+that the town was out of sight behind him, he sat down breathlessly on
+one of the heaps of loose stones such as flank every mountain road in
+Italy. Then he deliberately took each foot in turn in his small hands
+and gravely and pitifully examined its bruises. There was nothing to be
+done, then, but plant them in the road again and continue his way.
+
+For an hour or more he trudged painfully on, but the stiffness in his
+legs left him after a while, and he began to be only hungry. He wished
+he had thought of hiding in his pocket, the night before, a crust of
+the dark, coarse bread he loved, and which had always been plentiful at
+Sora Grazia’s. But the coppers jingled comfortably there instead, and
+Natale contented himself to wait for breakfast till he should pass some
+bread shop along the road.
+
+The morning air was sweet with the freshness of early day, and the
+delicious odor of the wild thyme’s tiny blossoms. Tall harebells nodded
+to him from the thyme and heather bank shoulder-high above the road,
+and sparkled with the sunshine and dew upon their purple flowerets. The
+river, which in the darkness had seemed to mock him with its roaring,
+now only murmured softly as it slipped over the stones in the sunlight.
+
+By and by, Natale began to meet people in the road, men with donkeys
+bearing huge basketfuls of wet grass and wild flowers shorn from the
+steep terraces above for the cow or donkey at home, and women tramping
+in their thick-soled shoes to Cutigliano with baskets of fresh fruit
+or eggs or cheeses for the summer hotels balanced on their heads. From
+all of these Natale kept his face steadily averted, lest they should
+bear back to the town tidings of his going. Usually, after passing a
+group of these wayfarers, the boy broke into a quick run in order to
+lengthen the distance between them and himself, but these spurts of
+speed availed him little, for he had always to stop and rest afterward,
+and so lost many more minutes than he had gained of the golden day.
+
+The road had already become a curving white glare before Natale came
+in sight of a long stone house having many windows and doors, and
+standing on the inner edge of the road. He came upon it suddenly, on
+turning a sharp curve, and then he saw that another house faced it on
+the opposite side of the road, and that an inviting shade lay between.
+The back of one of the houses looked directly upon the steep slope of
+the mountain behind, while the rear wall of its opposite neighbor had
+its foundation in the rocky banks of the tumbling river. In the shade
+between, barefoot peasant children played noisily. Near by, a stream
+of spring water, clear and cold, trickled from a wooden trough into a
+rough stone basin.
+
+And here at last were rest and food and drink for the runaway,--only no
+one must learn that he was a runaway!
+
+A fat and black-eyed housewife with arms akimbo stood in one of the
+doors, and as Natale came up to her on limping feet, she eyed him with
+interest from the stone of the doorstep.
+
+“Will you give me a little piece of bread, signora? See, I have money,”
+said Natale, showing her a handful of Mr. Grantly’s copper coins in his
+open palm.
+
+“A bit of bread you shall have, to be sure, and your _soldi_ you shall
+keep, little one,” the good-natured creature promptly answered, and
+while the children left their play and gathered about Natale, with
+friendly eyes, their mother disappeared into the very small and dusky
+shop behind.
+
+“There, sit down and eat,” she said, returning with a hunk of bread and
+a generous lump of cheese on a coarse plate in her hand.
+
+As Natale received the plate and moved rather lamely toward the
+dripping fountain in the shade, the children ran ahead, and one filled
+a rusty tin cup with the cold water and had it ready for Natale by the
+time he reached the mossy brink of the fountain.
+
+These little ones of the road, wild and rude enough in their play, were
+well used to offering the “cup of cold water” to the passing wayfarer,
+and Natale’s thirsty throat gulped the draught gratefully.
+
+There was something about the child which arrested the attention of the
+woman more than the ordinary passer-by often did, and she also stood
+watching Natale breakfast hungrily.
+
+He was shy and downcast, fearing difficult questions, and as soon as
+the last crumb of bread and cheese had disappeared he got to his feet,
+setting the empty plate on the margin of the fountain.
+
+“Thank you, signora, and good-by,” he said, and was off.
+
+“No, but wait!” she cried, laying her hand on his shrinking shoulder.
+“You have eaten my bread; now answer my questions. What is your name,
+_picino_,[7] and where are you going?”
+
+[Footnote 7: Little boy.]
+
+“Down the road,” was the shyly spoken answer to the last question, with
+a quiet waiving of the first. “Please let me go, signora. It is already
+late, and I must hasten.”
+
+“Well, go!” she exclaimed then, “and a good journey to you!” But she
+stood watching him trudge briskly away from her until another curve in
+the zigzag road hid him from her sight.
+
+“Some stranger’s child!” she muttered to herself, going back to the
+doorstep. “I have never seen him pass here before, and few there be
+who pass by without the knowledge of Chiara. Well, I am glad he has
+his _soldi_ safe in his pocket. May the saints protect and feed my own
+children when they go a-wandering! You, Beppo! keep your head out of
+the dust of the road!”
+
+“Mamá, mamá, Beppino is making _capitomboli_, such as the boy who was
+here just now made in the circus at Cutigliano, on the day we went with
+our father to the big tent! Do you not remember?” cried an admiring
+small sister of Beppo. “See, our Beppo does them even better than the
+other boy, mamá!”
+
+The woman gave a little start of recollection, and then dismissed the
+idea which had occurred to her, as impossible--fortunately, perhaps,
+for Natale.
+
+“Silly girl! The circus people went down the road a week ago to the
+Bagni, do _you_ not remember? How should the boy be seven days behind?
+No more _capitomboli_, I say, Beppo _mio_, in all this dust!”
+
+[Illustration: “Capitomboli, such as the boy who was here just now made
+in the circus at Cutigliano.” _Page 142._]
+
+In a carriage, with two good horses and a fine cracking whip behind
+them, one may drive from Cutigliano down to the Baths of Lucca in the
+first half of a summer’s day. On two tired slim little legs, one
+would need much more time to accomplish the journey. Also when one has
+been for six days imprisoned within stone walls, one does not hurry--if
+fairly out of danger--along beauteous and fresh-smelling paths of
+freedom.
+
+Every hour or so after leaving the woman and children at the fountain,
+Natale stopped for a rest along the way. Sometimes he sat down
+on a heap of mending stones by the wayside, in company with some
+stone-breaker hammering away in the shade of his sun screen, a rude
+lattice of chestnut boughs propped behind the heap of stones.
+
+The monotonous clink of the hammer breaking the sharp-edged stones was
+usually stayed as the lonely worker turned to chat with the large-eyed
+child hovering near. Only once or twice was Natale’s cheerful “_Buon’
+giorno!_”[8] returned by an unwelcoming growl or by sour silence.
+In such cases, the dawdling feet made all haste to pass and seek a
+resting-place in the shade of some breeze-rustled chestnut tree quite
+out of sight of the cross stone-breaker.
+
+[Footnote 8: Good morning.]
+
+The second night was passed as the first had been, out of doors,
+after a supper of hot rice paid for at an _osteria_,[9] a short way
+back along the road. Natale might have slept, as well, at the little
+inn, but he was too unused to roofs to dream of proposing it, and the
+absent-minded old landlord had not seemed to be thinking of anything
+but puffing away at his pipe, as Natale slipped past him and out of the
+dingy passage-way, after paying for his food.
+
+[Footnote 9: Inn.]
+
+A long-bodied two-wheeled cart stood outside the inn door, its shafts’
+ends resting on the ground, its rear high in air, and Natale, with an
+instinct for sleeping above wheels, had decided to return to the cart
+for a night’s lodging place when the world should be dark again. But
+sleep overtook him as he lay waiting at the foot of a tree to which
+he had scrambled from the road below, and when he roused, dawn was
+staining the pale sky with rose color.
+
+The next day promised to pass as the first had done,--with slipping
+shyly past occasional houses of entertainment along the way, with
+lingerings to stare into the mysterious depths of some noisy mill in
+league with the tumbling river, and with long, monotonous trampings,
+between times, along the smooth road, bordered always by the mountains
+and the river. As the road neared the valley, it crossed dashing
+streams hurrying to join their waters to the broader water of the
+river, and so solid was the stone masonry of the arches that one would
+never have known that he was crossing a bridge but for the sparkle and
+the laughter of the foaming water as it dashed under the road and out
+again.
+
+Many times Natale, himself a small dark speck on the endless white
+road, looked up the long mountain slopes, green in the sunlight, purple
+in the shadow, and glimpsed high above him on the giddy heights the
+climbing roofs of some hoary old mountain town, away out of hearing of
+the busy river, out of reach of traveling circus wagons, and which,
+
+  “Like an eagle’s nest hangs on the crest
+  Of purple Apennine.”
+
+It was past noon of the second day when Natale entered a village
+on a level with the highway. Here the road suddenly changed into a
+stone-paved street, running between high houses and echoing with the
+tramp of wooden-soled shoes and the patter of donkeys’ hoofs.
+
+He stopped at the door of a sour-smelling wine shop where sat a man on
+a stool outside the door. To him the little boy put his question as
+to whether this town might perhaps be very near to the Bagni di Lucca.
+This man wore a red fez on his bushy, black head, and down his long,
+black beard trickled drops from the wine cup at his lips. The fellow
+did not stop his drinking long enough to reply in so many words to the
+question, but a decided shaking of his head and the pointing of a long,
+dirty finger onward sufficiently enlightened Natale, and he kept slowly
+on his way.
+
+In passing a small baker’s shop, he stopped and bought a great ring of
+sweetish bread, and then slipping his arm through this, he went more
+cheerily onward. There were still many _soldi_ left in his pocket, and
+surely this beautiful ring of bread would last until the Bagni di Lucca
+should come in sight, with, of course, the dear yellow tent set in its
+midst!
+
+One of the last houses he passed as he left the town was entered
+through a garden by a huge wooden door opening upon the cobblestones
+of the street. This door stood ajar, and Natale stayed his steps for a
+moment to gaze through the aperture down a charming vista of trellised
+vines supported on crumbling white columns of masonry. Green and
+gold lights played over the rough paving-stones of the cloister-like
+colonnade through the latticework above. Halfway down this corridor,
+two or three girls romped and sang together, their scarlet kerchiefs
+and the rich blues of their skirts making dashes of vivid color in the
+shade where they lounged. Pale jewels of grapes, already growing pink
+and amethystine, crowded the vines with promise of luscious sweetness
+when their full time should come.
+
+The girls peered back at the travel-worn lad peering in at them, but
+when the largest of them called mockingly to him, “Enter, signore!”
+Natale ran away down the street and again out upon the road. The girls
+had made him think of Arduina and Olga and little Maria, and away down
+at the end of the corridor he had caught a glimpse of a gray-haired
+woman sitting on a flight of broken stone steps, with an infant on her
+lap. His heart swelled with homesickness. If only he might see Nonna
+once again! How long was the monotonous road to Bagni di Lucca!
+
+The day, however, was not to close without an exciting and important
+event.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI
+
+FLUTTERING A LITTLE FARTHER
+
+
+NATALE sat down in his leisurely fashion on the low wall bounding the
+road just beyond the town and began daintily nibbling around the crisp,
+sugared edges of his bread ring. It was mid-afternoon, and while his
+jaws worked steadily, his wide bright eyes watched with interest two
+bicyclists toiling up the hill and trundling their wheels alongside. As
+they passed him by without a glance, their faces red and perspiring,
+and their shoes whitened with the light dust, the boy’s eyes still
+followed them and lighted upon a queer figure coming from the town he
+had just quitted. It was the red-capped, swarthy-faced man of the
+wine-shop door, and now his shoulders were bent under a pack slung on
+his back, and his legs were bowed as he limped along, and he wore an
+old overcoat much too long, which had seen better days upon another’s
+shoulders.
+
+The wheelmen paid no attention to this fellow, as he stopped on meeting
+them and perhaps offered them a sight of his wares hidden in the pack,
+so the peddler presently came up with Natale, grumbling sourly.
+
+“These foreigners without manners!” he growled, planting himself in
+front of the little boy’s swinging legs. “Ah! you are the boy who goes
+to the Bagni. Come, I also go thither. We shall be companions merry
+enough!”
+
+Natale had no fancy for joining company with this man who frowned with
+his black brows and grinned, in turn, with big white teeth gleaming in
+his hairy face, but neither had he the courage to demur. Therefore,
+he slipped down unwillingly from his perch and trotted along at the
+peddler’s side.
+
+Fortunately, the man asked no questions and spoke little, and before
+evening, his steady tramp had led Natale over more miles than the whole
+previous day had carried him. Little cared this strange, silent fellow
+for leaning over walls to gaze at the foaming water singing over the
+rocks, or for idly resting on a bridge to watch the white cloud-ships
+crossing the azure sea overhead, as the white sails of the orange boats
+ply the blue waves between Sicily and the Italian coast, and to dream
+of future glory as an acrobat of renown!
+
+The sun had again sunk behind the rounded summits in the west, when the
+peddler at last stood still and grinned down upon the panting child.
+
+“One easily sees that you are no traveler,” he said in his hoarse,
+unpleasant voice. “Now we will sit down here by the roadside and make
+our beds for the night. Did you mention supper? The bracelet you wear
+on your arm will suffice for us both, if we divide it according to the
+size of our stomachs. _Ecco!_” And Natale’s precious ring of sweetened
+bread was rudely snatched from his arm.
+
+Naturally, Natale was most indignant at being treated in this manner by
+so perfect a stranger, and he did not hesitate to remonstrate.
+
+“But the bread is mine, signore! I bought it with my own _soldi_ in
+the town,” he cried, clutching at the beautiful ring of bread, already
+being broken in two by the peddler’s dirty fingers.
+
+“_Soldi!_” echoed the man; “and where are your precious _soldi_?”
+
+“At the shop where I bought the bread, of course,” was the shrewd
+reply, and not a coin remaining in Natale’s pocket jostled against its
+neighbor now. They kept as quiet as if they knew that long, eager
+fingers were ready to pounce upon them.
+
+Then a change came over the peddler’s manner, and he showed his
+unpleasant-looking teeth in a broad smile. Perhaps he was planning a
+look into those little pockets by and by, who knows?
+
+“What a clever boy you are!” he cried. “Well, as you are also such a
+hungry little beast, take back your bread, and for a relish I shall
+give you a smell of my own supper. See!”
+
+So speaking, he drew a roll of sausage from a pocket of his long coat.
+The sausage was wrapped in a soiled handkerchief, and there was a
+hunk of black bread with it. A knife with a curious curved handle and
+long, shining blade was next produced, and the peddler went to work,
+alternately whacking off bits of the highly seasoned meat and the hard
+bread, and devouring them with crunching teeth and smacking lips.
+
+Natale gnawed industriously at his own bread without even thinking of
+offering to barter a portion of it for a taste of the savory sausage.
+There was a kind of fascination in watching the ugly fellow eat, and
+the wondering brown eyes were fixed upon the peddler’s surly face.
+
+It was now the close of a warm afternoon. A light haze wrapped the
+more distant mountains in misty blue, a chirring of insects stirred
+the silence about the travelers, and now and then a carriage or cart
+whisked downward, or toiled upward, along the road, accompanied by the
+jingle of harness bells and the whooping cries of the drivers. A fog of
+white dust rose behind every passing vehicle, and the chestnut leaves
+overhead, long unwashed by rain, hung grimy and listless in the heavy
+air.
+
+As the peddler supped, large drops of sweat gathered on his long, red
+nose and dripped down his black beard, while his face grew flushed
+and more scowling than ever. Presently, with an angry movement which
+startled Natale half out of his wits, he dropped the sausage and knife
+to the ground and tore off his coat.
+
+“Poor men have no choice!” he muttered. “Bare shoulders in winter, the
+cast-off winter coat of an Englishman in summer!”
+
+The soiled and tattered old coat was tossed aside, falling
+uncomfortably close to Natale’s feet, but he did not dare to push it
+away with disdainful touch. The peddler’s meal now came to an end, the
+remains of the sausage were gathered up with the cruel-looking knife
+and laid aside with the handkerchief, after which the peddler, with
+a satisfied grunt, sprawled himself on his side--to sleep, as Natale
+devoutly hoped.
+
+But not quite yet was the man ready for sleep. Reaching for his pack,
+with a lazy movement from where he lay, he unstrapped it and drew from
+among the coarse laces and horn buttons inside a flat bottle, which
+he uncorked and turned up to his lips. As the liquor gurgled down his
+throat and its strong odor tainted the air, Natale let his eyes fall to
+the uncomely garment lying within touch of his fingers.
+
+Then the boy’s heart leaped into his throat, and it seemed as if he
+would suffocate where he sat. He dared not move, and bravely he looked
+away from the thing which lay within such easy reach of his longing
+hands, half-in, half-out of the fellow’s old coat pocket.
+
+If only the peddling thief would go off into a drunken sleep!
+
+For there, close by, lay Giovanni’s old pocketbook of stamped Spanish
+leather, stained and battered, as Natale had always known it!
+
+Who could tell whether any money still remained in it? There was
+nothing to do but wait till the man should go to sleep, and then,
+stealthily drawing the pocketbook away from the overcoat, speed down
+the road to a safe distance and find out all about it.
+
+He had not long to wait before the peddler returned the bottle to
+the pack, and then, disposing himself on the ground, sank into an
+open-mouthed slumber.
+
+Only when quite sure that the sleep was real did Natale steal away on
+noiseless feet, prize in hand, across the shallow ditch bordering the
+road, and onward to the shelter of a ruined shed quite out of sight of
+their resting-place. Putting the shed between him and the road, Natale
+unstrapped the pocketbook with trembling eagerness.
+
+There lay the notes into which Giovanni had from time to time changed
+the cumbersome copper soldi of their earnings! There were the dingy
+blue five-franc notes, with many one and two-franc notes of a most
+uncompromising dirt color!
+
+The boy dared not take time to count them all. The fierce ogre asleep
+under the tree might rouse at any moment and find the pocketbook gone.
+Away, away, he must fly, on and on toward the Bagni di Lucca, even
+though evening was at hand, and a gray blanket of cloud threatened
+to hide the coming stars. So the little feet twinkled away through
+the dust, Natale’s heart now heavy with the dread of what was behind,
+now light with the joy of what might be ahead. As the warm dusk fell,
+it seemed safe to walk again, although every sound from behind made
+Natale’s heart seem to leap into his throat. Indeed, it seemed pretty
+much to stay in his throat, until, by and by, he came upon some one who
+was to give him most welcome news.
+
+He had traveled half a mile farther, and still it was not yet dark when
+he sighted a cluster of houses ahead and heard cheerful human voices.
+Coming up to the first house, he found a pretty, plump young mother on
+her doorstep, cuddling a nursling on her breast. From across the road
+and about the house came busy sounds of sheep and cows being housed for
+the night in their thatched pens, and nobody seemed at leisure except
+the laughing woman with the crowing baby in her arms.
+
+On plying the woman with his usual question, Natale learned that
+the end of his pilgrimage was indeed “just down the road a little
+distance”, although, on such short legs as his, the woman added
+thoughtfully, it might take two hours more of brisk walking to reach
+even the big circus tent, standing on the outskirts of the Bagni all
+the past week.
+
+Ah! and was the circus still there?
+
+Of that the woman could not speak certainly, as some passer-by had
+mentioned only the day before that but one or two more performances
+were to be given before the _circo_ moved on to Lucca. She herself had
+wished to go to see the wonderful Antonio Bisbini, also the little Olga
+who had no more fear of a great horse’s hoofs than she herself of her
+baby’s brown toes. But how was a woman to leave her house and the tired
+men folks, to tramp down the hill and up again at night, with a heavy
+baby in her arms? Was the little boy hoping to reach the tent in time
+for the night’s exhibition?
+
+Natale’s heart had thrilled at the mention of Antonio’s magic name,
+and his spine straightened and his head was lifted with the pride of
+conscious relationship with the hero of the circus. He gave but a
+thought now to Olga’s usurpation of his place in the ring. For was
+he not returning to his own again, with the stolen pocketbook in the
+breast of his blouse? What a welcome there would be for him now!
+
+“Well, good night, _bimbo_, if you will go, and may you enjoy seeing
+the riding in the tent!” the woman called to him, looking wistfully
+after the little figure plodding away, after a polite return of her
+farewell.
+
+Natale’s heart was carefree now, as he limped lamely onward to the tune
+of the “Dead March,” humming the air as he went.
+
+The road had been growing more level for some hours as it entered the
+valley, and the river flowed more still and deep. The hush of night
+gathered under the trees, and the birds and insects went to rest or
+noiselessly crept from their haunts about vine and root, intent upon
+the business of the hour.
+
+As signs of the famous Baths of Lucca began to appear at certain curves
+in the road, Natale became possessed of but one idea. Down the river he
+began to see the lights of the town, and he even thought he heard the
+notes of band music, which, in truth, were wafted to his ears from the
+terrace of the Casino. His head was full of plans of stealing into the
+tent, and for at least this last night at Bagni di Lucca, playing his
+own part in the dying-horse act. He would not take precious moments now
+for practicing a somersault or wheel, as he went along, but it was easy
+to rehearse the dialogue over the dying brute--if only his tired, tired
+legs could keep the road, and his aching eyes find the old yellow tent
+set up somewhere among the trees.
+
+Presently, the gleaming eyes of bicycles began to whiz by, and a
+squarely built, many-windowed villa or two rose flush with the road. A
+little farther now, and the tent would surely appear, with perhaps Cara
+in her red dress at the doorway, and the band playing outside in the
+light of the big lamp!
+
+Laughing stragglers now sauntered here and there, none noticing the
+child making his dizzy way among them toward a flare of light on one
+side where the trees fell apart. One would have hardly believed it
+possible that there was room for even the tent of the Circo Equestre of
+Antonio Bisbini and Giovanni Marzuchetti in the space between the long
+storehouse of corn and the terraced hillside behind. Yet, not only was
+the tent there, spread to its full circle and height, but the brown
+wagon also was visible, drawn within its shadow, and now the staring
+brown eyes of the little wanderer had found them both.
+
+Yes, there was the dear old tent, with its white patches upon the dull
+yellow, showing against the vine-clad hillsides of the Bagni. Also,
+there was the smoky lamp fastened to a post, where two ways met and
+parted. There was the usual crowd gathered outside about the entrance
+where Cara in her red dress and gauzy veil watched over the money bowl,
+in wait for some possible late-arriving spectator. The big reflecting
+lantern on the table showed the wistful features of the outsiders as
+they crowded about the tent.
+
+As Natale crept around the tent, he saw the bare, brown legs of some
+trespassing youngster following squirming head and shoulders inside,
+under the curtain by way of the ground. In former times, the little
+acrobat would have been the first to raise an alarm and assist with
+alacrity in the ignominious expulsion of the intruder who wanted to see
+the show, and yet keep his _soldi_ in his pocket, if such were there.
+But the sight of the enterprising offender made little impression on
+Natale’s mind now, as he stepped past the struggling legs, for, the
+hour being much later than he thought, the band inside just then struck
+up the familiar schottisch, and Natale knew that Il Duca was even
+now treading the ring in a dignified dance, led by Giovanni himself.
+His heart gave a suffocating throb, and his cheeks burned. Then he
+shivered with cold, and his weary legs faltered before the daring deed
+about to be perpetrated.
+
+There was plenty of time, even yet, and he would do it even if Giovanni
+should strike him to the ground with his cracking whip, which had never
+yet, however, been raised against him with more than threatening intent.
+
+He stopped to listen a moment longer to the music before entering. Yes,
+there it was, the schottisch, accompanied by the beat of the clever
+hoofs. Then, as he knew the moment was at hand for Il Duca to drop
+dying in the ring, Natale crept swiftly in among the players gathered
+as usual in the small tent behind. Olga was there and Arduina, in their
+fanciful costumes, and Elvira, his mother, waiting for their “cues.”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII
+
+AT LAST
+
+
+THE small, pale apparition of Natale, suddenly projected into their
+midst, so startled them all that even Olga forgot to listen for the
+thud of Il Duca’s heavy body on the ground and the sound of his groans.
+They stared open-mouthed for an instant, and then the apparition
+vanished as suddenly as it had appeared.
+
+But the strains of the “Dead March” now recalled little Olga to
+herself, and she darted from behind the curtain and out into the light
+of the oil lamp, only to hear a familiar boyish voice instead of her
+own answering shrilly Giovanni’s question, “What are you crying about,
+child?”
+
+“Because our horse is dead!”
+
+“But are you sure he is quite dead?” And Giovanni’s voice faltered with
+sudden fear, as he gazed at Natale’s small, dusty figure kneeling at
+the horse’s head, with Oh! such a world of pleading in his dark eyes
+and folded hands.
+
+“Quite dead!” wailed Natale.
+
+“Get up and feel his pulse, boy. If there is any pulse he is _not_
+dead!” Giovanni spoke fiercely, but there was no frown upon his face.
+
+And so the farce went on as usual, to the end, while Olga, with pouting
+lips, slipped behind the curtain again and joined the others who were,
+every one, peeping in to see little Natale do his beloved dying-horse
+act.
+
+The little girl had come to enjoy her bit of acting with Giovanni and
+Il Duca, for kneeling with folded hands and sobbing breath was a pretty
+attitude, always loudly applauded, and she no longer feared that Il
+Duca would lift his faithful hoof against her. But now, here was Natale
+back again, and his shrill little voice going over the silly replies
+to the clown in his own, old way. Well, it would be rather nice, after
+all, to have Natale again, and she would not fuss about it as there
+were so few things he could really do, while she was learning new feats
+already, and would soon be riding Tesoro bareback around the ring.
+
+A perfect storm of applause succeeded the end of the dialogue, when Il
+Duca scrambled to his feet, and the tent was filled with cries for a
+repetition of the scene. But Giovanni turned swiftly and lifted Natale
+to the horse’s back, only in time to prevent the child’s falling to the
+ground, as if stunned by the noise of the shouting. Out of the ring
+and through the smaller tent to the open air beyond Il Duca pranced
+proudly, with Giovanni at his bridle, holding Natale in his place with
+his free hand.
+
+Outside, they laid the child down on the warm ground in the dim light,
+and Arduina brought a cupful of water and bathed his face, while Olga
+stood by, and Antonio and Elvira went back to help Giovanni with his
+table-leaping inside.
+
+“He is not dead, is he, Arduina?” Olga asked in a frightened voice.
+“Feel his pulse as we do Il Duca’s!”
+
+“Hurry and call Nonna!” the older girl urged nervously. “We shall have
+to go in, the very next thing after this, and Nonna will know what to
+do.”
+
+So when Natale next opened his eyes, the light of a sputtering candle
+showed him the gray head of dear Nonna bent over him. He lay on a small
+mattress in a corner, and the smoke-stained ceiling of the house-wagon
+shut out the sky.
+
+“_Ecco!_ he opens his eyes, my _bimbo_! my Natalino! _Carino_,[10] what
+does it all mean? Tell Nonna how you have come back to the _circo_!”
+
+[Footnote 10: Darling.]
+
+But at first Natale only lifted one hand to stroke the dear, wrinkled
+face of Nonna, in smiling content. After a little, he laid his hand on
+the breast of his blouse and begged to be allowed to go to Giovanni.
+
+“He will not scold me for coming back when he sees what I have brought
+with me,” he urged.
+
+But Nonna reminded him that the tent was still crowded with
+spectators,--did he not hear the music close by, and the laughter
+of the people, as the clown and Antonio and Arduina did the funny
+pantomime?
+
+Natale lay back listening, with a happy smile on his lips, while Nonna
+went to blow up the coals of a small fire on the ground outside, and
+to hurry the broth that Natale might have nourishment. She could not
+prevail upon the boy to confide to her what he was so anxious to tell
+his stepfather, and she left him alone, too glad to have him returned
+to them, to grumble over his reticence.
+
+Of all the children, Natale most sweetly recalled her own son’s
+childhood, and Antonio’s boyish affection for her, his cheeriness and
+obedience, had seemed to live again in Natale, although he was Elvira’s
+son, and no grandson, at all, of her own.
+
+The little ones, Tito, Maria, Gigi and the rest, were asleep in their
+corners, and Nonna had been sitting at rest in the wagon door when
+Olga had rushed up with the news that Natale had arrived and lay
+dying, perhaps, on the ground outside the tent. It was Nonna’s strong
+arms that had borne him away to the house-wagon, and Nonna’s vigorous
+rubbings and applications of cold water that had brought him out of
+the half-swoon of exhaustion. So Nonna was content with her work, and
+would not press Natalino’s secret from him.
+
+By the time the performance was over, and the merry-makers had streamed
+out whistling, chatting and laughing together, and had gone their ways
+homeward, Natale, fed and rested, was sitting up bright-eyed and eager
+to announce his news.
+
+It was stuffy and hot in the wagon, and Giovanni went to fetch the
+boy outside, the moment the tent had emptied and the players were at
+leisure. Olga had not even taken time to change the yellow satin blouse
+and pink tights for her usual faded cotton frock. As for Antonio, he
+had only slipped his feet into a pair of loose slippers, so the great
+acrobat stood before Natale in all the glory of his spangled black
+velvet and shapely, pink-clad limbs.
+
+As the night was dark, one of the lamps was brought from the tent, and
+a wild, gypsy-like scene its rays revealed under the trees about the
+steps of the house-wagon. Elvira, in an access of motherly tenderness,
+gathered Natale to her red satin bosom, and called him by all the
+musical pet names belonging to the boys and girls of Italy, while
+the musicians peeped over the shoulders of the actors and wondered
+how little Natale had ever found his way on foot all the way from
+Cutigliano to the Bagni.
+
+“The tramping will have limbered up his legs!” one whispered to another.
+
+“Stiffened them, rather!” was the reply, and then everybody stopped
+talking and only gazed the harder as Natale put his hand within the
+breast of his blouse and drew out the old leather pocketbook.
+
+“There, Giovanni!” he said simply, reaching the book toward his
+stepfather. “The ugly, black peddler with the red cap like our Leo’s
+stole the money, and while he slept on his back, by the road, I stole
+it from him, and then--Oh, how fast I ran and ran that he might not
+catch me and kill me with his long, sharp knife!”
+
+Giovanni, speechless with astonishment and joy, solemnly received and
+kissed and opened the pocketbook, and then spread out the notes, one by
+one, on his knee, while the rest crowded around, counting them aloud.
+
+What if all should not be there? Natale’s eyes shone feverishly as he
+leaned forward from his mother’s knee, his gaze alternately upon the
+clown’s face, and the long, lithe fingers handling the money.
+
+Five, ten, fifteen, twenty, twenty-five, thirty, thirty-five,
+forty, forty-five, fifty, fifty-five, sixty, sixty-five, seventy,
+seventy-five, eighty, eighty-two, eighty-four, eighty-six,
+eighty-eight, ninety, ninety-one, ninety-two, ninety-three,
+ninety-four, ninety-five, ninety-six, ninety-seven, ninety-eight,
+ninety-nine, _one hundred_!
+
+Natale’s head dropped back against the red satin shoulder of his
+mother, and his large eyes gazed wistfully into Giovanni’s face.
+
+Would they let him stay now that he had come all the weary way “after
+the wagon”, bringing them the lost money? Their welcome had been
+encouraging; would they let him remain, or must he be sent back to
+Cutigliano, to the priest, to Sora Grazia, to school, to imprisonment
+in a house without wheels, and without Nonna?
+
+It was Antonio Bisbini who brought up the question finally and in a
+manner settled it with his slow-spoken words. Everybody had wondered
+and rejoiced over the safe return of the pocketbook, with the money
+untouched, and Natale had had to tell all about the peddler, and the
+risks he had run of rousing the fellow from sleep in making his escape
+with the pocketbook.
+
+“He was the man who teased me to buy the beautiful diamond brooch on
+the day of San Lorenzo!” cried pretty Arduina, who well remembered
+the peddler’s flattering attentions to her in his hope of finding a
+purchaser for his paltry glass jewelry.
+
+“And the same who so frightened our Tito outside the church,” Nonna
+chimed in indignantly. “And he all the time pretended to be so pious
+and anxious to see the saints’ relics in the church! No wonder Tito
+cried at the snapping of those dirty, thievish fingers in his little
+face. The saints only know how he found the money in Giovanni’s
+coat-pocket hung in the tent!”
+
+“Mamá _mia_, do you remember how stiff my legs were when I played at
+leaping with the boys at school in Florence?” Antonio, the finished
+acrobat, asked thoughtfully, breaking a long straw with his fingers and
+looking at nobody. His blond head reached almost to the lowest boughs
+of the chestnut tree under which he stood, and the lamplight flared
+over his fair face and glittering costume.
+
+Natale sat up to hear the words of this oracle, and even slipped off
+the satin lap of Elvira to the ground, in order to be nearer Antonio.
+
+“I remember that you were a studious boy,” Nonna murmured in reply,
+with a note of the old bitterness in her voice.
+
+“Natale has done a good work in returning the money to us, Giovanni,”
+the acrobat continued. “Why send him back to the foreigners? He was
+unhappy, or he would never have come all this distance alone--mere baby
+that he is.”
+
+“And the Englishwoman’s money?” Giovanni asked in a businesslike tone.
+
+“What has been used, replace from the pocketbook. It is not much, as we
+have taken in so good a sum, here at the Bagni. Leo can ride back with
+it to Cutigliano to-morrow morning, and return in time for our last
+night here.”
+
+“_Ebbene!_” said Giovanni, and this meaning “All right, with a very
+good will,” so it was decided, and then everybody hurried to get into
+comfortable old clothes and to eat supper.
+
+Leo was sent to the nearest wine shop for a bottle of good red wine
+that the troop might drink to the joy of Natale’s return and the
+recovery of the money; also to the just discomfiture of all thieving
+peddlers.
+
+Long before the evening came to an end, a tired but most happy little
+boy had crept into the shadow and fallen asleep, with his head pillowed
+against Nonna’s knee.
+
+“I am glad thou art come back to us, Natalino,” she whispered in the
+softest Italian above the tangled brown curls, while the rest sang and
+made merry, “and if thy little legs will only grow as straight and as
+strong as my Antonio’s, and thy heart remain as faithful to old Nonna,
+the saints forgive me if I care very much whether thou be acrobat or
+priest!”
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+For some reason known best to himself, but readily guessed by the clown
+and the rest of the older members of the circus, the swarthy peddler
+was not seen in Bagni di Lucca for many a day after. But Natale did
+not lose his dread of encountering the fierce eyes and the cruel knife
+until long after the circus troop had taken to the road again.
+
+Nothing in the world could have induced Mrs. Bishop, the English lady
+at Cutigliano, to touch the money returned with, what was to her, most
+astonishing promptness and honesty through Leo, one of the musicians.
+
+In the first place, the notes were very dirty, much more so, she was
+sure, than when she had paid them to the clown a little more than a
+week before. Secondly, she would not reclaim money which had been once
+devoted to the cause of civilization and of education. If the “little
+ingrate” despised his opportunities and had finally returned to his
+“wallowing in the mire”, let the money which would have bought him
+for decency and for usefulness go with him. Thirdly--but this was not
+acknowledged even to Betty--the old lady’s heart had been touched by
+the tale Luigi the priest had come to tell her on the morning after
+the flight of the birdling. So her heart was not quite so hard as
+her words sounded, and she was in truth rather rejoiced, as well as
+very much relieved in mind, when Leo had arrived to tell of runaway
+Natale’s return to the troop in safety. Therefore, generously, Mrs.
+Bishop would not receive the money because it seemed to her no longer
+her own; surely Giovanni and Elvira and Nonna had kept their part of
+the bargain in giving up the child, while Natale had not even been
+consulted in their plan.
+
+The roll of notes was therefore returned by Leo to Giovanni, with the
+foreign lady’s instructions that the money was to be spent in providing
+meat for broth for the children so long as it should last. There would
+still be plenty of cold water always, free as air, for daily baths
+along the roads of Italy, and Mrs. Bishop hoped that Sora Grazia’s
+ministrations in that line would not soon be forgotten by Natale, who
+for one short week had been a scrubbed little lad. (It is safe to say
+that they were not!)
+
+Along with the money, Mrs. Bishop sent a school primer to Natale,
+with the admonition that he would at least try to learn to read
+while jogging up and down the earth and upsetting his stomach in all
+heathenish sports.
+
+But Madame Cioche and Betty rejoiced in open triumph over Natale’s
+freedom, to say nothing of the priest Luigi and the wise old gentleman
+who had in fact unwittingly opened the cage door for flight.
+
+Sora Grazia was a trifle glum for a day or two at finding her pains
+thrown away upon the sulky little protégé of the foreign lady, but as
+the month’s pay for his board and lodging had been in advance, and the
+nearly new clothes and shoes and cap were now thrown into the bargain
+by Mrs. Bishop, to repay her for her extra trouble, she too soon became
+content and even pleased with the ending of the rich lady’s scheme.
+
+So the bare front wall of the priest’s house in Cutigliano among the
+mountains has, as yet, no prospect of being adorned by a memorial
+tablet to a waif of all outdoors who was willing to be a great man in
+books and goodness.
+
+And Natale?
+
+Well, Natale is learning, better and better, how to turn his
+_capitomboli_ over the dusty circus carpet, and he still feels Il
+Duca’s pulse with sorrowful apprehension to the tune of the “Dead March
+in Saul”--by night among the oil lamps.
+
+By day, he trudges along hot white roads, under the marvelous blue of
+Italy’s sky, with Niero and Bianco for company. Or, he lies on the
+ground at Nonna’s side under some spreading tree in the camping-out
+times, sometimes spelling out words in a dog-eared primer, oftener
+gazing past the tree tops at the cloud-ships sailing overhead, while
+Nonna tells of Antonio’s wonderful childhood.
+
+By and by, when Natale grows too large to do the dying-horse act, and
+little Tito, or Gigi takes his place, he will be dashing with the
+horses around the ring. And then, in the still further and sweeter by
+and by, when Antonio’s agile legs will perhaps have begun to stiffen
+again, and the straight back to bend forward a little as he walks, who
+but Natale will be the shining star of the Circo Equestre, like another
+bespangled, pink-clad Antonio, with crisp brown curls and laughing
+eyes, and the nimblest, straightest legs in all Italy?
+
+
+
+
+_The story of a little patriotic Cuban girl_
+
+  LITTLE CUBA LIBRE
+
+_By_ JANIE PRICHARD DUGGAN
+
+Illustrated. 282 pages. 12mo. $1.35 _net._
+
+In all the big city of Havana there was no more patriotic little girl
+than Amada Trueno, daughter of one of the city gardeners. With all her
+heart she hated the Spaniards who ruled her beloved island of Cuba.
+“Little Cuba Libre” they called her when she stamped her foot and
+called the Spaniards enemies and tyrants. When she went to her cousin’s
+house in the country, although she played on friendly terms with the
+children of a Spanish planter, still her hatred of the oppressors
+slumbered. How the Cubans finally revolted, and how little Amada
+herself took part in that revolution, even to the extent of bearing
+arms, is told in this charming story. “Little Cuba Libre” contains
+faithful pictures of Cuban life and Cuban people, and while written
+especially for young readers, its fine qualities should also appeal to
+older ones. Besides being an interesting story of Cuban girlhood it is
+a depiction of the very spirit of patriotism.
+
+
+LITTLE, BROWN & CO., PUBLISHERS
+
+34 BEACON STREET, BOSTON
+
+
+
+
+_Real stories of three famous elephants_
+
+  THE ADVENTURES OF
+  MOLLIE, WADDY and TONY
+
+_By_ PAUL WAITT
+
+Illustrated in color by Clara E. Atwood.
+
+75 cents net.
+
+Mollie, Waddy and Tony are three of the most wonderful elephants in the
+world. Born in India, they have traveled all over Europe and our own
+America, showing their clever tricks to thousands of boys and girls.
+They were bought by the children of Boston and are now kept in the
+Franklin Park Zoo, where they will remain the rest of their lives.
+
+Mr. Waitt writes of their adventures when they were traveling, and
+tells of some tricks they played which their keeper never taught them.
+Little Tony is the roguish one, and he is always getting into mischief.
+That clever little trunk of his pokes into all sorts of places where it
+doesn’t belong, and sometimes it takes Mollie, Waddy and Johann, the
+keeper, to make him behave as a proper little elephant should.
+
+ “This is the most bewitching elephant story we ever read. It is
+ the story of their travels through many countries. It is as good a
+ story for boys and girls as any boys and girls will ever want to
+ read.”--_Journal of Education_, Boston.
+
+ “The story of ‘The Adventure of Mollie, Waddy, and Tony’ is one of
+ the nicest that little people who like animals can read.”--_New York
+ Times._
+
+
+LITTLE, BROWN & CO., PUBLISHERS
+
+34 BEACON STREET, BOSTON
+
+
+
+
+TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:
+
+On page 4, Tesore has been changed to Tesoro.
+
+On page 71, up-stairs has been changed to upstairs.
+
+Illustrations have been moved to avoid interrupting the flow of
+paragraphs.
+
+In text edition of this e-book, footnotes have been moved to
+immediately below the paragraph where they occurred.
+
+All other spelling, hyphenation, and non-English dialogue have been
+retained.
+
+*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 69064 ***
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-<p style='text-align:center; font-size:1.2em; font-weight:bold'>The Project Gutenberg eBook of The little acrobat: a story of Italy, by Janie Prichard Duggan</p>

-<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>

-This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and

-most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions

-whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms

-of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online

-at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you

-are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the

-country where you are located before using this eBook.

-</div>

-

-<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: The little acrobat: a story of Italy</p>

-<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Janie Prichard Duggan</p>

-<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Illustrator: Nana French Bickford</p>

-<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: September 28, 2022 [eBook #69064]</p>

-<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</p>

-  <p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em; text-align:left'>Produced by: D A Alexander and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by the Library of Congress)</p>

-<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LITTLE ACROBAT: A STORY OF ITALY ***</div>

-

-<div class="figcenter hide" style="width: 32%">

-<img src="images/cover.jpg" alt="Cover"  />

-</div>

-

-<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />

-

-<p class="ph1">THE LITTLE ACROBAT</p>

-

-<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />

-

-<div class="chapter">

-<div class="figcenter" style="width: 350px;">

-<a id="i_frontispiece"><img src="images/i_frontispiece.jpg" width="350" alt="The pale apparition of Natale startled them all."

-title=""  /></a></div></div>

-

-<p class="caption">The pale apparition of Natale startled them all. <i>Frontispiece.</i><br />

-<span class="center"><i>See page <a href="#Page_167">167.</a></i></span></p>

-

-<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />

-

-<h1>THE<br />

-<br />

-LITTLE ACROBAT</h1>

-

-<p class="ph3">

-A STORY OF ITALY</p>

-

-<p class="ph2 nobreak"><span class="smaller">BY</span><br />

-JANIE PRICHARD DUGGAN</p>

-

-<p class="center no-indent p2b"><span class="smaller"><i>WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY</i></span><br />

-NANA FRENCH BICKFORD</p>

-

-<div class="figcenter" style="width: 70px;">

-<img src="images/i_title.jpg" width="100" alt="Publishers Logo"

-title=""  /></div>

-

-<p class="p2">&nbsp;</p>

-

-<p class="ph3"><span class="smaller">BOSTON</span><br />

-LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY<br />

-<span class="smaller">1919</span></p>

-

-<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />

-

-<div class="chapter">

-<p class="center no-indent"><i>Copyright, 1919</i>,

-<br />

-<span class="smcap">By Little, Brown, and Company</span>.

-<br />

-<i>All rights reserved</i><br />

-

-Published, September, 1919<br />

-<br />

-Norwood Press<br />

-Set up and electrotyped by J. S. Cushing Co., Norwood, Mass., U.S.A.<br />

-Presswork by S. J. Parkhill &amp; Co., Boston, Mass., U.S.A.</p></div>

-

-<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />

-

-<div class="chapter">

-<p class="center no-indent">DEDICATED<br />

-TO MEMORIES OF<br />

-TWO LITTLE “ANGELICALS” OF ROME<br />

-SPOTTISWOODE AND SUSIE<br />

-BY<br />

-“CUDDIE”</p></div>

-

-<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />

-

-<div class="chapter">

-<p class="ph2 nobreak" id="CONTENTS">CONTENTS</p>

-</div>

-

-<table border="0" cellpadding="3" cellspacing="3" summary="CONTENTS">

-<tr><td class="tdbr smaller">CHAPTER</td>

-<td>&#160;</td>

-<td class="tdc smaller">PAGE</td></tr>

-

-<tr><td class="tdbr">I</td>

-<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Along the White Road</span></td>

-<td class="tdbr"><a href="#Page_1">1</a></td></tr>

-

-<tr><td class="tdbr">II</td>

-<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Nonna</span></td>

-<td class="tdbr"><a href="#Page_12">12</a></td></tr>

-

-<tr><td class="tdbr">III</td>

-<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">In the Ring</span></td>

-<td class="tdbr"><a href="#Page_26">26</a></td></tr>

-

-<tr><td class="tdbr">IV</td>

-<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Festival of San Lorenzo</span></td>

-<td class="tdbr"><a href="#Page_39">39</a></td></tr>

-

-<tr><td class="tdbr">V</td>

-<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">A Gift for the Circus</span></td>

-<td class="tdbr"><a href="#Page_55">55</a></td></tr>

-

-<tr><td class="tdbr">VI</td>

-<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Separation</span></td>

-<td class="tdbr"><a href="#Page_73">73</a></td></tr>

-

-<tr><td class="tdbr">VII</td>

-<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Caged Bird of the Fields</span></td>

-<td class="tdbr"><a href="#Page_91">91</a></td></tr>

-

-<tr><td class="tdbr">VIII</td>

-<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Cage Door Opened</span></td>

-<td class="tdbr"><a href="#Page_105">105</a></td></tr>

-

-<tr><td class="tdbr">IX</td>

-<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Flight of the Bird</span></td>

-<td class="tdbr"><a href="#Page_121">121</a></td></tr>

-

-<tr><td class="tdbr">X</td>

-<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">On the Wing</span></td>

-<td class="tdbr"><a href="#Page_133">133</a></td></tr>

-

-<tr><td class="tdbr">XI</td>

-<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Fluttering a Little Farther</span></td>

-<td class="tdbr"><a href="#Page_150">150</a></td></tr>

-

-<tr><td class="tdbr">XII</td>

-<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">At Last</span></td>

-<td class="tdbr"><a href="#Page_167">167</a></td></tr>

-</table>

-

-<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />

-

-<div class="chapter">

-<p class="ph2 nobreak">LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS</p></div>

-

-<table border="0" cellpadding="3" cellspacing="3" summary="CONTENTS">

-<tr><td>&nbsp;</td></tr>

-

-<tr><td class="tdlh">The pale apparition of Natale startled<br />

-them all</td>

-<td class="tdr"><a href="#i_frontispiece"><i>Frontispiece</i></a></td></tr>

-

-<tr><td class="tdlh">Mrs. Bishop looked down upon the tent<br />

-from the garden terrace</td>

-<td class="tdr"><span class="allsmcap">PAGE</span> <a href="#illo1">45</a></td></tr>

-

-<tr><td class="tdlh">The priest led Natale to the other end of<br />

-the house</td>

-<td class="tdr"><span class="allsmcap">“&nbsp;&nbsp;</span> <a href="#illo2">94</a></td></tr>

-

-<tr><td class="tdlh">“<i>Capitomboli</i>, such as the boy who was<br />

-here just now made in the circus at<br />

-Cutigliano”</td>

-<td class="tdr"><span class="allsmcap">“&nbsp;</span> <a href="#illo3">142</a></td></tr>

-</table>

-

-<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_1">[Pg 1]</span></p>

-

-<div class="chapter">

-<p class="ph1 nobreak">THE LITTLE ACROBAT</p></div>

-

-<p class="ph2"><i>A STORY OF ITALY</i></p>

-<p class="ph2 nobreak"></p>

-

-<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_I">CHAPTER I<br />

-<span class="smaller">ALONG THE WHITE ROAD</span></h2>

-

-<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap"><span class="dropcap">T</span>he</span> July sunshine lay hot and

-golden over the fields of wheat on

-the Italian hillsides, and the deep

-shade of the chestnut woods along the

-road was more inviting than the white glare

-beyond. The sun stood directly overhead,

-and along the middle of that white, dusty

-road there was not an inch of shadow.</p>

-

-<p>A small brown house on wheels crept

-slowly along this sunny way, drawn by a

-queer, ill-matched team of three&mdash;a plump

-white horse with long, silky mane and tail,

-a large spotted horse with fierce eyes and

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_2">[Pg 2]</span>nostrils, and a lean, little brown pony, with

-strangely twisted neck.</p>

-

-<p>Up and up, always a little higher up, the

-horses toiled with the house-wagon, as the

-road rose into the mountains. From the

-interior of the wagon came the sound of

-voices, mingled now and then with a complaining

-note, or an exclamation of pain.

-The travelers were very tired, and poor

-Pietro’s fever was rising with every turn of

-the wheels.</p>

-

-<p>Several men and a sturdy girl of fifteen

-walked beside the horses in the powdery white

-dust. Behind the big wagon lagged a boy

-of eight or nine years. This was Natale,<a id="FNanchor_1" href="#Footnote_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a>

-a slight little fellow, with dusty lean legs

-and dragging feet. His light brown hair

-curled damply about his sun-browned forehead,

-and he wore an old, misshapen hat

-set far back on his pretty head. His loosely

-fitting clothes were dingy with dust but

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</span>Natale did not mind, for, presently, they

-would come to Cutigliano, the old, old

-town on the mountain side, and there they

-would camp out on the soft, green grass.

-And Natale knew from much experience

-that nothing could clean the dust from

-travel-stained clothes so well as rolling down

-the grassy slopes of the chestnut woods,

-with Niero and Bianco as companions.</p>

-

-<p>Of course the sun was hot; was it not

-always hot at noon of a summer’s day in

-the Apennines? But Niero did not complain,

-and why should Natale?</p>

-

-<p>Bianco had tired of trotting along at

-Natale’s side, and at the last stopping-place,

-when Pietro had had a drink of

-water from the wayside fountain, the tired

-little black dog had begged to be allowed

-to ride, and had been willingly taken inside

-the wagon.</p>

-

-<p>Natale never asked to ride in the wagon,

-unless he were very tired and sleepy. They

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</span>were rather crowded in there even without

-him, for Pietro took up a great deal of room,

-now that he had to lie down all the time.

-Besides, the other children, good travelers

-as they usually were, sometimes grew

-quarrelsome and made the mothers and

-the grandmother angry. Natale did not

-like quarreling and loud voices, so he always

-preferred his resting times to be given

-him on the back of one of the horses. But

-now Tesoro and Il Duca were tired also, and

-they were so near Cutigliano, it did not

-matter if Natale did lag behind a little,

-always with big Niero for company.</p>

-

-<p>Niero was a large, lean, white dog with a

-closely sheared body. About his neck,

-however, he wore a fluffy collar of long

-white hair, and bracelets of the same

-adorned his four paws, while his long tail

-ended in a tuft, having very much the appearance

-of a dishmop. Why this white

-dog should have been named Niero, meaning<span class="pagenum" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</span>

-black, the clown who had also named the

-little black dog Bianco, white, could have

-best explained.</p>

-

-<p>By and by, long after the gray church

-tower had come in sight and the red-tiled

-roofs of the town showed bunched together

-against the green of the wooded hillside, the

-travelers reached the arched stone bridge

-across the river at the foot of the mountain.

-Here the wagon made a halt before beginning

-the last steep climb to the town.

-Above, they could see the stone wall which

-was the boundary of the road winding by

-loops, one above the other, up the mountain

-side, but the town had now disappeared

-from view, so sheer was the rise of the

-chestnut woods.</p>

-

-<p>This halt gave Natale time to come up

-with the wagon, and then he sat down with

-a tired sigh on a heap of mending-stones by

-the roadside, in front of the wagon door.

-His legs ached with weariness, but this was

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</span>no time to think of riding, as even the

-women and all the children but Pietro must

-alight now, to relieve the horses in the last

-pull up hill. Natale watched them descend

-from the wagon one by one, by the steps one

-of the musicians placed at the door.</p>

-

-<p>First came Nonna, the grandmother of

-Rudolfo and Tito and the five other children

-of the blond acrobat, Antonio Bisbini. She

-was not Natale’s Nonna, of course, yet

-everybody called her Nonna, and why

-should not he, who had no grandmother of

-his own?</p>

-

-<p>Nonna carried Tito in her arms and led

-Rudolfo by the hand. Then came Tito’s

-mother, the three-months’-old infant, Gigi,

-in her arms, followed by Olga, who held

-little Maria by the hand. Next, Natale’s

-own mamá stepped down, glad to stretch her

-active limbs by walking, after nursing

-Pietro for so many tedious hours. Then

-the rest of Bisbini’s children scrambled

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</span>out, aided by the music-man’s helping

-hands.</p>

-

-<p>On they went again then, the clown, who

-was Natale’s stepfather, walking at the

-horses’ heads, and cracking his long whip,

-and chirruping to them while the other men

-strode behind the wagon, pushing upon it

-with all their might at the steep places in

-the road.</p>

-

-<p>The women and children, meanwhile, left

-the road to climb the short cuts upward,

-leading directly from terrace to terrace,&mdash;mere

-paths paved with rough stones, here

-and there loosened and displaced by rushing

-rain-torrents of the past. The little ones

-bore the heat and the roughness of the way

-without murmuring, being allowed to

-straggle along as they pleased, now stopping

-to gather a red poppy from the edge

-of the wheat, now dropping on the ground

-to search for a briar afflicting some tired

-foot. Natale was not the last in the procession<span class="pagenum" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</span>

-now, for he was anxious to get

-to the top and see what the tall wheat

-and the green slopes were hiding from

-his eyes.</p>

-

-<p>At last they reached the wide turn in the

-road where the wagon must finally stop, at

-the edge of the town field. The wagon

-also came toiling upward, and now the good

-horses might rest. So these were unhitched

-from the wagon, and while one or two of the

-men led them up the steep, paved street into

-the village to find food and shelter for them,

-the others attended to the house-wagon,

-drawn close against the low stone wall

-inclosing the field, placing great stones

-against the wheels to steady it in its place.

-Now was Natale’s hour and the dogs’, and

-they understood this as well as he! Over

-the low wall they scampered and down on

-the soft, hot grass they lay, rolling over and

-over down the gentle slope of the field until,

-suddenly, Natale found himself landing

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</span>directly upon his feet, with a whirring in his

-head, and the sound of distressed barking

-in his ears.</p>

-

-<p>The dogs had had the wit to stop on the

-very edge of a sharp descent which Natale

-had not noticed, and now they stood on the

-bank, half-a-dozen feet above him, their

-forefeet firmly planted on the brink of the

-grassy precipice, and their tufty tails high

-in the air, begging with all their might to

-know whether their dear little comrade were

-hurt. Natale was not hurt, but the jar

-of the descent gave him a queer feeling

-under the waistband of his trousers, and

-he sat down directly where he stood,

-on the lower terrace, turning his back

-upon the dogs.</p>

-

-<p>A fringe of bushes threw a narrow band

-of shade about him from above, and he

-made up his mind to stay there till something

-should be made ready for dinner.

-He hoped he would not be wanted to fetch

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</span>anything from the village,&mdash;he was always

-fetching something for somebody. He had

-heard his mother calling to her husband to

-bring a little meal for the polenta,<a id="FNanchor_2" href="#Footnote_2" class="fnanchor">[2]</a> when he

-should finish stabling the horses, and he

-knew there was wine left in the flask in the

-wagon.</p>

-

-<p>From where Natale sat he could look

-directly down upon the roof of a house far

-down by the stone bridge and could faintly

-hear the rushing of the little river Lima over

-the rocks. Presently he eased himself out

-on the grass at full length, with his arms

-crossed beneath his head. As he dropped

-off to sleep, he was thinking how well it was

-that there could be no performance in the

-tent that evening. He was sure that

-Arduina would laugh more than ever at

-his stiff little feats on the circus carpet if

-he should have to turn somersaults after

-the long tramp.</p>

-

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</span></p>

-

-<p>Then Natale slept, with the great green

-mountains closing around him, and Bianco

-the black dog and Niero the white keeping

-watch above his head from where they had

-stretched themselves on the edge of the

-terrace in the sun.</p>

-

-<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />

-

-<div class="chapter">

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</span></p>

-

-<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_II">CHAPTER II<br />

-<span class="smaller">NONNA</span></h2></div>

-

-<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap"><span class="dropcap">N</span>atale</span>, as will have been discovered

-by this time, was an

-Italian circus boy, a cheerful,

-happy little soul, who loved his “profession”,

-and whose ambition reached to the

-giddy height of some day rivaling even

-Antonio Bisbini in his wonderful trapeze

-performances. He loved everything connected

-with the life he led,&mdash;the long slow

-journeyings through his beautiful Italy, the

-camping out at night along the quiet roads,

-the open-air loungings in some village

-through the sunny days, until the evening

-should come and the oil lamps be lighted in

-the tent, and the people come crowding

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</span>in to see Arduina dance the tight rope, and

-little Olga do her wonderful turns and

-twists on the carpet, and to applaud Antonio

-and the clown and the horses, and&mdash;yes,

-and himself too, little Natale, stiff as

-his short thin legs always were and hopeless,

-as Arduina declared, in his bows and scrapes.</p>

-

-<p>Besides the three musicians, there were

-two families in the strolling company.

-Giovanni Marzuchetti was the clown, also

-the stepfather of Paulo, Arduina, Pietro,

-Natale and little Maria, and husband of

-Elvira, the black-haired mother of the five

-children. This man had no children of his

-own but was kind in his rough, clownish way

-to Natale and the rest.</p>

-

-<p>It is not difficult to understand why

-Giovanni should have married Elvira and

-her family, when it was known that the

-woman brought to her husband a small

-fortune in the shape of her own wonderful

-skill as a rider of horses, and the little ones

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</span>as possible acrobats of the future. They

-had been married for two years now, and

-if Giovanni had counted largely upon his

-ready-made family for speedy reënforcements

-in the “ring”, he must have become

-a little discouraged even by this time. It

-is true that Paulo and Arduina were well

-trained in the art of circus acting; but poor

-Pietro, the middle-sized one, who was

-twelve years old, was always ailing and

-feeble. Sleeping out of doors in the marshy

-regions had developed in his system a

-chronic fever which could not be thrown

-off, even with the aid of Nonna’s assiduous

-doctoring, and lately the weakness had

-settled in one leg and foot, threatening

-permanent lameness.</p>

-

-<p>Natale, who came next, was agile enough

-when running about on his slim brown legs,

-but his funny stiff-legged somersaults and

-awkward antics in the ring were matters of

-jesting among the whole troop. Poor little

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</span>Natale, who did so wish to be like Antonio

-Bisbini!</p>

-

-<p>Lastly there was Maria, who was a mere

-baby and as yet only just learning to stand

-upright on her stepfather’s head.</p>

-

-<p>But Antonio Bisbini, the father of the

-other family, was the star of the little troop

-of strolling players. Tall and lean and

-muscular, he stood six feet two in his sandals.

-His blond hair and skin and strong,

-clear-cut features gave him the look of some

-stern young Viking from the cold forests of

-the North, yet this youthful-looking, ruddy

-athlete was already the father of seven

-young children.</p>

-

-<p>No one in the company, not even the

-clown, could hold a candle to Antonio in

-looks or in graceful skill. Natale was sure

-that the noblest and most beautiful figure

-in all Italy was that of Antonio Bisbini as

-he would step forth from behind the tent-curtain,

-ready to thrill the spectators about

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</span>the ring. The flesh-colored tights clothing

-his limbs showed to perfection their symmetry

-and grace, relieved by the brilliantly

-spangled hip garment of black velvet and

-fringe, while the proud glance of his gray

-eyes and the light tread of his feet never

-failed to impress the beholder.</p>

-

-<p>Antonio’s oldest, little red-haired Olga,

-tumbled and danced with all a healthy

-child’s love of activity and applause, and

-Oh! how Natale envied her the perfect

-“wheels” she turned, one after the other

-with dizzying swiftness across the dusty

-strip of carpet in the ring. But the rest of

-Antonio’s seven were as yet too small to be

-useful as tumblers or dancers, and Nonna’s

-hands were always full, while their mother

-did her daring dances in the air.</p>

-

-<p>The three musicians, then, and Nonna

-completed this strolling band of twenty,

-with the two horses, the dogs and the

-twisted-necked pony. Poor Caffero had

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</span>grievously hurt his pretty neck one day

-when very young, while tied in his stall and

-leaping to reach his food from a manger

-set cruelly high. Since then he had trotted

-painfully through three years of going up

-and down the earth, with his brown head and

-long neck twisted far around to one side

-without the power of righting them. Caffero

-would have made a pretty part of the

-show had not this accident befallen him.

-As it was, he was good for little but helping

-to guide the house-wagon along the weary

-roads. Yet every one loved Caffero.</p>

-

-<p>On the day of the arrival at Cutigliano

-the two horses Tesoro and Il Duca were left

-in their stalls in the village stables during

-the whole afternoon, while Caffero was

-brought down the steep village street and

-allowed to graze in the public field. Nonna

-herself had gone up for him with Tito in her

-arms, after the midday meal of polenta, or

-thick mush of yellow meal, had been eaten.

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</span>As the trio passed through the narrow

-street of the village, many heads turned to

-wonder at the strangers&mdash;the gray-haired

-woman, the bright-eyed child in her arms,

-and poor Caffero, who always seemed

-pulling against the leading rope and trying

-to twist his head after something left

-behind.</p>

-

-<p>It was while Nonna, a little later, was

-tying Caffero’s rope to a tree in the field that

-she spied the two dogs asleep in the sun near

-the edge of the terrace. As Tito recognized

-them at the same time, and called them in

-his baby voice, the grandmother added her

-summons, and was rather astonished at

-their failure to obey. They bounded to

-their feet, it is true, but instead of scampering

-to meet her, they stood still, quivering

-with nervous excitement and waving their

-tails in much perplexity. Then as Tito

-began to fret and belabor the air with his

-fists, Nonna started swiftly toward the

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</span>dogs with something threatening in her

-gait.</p>

-

-<p>But where were they, those lazy brutes,

-which a moment before had defied her and

-then had promptly disappeared? A few

-more hasty steps brought Nonna near

-enough to the edge of the descent to see

-both Niero and Bianco crouching over

-Natale on the lower terrace. The boy had

-been awakened by the sudden onset of his

-faithful friends, and lay looking lazily upward

-as Nonna and Tito peered over at

-him.</p>

-

-<p>“Natalino!” the old woman exclaimed,

-and, at the word, Natale scrambled to his

-feet.</p>

-

-<p>“I am ready! Where am I to go?” he

-asked hurriedly, preparing to creep up the

-bank. But Nonna only laughed and

-reached down a helping hand to the child,

-as he clutched at the long grass for support.</p>

-

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</span></p>

-

-<p>“Come and eat your polenta,” she said,

-when Natale stood at her side, the dogs

-panting close by. “I suppose they have

-saved you a bite. Why did you run away?

-Though, as for that, you were not missed

-in all this hurly-burly of arriving. Now,

-Niero, stand on your hind legs and beg.

-See, Tito is fretting for you to do it&mdash;”</p>

-

-<p>“But we haven’t a bone or a crust of

-bread for him, Nonna,” Natale pleaded.

-“See how sadly his eyes look at you.

-Giovanni always gives him a bone.”</p>

-

-<p>“There! take to your legs then, poor

-thing!” Nonna cried in a friendly way

-to the hungry dog. “Perhaps to-morrow

-there will be a bone. Who knows?”</p>

-

-<p>Natale ran off toward the wagon, followed

-by the patient animals, who perhaps were

-well assured that he was going to share with

-them his own scanty heap of polenta.</p>

-

-<p>The brown house on wheels leaned

-slightly inward against the stone wall for

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</span>security, as the hill’s incline was steep at

-this point. The door opened directly upon

-the top of the wall, which formed a broad

-and convenient doorstep, reached from the

-ground by a short ladder. About the

-wagon and in the field close by everybody

-was busy.</p>

-

-<p>The great canvas of the tent had been

-unpacked from the top of the wagon, and

-the two women sat on the ground patching

-the holes and thin places worn in it by long

-use. Some of the men were making trips

-back and forth from wagon and field,

-carrying sections of board for inclosing

-the ring. These were to be set up in their

-places by and by, when Antonio should have

-finished marking off the circle on the grass,

-with the hole in the center for the tent pole.

-There was nothing, as yet, for the children

-to do but loll in the shadow of the wagon,

-asleep or awake, and chatter among themselves.</p>

-

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</span></p>

-

-<p>As Natale and the dogs drew near,

-Elvira, the boy’s mother, looked up from

-her stitching and clapped her hand to her

-forehead on seeing them.</p>

-

-<p>“Natale! I had forgotten the child.

-Little pest, where have you been, away

-from us all, and your dinner? One would

-think you had friends in the town and

-had been taking your polenta in grander

-houses than ours here.”</p>

-

-<p>Natale replied to these mocking words

-with only a rather naughty shrug of the

-shoulders, and went to sit down on the

-lowest step of the short ladder against the

-wall.</p>

-

-<p>“Give him his polenta, Arduina,” Nonna

-called shrilly from a little way behind.

-“He was asleep, Elvira, all tired out with

-walking to-day as much as any man among

-us. I keep my eyes open. Don’t scold the

-boy.”</p>

-

-<p>“One would think my Natale your own

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</span>grandson, Nonna,” Elvira replied, laughing

-good-naturedly.</p>

-

-<p>“All boys are as her own sons or grandsons,”

-Nonna’s daughter-in-law interposed

-carelessly, as the old woman passed on with

-Tito, perhaps to see that Arduina gave

-Natale his proper share of mush.</p>

-

-<p>In Nonna’s big warm heart there was indeed

-room for the sons and grandsons of

-those who were too sparing of motherly

-love and care for their own. The gray-haired

-woman had long ago accepted this

-wandering life for the sake of continuing

-near to her only son, Antonio, the acrobat,

-and Antonio’s children. When her boy at

-the age of twenty-two had given up everything

-that his mother thought of worth in

-the world&mdash;home, a decent, quiet life in

-it, books, school, a career as a priest&mdash;in

-order to marry Cara, a rosy, lithe-limbed

-rope-dancer out of Egypt, he had found that

-his mother was not going to be given up

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</span>along with these. By and by, when the

-babies began to come every year or two,

-Nonna came to be appreciated even by the

-fantastic daughter-in-law given her by

-Antonio, while in the hearts of all the little

-ones Nonna was&mdash;well, Nonna,&mdash;and

-therefore everything good and patient and

-sweet.</p>

-

-<p>It was Nonna who cared for the ailing

-Pietro, who rubbed Natale’s stiff ankles and

-elbows with an ointment of her own invention

-to limber them up, who thought to tuck

-Olga’s long red hair out of the way when

-practice time came and the curling locks

-would have teased the little face and shoulders

-turned upside down and hindside before.

-It was Nonna who nursed the babies

-and put them to bed while the mothers rode

-the horses in the tent, and Nonna who led

-the poor pony about to “fresh fields and

-pastures new”, and Nonna who instructed

-giddy-brained Arduina in the simple mysteries<span class="pagenum" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</span>

-of concocting savory stews out of next to

-nothing, and how to make corn meal for ten

-do service as polenta for twice as many.

-The little troop could not have done without

-Nonna, no, indeed!</p>

-

-<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />

-

-<div class="chapter">

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</span></p>

-<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_III">CHAPTER III<br />

-<span class="smaller">IN THE RING</span></h2></div>

-

-<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap"><span class="dropcap">I</span>t</span> took all of that first day and most of the

-next to get everything into shape for

-an exhibition on the second night after

-the arrival of the circus troop at Cutigliano.</p>

-

-<p>The turf had been removed from the ring,

-or round space inclosed by the low panels

-of wood, and the tent pole erected, by the

-time the canvas was mended and the side

-curtains were ready to be hung.</p>

-

-<p>The sun was just about to slip over the

-mountain rim in the west when everything

-was done, and it only remained to draw the

-stout ropes and hoist the canvas into

-position. Natale was generally on hand

-when this was done, listening for the creaking

-of the pulley at the top of the pole, as

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</span>the dull yellow canvas slowly rose into

-position, till, all at once, it spread like a

-queer, pointed mushroom over the green

-grass of the field.</p>

-

-<p>It was a fortunate thing that there was

-no wind that first evening, for if there had

-been even a stiff breeze there would have

-been no performance. A very little wind

-caught under the canvas spread on that

-exposed hillside before it was securely roped

-into place might have carried it all away to

-be stranded in the tops of the chestnut trees

-below, and a new canvas for such a <i>circo</i>

-as that would have cost certainly three

-hundred francs.</p>

-

-<p>When at last the tent was raised, Giovanni

-hung above the entrance a broad

-strip of blue canvas with clowns’ and

-horses’ heads painted upon it, and the sign

-in large letters: “Circo Equestre”, which

-is Italian for “Circus with Horses.”</p>

-

-<p>Lastly, figured curtains of pale green

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</span>calico were hung around the little vestibule,

-so that outsiders who had not paid the

-entrance fee might not peep inside and see

-what was going on, without payment.</p>

-

-<p>Now all was ready, and it was still early,

-although almost dark in the field. Among

-the mountains, where one lives perhaps at

-the foot or even half-way up the slopes,

-night falls early, because the sinking sun is

-hidden from sight over the mountain tops

-long before it really drops into the sea

-behind them.</p>

-

-<p>Yet it was not quite time to light the

-lamps inside the tent, as the performance

-was not to begin until half-past eight

-o’clock. Cutigliano was full of Italians,

-and a few English and Americans who had

-left the hot cities behind, with their churches

-and picture galleries and ruins, and had

-come to the pleasant hotels of the ancient

-mountain town to enjoy the fine air and

-the beautiful chestnut woods during the hot

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</span>summer months. These visitors would not

-be through with their dinners at the hotels

-before eight o’clock, while the servants and

-plain village folk would find a late hour

-convenient for coming down the hill to the

-yellow tent.</p>

-

-<p>At seven o’clock, however, the three men,

-with the big brass horn, the cornet and the

-drum, climbed the stony street into the town

-and made lively music in the little stone-paved

-<i>piazzas</i>, or open squares, where the

-children played in the sunset light.</p>

-

-<p>By this time everybody in Cutigliano had

-learned what had been going on down in the

-field for the past two days, and many even

-of the rich strangers had made up their

-minds to go to see the show, partly out of

-curiosity, partly out of kindly purpose

-to help the strolling players. It had been

-announced that six <i>soldi</i>, or cents, would

-admit to the side of the ring where there

-would be benches and a chair or two for

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</span>seats, while three cents offered room on the

-other side with a few boards and the green

-grass as accommodation. Visitors were

-invited to bring chairs for their sittings, if

-possible.</p>

-

-<p>The music sounded very brave and loud

-as it returned down the very steepest street

-of all, which ran between high walls past

-Madame Cioche’s English <i>pension</i> or boarding-house

-and ended in the field. As this

-was a dark and even dangerous descent at

-night for the unwary, Antonio had driven

-a nail into a tree at the foot of the street,

-and had hung there a smutty tin lamp, with

-the light flaring and the smoke pouring

-from two long spouts.</p>

-

-<p>Nonna had beguiled most of the children

-away from the tent by this time, and was

-putting the youngest to bed in the wagon,

-while the others rolled over the grass behind

-the tent.</p>

-

-<p>Natale was as busy as a bee in the small

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</span>tent which opened out of the large one.

-This was the dressing room, and the different

-costumes of the actors lay in heaps on

-the boxes scattered about.</p>

-

-<p>As half-past eight o’clock approached,

-the boy became as excited as if this were to

-be his first appearance in public, and he

-kept lifting up the flap of curtain dividing

-the two tents to see how fast the seats were

-filling. The band had brought back a horde

-of village children in its train, and though

-few of these were possessed of the three

-cents charged for children, they served to

-keep up an appearance of bustle and enterprise

-outside, where the band now played

-the National Hymn of Italy gaily in the

-light of the big lamp at the entrance.</p>

-

-<p>Cara, the mother of Olga and the rest of

-the seven, stood in the vestibule and took

-in the great copper cents which by and by

-began to pile up in the bowl on the table.

-She was a very striking person to look at,

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</span>with her coal-black hair frizzed bushily on

-each side of her head, with her flashing

-black eyes and her heavy brows, her red,

-red lips and cheeks, and her scarlet and

-black gown. No one dared to slip in behind

-the rustling skirts or portly form of anybody

-without paying, for her piercing eyes

-seemed everywhere. Once or twice, when

-the crowds about the doors seemed to

-hesitate and to wonder whether, after all,

-it were worth while to expend six or even

-three cents for what was to be seen behind

-the curtain, the pretty little figure of her

-Olga was seen to flit, as if by accident,

-across the vestibule, the full light streaming

-over her little full blouse of yellow satin,

-and her pink feet tripping as if on air.</p>

-

-<p>The anxious half-hour of expectation

-ended in the sight of a full circle surrounding

-the ring, and then the band came inside and

-all the performers slipped into the smaller

-tent and hurried on their costumes.</p>

-

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</span></p>

-

-<p>The band played on; Arduina danced a

-measured dance on the tight rope which

-was stretched near the ground; the clown

-made his funny jokes; Antonio performed

-his clever feats on the bars; Elvira rode

-the galloping horses with Cara dancing in

-and out and everywhere, while Giovanni

-cracked the whip and Paulo held the bar

-for Il Duca to leap. The pantomime then

-brought shouts of laughter and loud hand-clappings

-from the spectators; and afterward

-the tumbling began.</p>

-

-<p>There was nothing that Olga loved so

-much, and she showed it in every line of her

-chubby, yet nimble little figure as she came

-prancing into the ring, and then went heels

-over head, over and over again, without

-stopping to breathe, as far as the strip of

-dusty carpet stretched. Then back again

-she tumbled, only stopping to toss a stray

-wisp of hair from her flushed face.</p>

-

-<p>Next Arduina came tripping in, and over

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</span>and over she went too, not so gracefully and

-daintily as Olga had done, for Arduina was

-getting a little too large for that kind of

-thing,&mdash;a great girl of fifteen years.</p>

-

-<p>The clown followed Arduina, dressed in

-his clumsy suit of black and white, and what

-a farce his tumbling was, to be sure; only

-the spectators must have known that he

-failed in order to make them laugh at his

-awkwardness, and make merry they did.</p>

-

-<p>Somehow Natale never quite enjoyed the

-laughter which often accompanied his own

-performances, and now his time had come.</p>

-

-<p>“<i>Ecco!</i> Natalino!” called his stepfather,

-the clown, rushing behind the curtain

-all breathless and covered with dust.

-“Over and over and over you go, youngster,

-without stopping to sneeze between!”</p>

-

-<p>Natale was such a little fellow, so much

-smaller than Olga even, that many of the

-faces outside the ring softened at sight of

-him, as he darted out into the light of the

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</span>lamps and then halted to make his funny

-little salute. He was dressed in imitation

-of the clown, in long black trousers and a

-tailed black coat, with a pointed white

-waistcoat reaching below his waist. With

-an earnest seriousness very different from

-Olga’s smiling grace, Natale turned his first

-somersault, paused on his back, turned

-another jerkily, while the little boys watching

-him hooted, and a ripple of laughter ran

-around the ring. Back again he came,

-however, his thin black legs sprawling in

-air, and his pale little face flushing with the

-exertion. On his feet again, he clapped one

-hand to the back of his neck, bobbed his

-head to the spectators, and trotted off

-behind the friendly curtain, satisfied that

-he had, at least, done as well as usual, and

-pleased with the loud clapping attending

-his exit. Indeed, there was a clapping and

-a calling out of something with laughing

-voices.</p>

-

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</span></p>

-

-<p>“<i>Il picino! Il picino!</i>”<a id="FNanchor_3" href="#Footnote_3" class="fnanchor">[3]</a></p>

-

-<p>“You will have to go back, Natalino,”

-laughed the clown. “Salute them and

-stand on your head, boy, but don’t lose it

-on the way.”</p>

-

-<p>The music played loudly, and Natale

-stepped gravely back again, made his odd

-little bow, and fell over on his hands as the

-first step toward standing on his head.

-Poor, stiff little legs! It took more than

-one effort to throw them into an upright

-position above his head, but finally he really

-did accomplish it, and stood thus several

-seconds while the shouting and laughing

-went on.</p>

-

-<p>When Natale had disappeared a second

-time behind the curtain, there were a few

-grave faces among the laughing ones looking

-on. An English lady whispered to her

-companion and sighed.</p>

-

-<p>“The poor little fellow is evidently afraid

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</span>to disobey that dreadful clown,” she said.

-“Did you see how he trembled as the man

-stood over him, when he tried to stand on

-his head? Something ought to be done to

-put a stop to this, Betty.”</p>

-

-<p>“The child looks weak, as if he were not

-very well fed,” Betty answered, “but I do

-not think he looks unhappy. And the

-clown was certainly smiling, and seemed to

-be standing by as if to help the little boy

-accomplish his wonderful feat, I thought.

-Don’t distress yourself, Aunty. He is just

-learning, it may be, and they bring him in

-to contrast him with that little beauty who

-turned the ‘wheels.’ Send the boy some

-good bread and meat to-morrow, and that

-will be better for him than our empty

-sympathy.”</p>

-

-<p>But “Aunty” was not satisfied, as we

-shall see.</p>

-

-<p>The last act of the evening again brought

-Natale to the fore. The big spotted horse,

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</span>Il Duca, was again brought into the ring,

-and after he had cantered gaily around

-inside the ring many times, to the music

-of a schottisch, striking terror to the ladies

-occupying the front seats, with their knees

-pressed against the low barrier, the clown

-suddenly called a halt and caught the

-bridle of the panting steed. Gently the

-solemn strains of the “Dead March”

-sounded through the tent, and Il Duca fell

-slowly and painfully upon his knees, and

-then rolled over upon the ground, apparently

-dying. The light dust of the ring

-stirred under the beast’s laboring nostrils,

-and deep groans issued from his throat,

-while Giovanni stood mournfully by and

-the music played on.</p>

-

-<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />

-

-<div class="chapter">

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</span></p>

-<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_IV">CHAPTER IV<br />

-<span class="smaller">THE FESTIVAL OF SAN LORENZO</span></h2></div>

-

-<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap"><span class="dropcap">S</span>uddenly</span> the small black figure of

-Natale appeared, kneeling at the

-horse’s side, although no one had

-seen him slip in. With his hands clasped in

-distress, he lifted his voice in such a disconsolate

-wail that even Betty started and

-wondered if the horse could be really dying.</p>

-

-<p>The solemn march was still sounding in

-the tent, and before speaking the clown gave

-the spectators full time to take in the tragic

-tableau. Then he exclaimed briskly:</p>

-

-<p>“What are you crying about, boy?”</p>

-

-<p>“Because our horse is dead.”</p>

-

-<p>“Do you think he is quite dead, Natale?”</p>

-

-<p>“Oh, quite,” wailed the child.</p>

-

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</span></p>

-

-<p>“Get up and feel his pulse, boy. If there

-is any pulse he is not dead.”</p>

-

-<p>Natale went nearer and took one of the

-great hoofs of the horse fearlessly into his

-little hands, and felt for the “pulse.”</p>

-

-<p>“Well, what do you find?” asked the

-clown impatiently.</p>

-

-<p>“There isn’t any pulse,” the little fellow

-wailed again, laying down the big black

-hoof with the utmost tenderness.</p>

-

-<p>“Too bad,” quoth the clown, taking his

-seat deliberately on the prostrate horse,

-which lay as motionless as if certainly dead.

-Then, all in a moment, Natale’s manner

-changed, and he skipped around in front of

-Giovanni, remarking glibly that the gentleman

-had found a beautiful sofa to sit upon.</p>

-

-<p>“And I shall have a kiss to prove that the

-beast is not dead,” exclaimed the clown,

-chirruping a little and smacking his lips.

-And the great brown head of the horse

-lifted itself from the dust, the graceful neck

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</span>turned, and Il Duca actually kissed his

-master, then scrambled hastily to his feet

-as if glad for that job to be over, while

-Giovanni hurried him out of the ring.</p>

-

-<p>“Such silly jokes!” commented Mrs.

-Bishop, otherwise Aunty, as the performance

-ended, and the rollicking crowd poured

-out of the tent. “Think of my having spent

-two whole hours listening to them, and all

-on pins too, for fear that poor, ill-used child

-should be forced to do some other unchristian

-thing.”</p>

-

-<p>“But, Aunty, what did you expect when

-you came?” Betty asked impatiently.

-“Surely the little show was not bad, and

-there was actually nothing but what was

-quite decent in every way.”</p>

-

-<p>“I call it ‘bad’ to beat and starve children

-into turning themselves into monkeys.”</p>

-

-<p>“If people would not go to see the

-‘monkeys’ it would be stopped,” was

-Betty’s retort.</p>

-

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</span></p>

-

-<p>“Well, I am sure I only went to oblige

-Mrs. Choky,” Aunty said in an injured tone.

-“She said she thought we ought to encourage

-the poor people on their first night. But it

-will be my last night there, as I shall very

-soon inform her. ‘Encourage’ them to

-martyrize that poor child, indeed!”</p>

-

-<p>From the first performance in Cutigliano,

-therefore, Natale’s trouble began, although

-he did not know it. Contented and tired he

-lay down in his corner of the brown house

-on wheels and went to sleep, while the men

-let down the big yellow canvas of the large

-tent and furled it about the pole. But

-first, he ate his supper of macaroni with

-the rest of the actors, gathered in the small

-tent behind. Midnight suppers were the

-rule on the nights when there were performances,

-as it would have been at the

-risk of upsetting their stomachs in more

-ways than one to eat food beforehand.</p>

-

-<p>Later, the stars kept quiet watch above

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</span>the little encampment, where even Pietro

-slept well, with the open house door admitting

-the fresh air of the mountains.</p>

-

-<p>For ten days the yellow “mushroom”

-spread over the grass of the field, although

-very much in the way of the fine city gentlemen,

-playing at ball with bats like tambourines.

-The noisy music at night and the

-cheering in the tent may have kept the

-invalids in the nearest boarding-houses

-awake and nervous, and the people at large

-may have grown tired of the performances

-which they soon learned by heart, but no

-one felt inclined to hustle the poor people

-away, and no one grumbled except Mrs.

-Bishop.</p>

-

-<p>There was something pathetic about the

-clown in his everyday dress, his gayety and

-paint all gone and the deep lines of his face

-showing too plainly in the garish light of

-day, as he pottered about the tent, adjusting ropes,

-and keeping off the village boys

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</span>who would throw stones upon the old

-canvas, or play hide and seek among the

-curtains. It gave one a queer feeling, also,

-to fancy the drooping figure of Pietro, with

-his pure little face like alabaster, a member

-of the “wicked circus troop.”</p>

-

-<p class="p2b">This child was perhaps twelve years old,

-and he had the face of an angel. He had

-begun to lose his daily feverishness after a

-week in the mountains, and was soon able

-to limp, and later to run feebly about the

-field with the village boys.</p>

-

-<div class="chapter">

-<div class="figcenter" style="width: 350px;">

-<a id="illo1"><img src="images/i_044.jpg" width="350" alt="Mrs. Bishop looked down upon the tent from the garden terrace."

-title=""  /></a></div></div>

-

-<p class="caption">Mrs. Bishop looked down upon the tent from the garden terrace.<br />

-<span class="center"><i>Page <a href="#Page_45">45.</a></i></span></p>

-

-<p class="p2">But Natale, spidery little Natale, interested

-every one more even than did Pietro.

-Yet he looked only an everyday lad during

-the long summer days, when he trotted up

-and down, to and from the town, carrying

-now a bowl of this, now a flask of that,

-but always carrying something. To most

-people he seemed as happy as the days were

-long, just as ready for a chat with a strange

-foreigner who might address him in broken

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</span>Italian as with old Sora Teresa who sold

-fruit and vegetables in the piazza, and who

-sometimes presented him with a ripe red

-tomato, or a slice of melon all green and

-pink.</p>

-

-<p>But Mrs. Bishop looked down upon the

-tent from the garden terrace of Madame

-Cioche’s boarding-house every day, and

-slowly formed a plan for making Natale’s

-life happier. Poor little Natale!</p>

-

-<p>The terrace garden above the field was

-shaded with plane trees and the mountain

-ash, and the grass was soft and richly green.

-Each afternoon some of the boarders would

-gather at the palings on the edge of this

-garden and watch the gentlemen playing

-ball below, and the village boys imitating

-Olga and Natale at turning somersaults and

-wheels.</p>

-

-<p>One afternoon, while the boarders were

-drinking tea under the ash trees, with the

-berries overhead turning red, and the sun

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</span>streaming across the croquet ground, there

-came a knock at the side door of the boarding-house.

-Madame Cioche herself opened

-the door, and there stood Natale, smiling

-up into her face, with the old blue hat set

-far back on his dark curls. The lady

-noticed that the boy’s face was very clean.</p>

-

-<p>“Happy day to you,” he said brightly,

-using the peasant form of address, “and

-my mamá says will you please send her a cup

-of tea? She is feeling ill to-day.”</p>

-

-<p>Of course Madame Cioche would send the

-tea, fetching it herself from the dining room

-and handing it to the boy. But she kept

-Natale a moment to ask how it was that his

-mamá could possibly like tea.</p>

-

-<p>“Oh, but she has it every day when we

-are in Egypt,” was the reply. “And to-day

-her head aches. Thank you, Signora.”

-And Natale went off down the hill carrying

-the big cup as carefully as his bowls and

-flasks were always carried.</p>

-

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</span></p>

-

-<p>Mrs. Bishop overheard the word “Egypt”

-and sighed.</p>

-

-<p>The next day was Sunday and an important

-festival, being the day of San

-Lorenzo. A great harvest of <i>soldi</i> was

-expected, as peasants from all the mountain

-villages would come trooping in that day,

-to go to high mass in the church under the

-old mountain firs, and to take part in the procession

-of the “saints” in the afternoon. So

-there was, of course, to be a performance in

-the tent that day, but in the afternoon this

-time, just after the procession, instead of

-in the evening, when everybody would be

-tired or toiling homeward along the dark

-mountain ways. As there was nothing for

-him to do about the tent, however, until

-five o’clock should boom from the stone

-tower of the church, Natale made good use

-of his legs during the whole day, for there

-was much to see.</p>

-

-<p>Betty Bishop had tossed a penny into his

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</span>hands down over the garden palings that

-very Sunday morning. Perhaps she was

-thinking of some little child at home in

-England who would be clamoring for a

-penny to carry to Sunday school, but

-Natale had no thought of dropping his

-precious two <i>soldi</i> into the priest’s collecting

-bag in the church.</p>

-

-<p>The <i>piazza</i> was too fascinating a place to

-be passed by, when one held a penny of his

-own fast in his fist. With the dogs on each

-side of him, therefore, Natale spent most

-of the day above in the town, going from

-booth to booth, and in fancy spending his

-money over and over again. There were

-sweets of various kinds offered for sale on

-the little tables along the steep, narrow

-streets, and booths of everything from

-coarse stuffs and ready-made clothing to

-breastpins of gay mosaic work and filigree

-rings.</p>

-

-<p>Everywhere Natale was jostled by the

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</span>peasants who all through the morning had

-flocked to the town, dressed in their best

-clothes and wearing holiday looks on their

-faces. The women and girls wore gay

-kerchiefs on their heads, with brilliant

-borderings and flowing ends, while even the

-men wore bits of vivid color in the shape of

-gorgeous neck scarfs spread over their white

-shirt fronts. Mingled with these walked the

-lords and ladies of a higher class dressed

-according to the fashion plates of Paris, and

-seeming to enjoy the hot sunshine and the

-gay restiveness of the multitude as much as

-the plainer folk. All day the frolic and

-prayers and the music of the town band and

-the church organ went on in the little town,

-till mid-afternoon, when there fell a hush

-over all and a great expectation.</p>

-

-<p>Natale had not a very good place from

-which to see the procession pass, for he

-stood between a very stout peasant woman

-and a visiting priest in his full black gown.

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</span>Still, he managed to peer from under their

-elbows without attracting their attention,

-and he was content, holding securely in one

-hand, meanwhile, the balloon whistle which

-he had finally purchased with his penny.

-The pretty red bubble of rubber had not

-yet burst, and Natale was happy in its

-possession. The handful of crisp wafers

-flavored with anise seed, which he had

-almost bought&mdash;so very foolish he had

-been&mdash;would have been eaten long ere

-this, and it would be as if he had never had

-a penny of his own tossed over the fence to

-him by a smiling young lady, but now he

-still had the whistle!</p>

-

-<p>On they came, the straggling company

-of men and boys, dressed in white gowns

-and cowls, and bearing huge lighted

-candles in their hands. Natale thought he

-would like to have been one of the two boys

-bearing the immense candlesticks of brass;

-yet, after all, the candlesticks must be very

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</span>heavy, and they were propped very uncomfortably

-on the little boys’ stomachs,

-and very red and perspiring were the little

-boys’ faces.</p>

-

-<p>Natale thought the men’s feet ugly and

-clumsy, showing below the white gowns,

-and their harsh, chanting voices made him

-shiver. But he could not follow the awkward

-marching steps of the peasants with

-laughing looks as some of the onlookers

-were doing, for here, behind the banners and

-crucifixes, came two very curious-looking

-objects.</p>

-

-<p>“<i>Ecco!</i> the dead saints!” he exclaimed

-softly to himself. “How heavy they must

-be in the glass boxes on the men’s shoulders.

-Yet our Antonio Bisbini would never bend

-so under a small box as those men do.

-Ah! but the little girls are pretty, so pretty

-in their white veils, and scattering flowers

-before the saints.”</p>

-

-<p>The crowd closed in upon the end of the

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</span>procession now, and Natale could see no

-more, as he was nearly overturned where

-he stood. After a breathless moment or

-two, he found himself left in peace and

-quiet under the great old fir trees in front

-of the church, with the crowd all gone and

-Nicro and Bianco with them.</p>

-

-<p>Nonna had told him to be sure and see

-the saints, if possible, so he went into the

-dark old church and sat down on a low chair

-to wait for the procession to return. He

-knew that San Lorenzo and Sant’ Aurelio

-would surely be brought back to spend the

-night in the church, perhaps in front of the

-candle-lighted altar, and he wished to

-please Nonna. It was dark and quiet in

-his corner under the organ gallery, and it

-was a very easy and natural thing for a tired

-little boy to fall asleep in that quiet place.</p>

-

-<p>When the procession returned after half

-an hour, it was without the blare of trumpets

-and the crash of organ music, though for a

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</span>long while shuffling feet passed in and out.

-This continued until everybody had looked

-at the two saints robed in costly garments

-and reposing now at full length on their

-satin cushions within their caskets of glass

-set before the altar. Many touched the

-rich cloths draping the caskets with reverent

-fingers, and pressed kisses on the cold

-glass before passing out into the radiant

-sunset light.</p>

-

-<p>When Natale waked, the church doors

-were still open, but only one light swung

-before the high altar, and there was no

-trace anywhere of dead saint or living soul.

-He groped his way among the disarranged

-chairs and benches quite to the altar rail,

-but even the empty biers had been borne

-away to some inner recess of the church, so,

-with a dread that he had overslept awaking

-in his mind, Natale found his way out of

-the church again.</p>

-

-<p>The purple bloom of evening was creeping

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</span>up the mountain sides, and a star glowed in

-the sky. Just above the mountain line in

-the west the crescent moon hovered, as if

-uncertain over which side to sink. The

-dread in Natale’s mind had nothing to do

-with saints or dark churches. On awaking,

-his first sensation had been a fear that he

-might have missed the afternoon performance

-in the beloved tent, and now, standing

-outside the church in the dusk, he knew that

-he had missed it!</p>

-

-<p>With a sob in his throat he turned his

-face from the telltale sky, and fled through

-the village down to the field. When he

-reached the wagon,&mdash;for he would not go

-to the tent, quiet now and unlighted,&mdash;the

-first words he heard came from Olga:</p>

-

-<p>“Have you not heard, Natalino? Giovanni

-has lost a hundred francs! Somebody

-stole them when he changed his coat

-in the little tent. Yes, I know you were not

-there! We wondered where you could be!”</p>

-

-<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />

-

-<div class="chapter">

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</span></p>

-<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_V">CHAPTER V<br />

-<span class="smaller">A GIFT FOR THE CIRCUS</span></h2></div>

-

-<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap"><span class="dropcap">N</span>atale</span> held his breath with horror.

-One hundred francs lost! And he

-not at hand to hear of it, to help

-look for the money, among the very first?

-He could not ask Olga how it had happened,

-because his heart was almost too

-disappointed and sore for words. He sat

-down on the wall, with his back toward

-the tent, and waited for her to tell all

-about the loss, although he was not at all

-certain that she would condescend to do

-so. In fact, she said not a word more,

-but stood in front of Natale, wondering

-not a little at his unusual quiet.</p>

-

-<p>“You are sulky!” she exclaimed finally,

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</span>“and Giovanni is very angry with you. So

-am I, for I had to feel Il Duca’s pulse, and

-I did not like it at all. Suppose he had

-kicked me, seeing that it was not you.”</p>

-

-<p>“Il Duca was dead!” Natale retorted,

-with a twinkle in his eye, if only Olga could

-have seen it. “He would not know you

-from me!”</p>

-

-<p>“Dead!” cried Olga. “I believe you

-truly do think that, when you set up your

-crying, Natale; really I did not do it half

-so well as you,” she confessed honestly.</p>

-

-<p>“But you ‘wheel’ much better than I

-do,” Natale conceded with ready generosity

-in return.</p>

-

-<p>“Il Duca did not shut his eyes at all,”

-Olga went on, nodding assent to Natale’s

-remark, “and I am sure he <i>winked</i> at me,

-Natale, just to frighten me. It did not

-take <i>me</i> long to feel his pulse! But where

-were you, Natalino, all the time? Nonna

-said she was afraid some of the peasants had

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</span>stolen you and carried you off, when Niero

-and Bianco came home without you.”</p>

-

-<p>“As if they would have let anybody steal

-me! Olga, I went to sleep in the church,

-waiting for the saints to come back, and

-when I waked it was dark, almost as dark

-as this!”</p>

-

-<p>“Oho! then you must have been in the

-church when Arduina and I went in to look

-at the saints. Arduina said&mdash;but you

-must not dare to tell anybody&mdash;she said

-that she did not believe there were any

-bones under the saints’ fine velvet robes

-because San Lorenzo had a hand of pink

-wax, and the rest of him looked rather

-stuffed. But do not tell Nonna, Natale!”</p>

-

-<p>“Arduina is very wicked,” said Natale,

-but he laughed with Olga, and then felt

-much better, and as if he could ask about

-the losing of the money.</p>

-

-<p>They were in a little nook to themselves,

-behind the wagon, and no one heeded them.</p>

-

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</span></p>

-

-<p>“<i>Ecco!</i> it was this way,” Olga began,

-charmed to be the first to recount the misfortune

-to Natale, who was usually behind

-none in his knowledge of the affairs of the

-company. “Just when Giovanni was going

-in to do the clown in the first dance on

-the rope, the Signor Barbera, the stable

-man, came behind the big tent with his bill

-for keeping the horses, and Giovanni took

-the big pocketbook out of the pocket of

-his coat&mdash;”</p>

-

-<p>“Yes, I know which pocket,” Natale

-interposed. “I saw him put the money

-there this morning.”</p>

-

-<p>“Well, the signor could not make the

-change, so he told Giovanni it was all right,

-and any time would do, and then Antonio

-rang the bell for Giovanni, and he just put

-the pocketbook back in his coat and hung

-the coat on the nail in the little tent, and

-hurried on the black coat, and went into the

-ring.”</p>

-

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</span></p>

-

-<p>“Yes, and then?” asked Natale breathlessly.</p>

-

-<p>“When he came back, he saw his coat on

-the ground, and he knew he had hung it up.

-‘How comes my coat on the ground?’ he

-said, very loud indeed, and your mamá told

-him he must have put it there himself.

-But he did not hear her, because he was

-shaking the coat and feeling in the pocket,&mdash;but

-there was nothing there!</p>

-

-<p>“We made a great fuss about it,”

-Olga ended, shrugging her shoulders and

-throwing up her hands, “but what was

-the use?”</p>

-

-<p>Natale was silent with dismay. A hundred

-francs meant so much. It was all

-that they had made during the ten days’

-stay at Cutigliano, and now it was gone,

-in a moment.</p>

-

-<p>“The stable man?” he questioned in a

-distressed tone of voice, and very low.</p>

-

-<p>“No, Giovanni said it could not have been

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</span>the signor. He is a rich man and honest,

-everybody says.”</p>

-

-<p>So subdued were they all over the trouble

-of the afternoon that not even Elvira

-thought it worth while to scold the quiet

-boy who presently slipped in among the

-little crowd of players in the tent, deep in

-fruitless discussion over their grievous loss.

-They had had a crowded tent that afternoon,

-and the receipts had been so good that

-this evening would have been one of rejoicing

-if only the money for the labors of the

-ten other days and nights had been again

-safe in Giovanni’s pocket. There was not

-the slightest clew to the thief, as no stranger

-had been known to enter the tent, and

-Giovanni had even interviewed the Signor

-Barbera from outside the doorway. It had

-been necessary to be on the lookout for

-possible thieving, as the field was crowded

-all the afternoon with strange peasants,

-attracted by the band music and the big

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</span>yellow tent, and by peddlers with their

-wares. One very decent-looking peddler

-had begged pretty, vain Arduina to look at

-his beautiful jewelry and ribbons, but she

-had refused him entrance very reluctantly,

-and Giovanni himself had noticed how

-patiently and decorously the man had

-turned away. He had worn a red fez cap

-over his long black hair, and his bushy

-black beard had reached nearly to his waist.</p>

-

-<p>“I saw him!” Emilio, one of the musicians

-exclaimed, “and his legs were as

-crooked as Pietro’s, only they bent out at

-the knee instead of in!” There was a laugh

-at this sally, but Pietro frowned and muttered

-something about Emilio’s having

-little right to criticize the legs of others.</p>

-

-<p>“I met such a man as I came out of the

-church in the crowd,” said Nonna, hastening

-to speak that a dispute might be avoided.

-“He walked very well notwithstanding his

-poor, bent legs, and he asked me if he were

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</span>too late to get a glimpse of the blessed

-relics. A politer man I never saw, though

-Tito was afraid of him, and began to cry

-when the man snapped his fingers at him.”</p>

-

-<p>Poor Natale felt so left out in the cold

-with this talk that he could not bear it long,

-and was just about to creep away, down to

-his corner in the wagon, when a strange

-hand lifted a corner of the tent flap, and a

-strange voice inquired for “<i>Il piccolo

-Natale</i>.”</p>

-

-<p>“Some ladies up at the house there have

-a little present for you all,” the black-coated

-Italian butler of the boarding-house

-announced, peering in upon the group

-gathered about the sputtering lamp inside,

-“but they wish to send it down by the boy,

-Natale.”</p>

-

-<p>Then Natale was himself again, and without

-demur or bashfulness presented himself

-to the servant.</p>

-

-<p>“It is well you turned up in time, Natalino,”<span class="pagenum" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</span>

-said the clown, giving him a little

-shove toward the dignified butler waiting

-just outside. “Perhaps Olga would not

-have done, in this case. Off with you to the

-<i>forestieri</i><a id="FNanchor_4" href="#Footnote_4" class="fnanchor">[4]</a> above!”</p>

-

-<p>Many a boy would have been abashed at

-finding himself the center of such a group as

-awaited Natale in the hallway of the house

-in the garden. But Natale was too well

-accustomed to an array of faces fixed upon

-him to make the least show of bashfulness.

-The lady of the house, whose pleasant face

-he knew very well, laid her hand on his

-shoulder and asked him kindly in Italian if

-anything had been heard of the money lost

-that afternoon, and her soft, dark eyes

-looked sympathetically into his own.</p>

-

-<p>“No, signora, and my papá says we shall

-never see a <i>soldo</i> of it again,” was Natale’s

-prompt answer.</p>

-

-<p>“Ask him if they have any idea of the

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</span>person who stole it,” Betty Bishop suggested

-in English, and Madame Cioche did so.

-Natale’s answer to this was more expressive

-than polite perhaps, for without words he

-simply raised his shoulders as high as

-possible, pressing his elbows against his

-sides, and spreading his hands wide to indicate

-the complete ignorance of his people

-as to the coward who had taken their hard-earned

-money. And the drawn-down

-corners of his mouth so changed the expression

-of his face that one would hardly

-have known him.</p>

-

-<p>“Who would have believed the child

-could make himself so ugly,” Mrs. Bishop

-exclaimed. “Have you no tongue, boy,

-to answer properly?”</p>

-

-<p>But as English words were far less intelligible

-to Natale than Caffero’s whinny,

-or Niero’s bark, he only looked up into

-Madame Cioche’s face and smiled.</p>

-

-<p>“There! it is a bonny little face after

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</span>all,” said that lady, “and now shall we give

-him the money and send him away?”</p>

-

-<p>“No, let me speak to him first,” demanded

-Mrs. Bishop, “and you, Mrs.

-Choky, must interpret. Ask him if he likes

-to be a wicked little circus boy.”</p>

-

-<p>“Aunty!” gasped Betty.</p>

-

-<p>“Never mind, I have a reason for my

-question, Betty. Hush, what does he

-say?”</p>

-

-<p>“Do you like to play in the circus, dear?”

-asked Mrs. Cioche’s kind voice, in Italian.</p>

-

-<p>Natale’s eyes shone.</p>

-

-<p>“Ah, yes, signora! And when I am a

-man, I shall be another Antonio Bisbini.”</p>

-

-<p>“He says he likes it very much, Mrs.

-Bishop,” was the interpretation.</p>

-

-<p>“Already corrupted, poor boy, and so

-young!” the old lady sighed, while Betty

-laughed outright.</p>

-

-<p>“Ask him if he would not like better to

-have some nice clothes, and go to school,

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</span>and grow up to be a decent man some day,

-Mrs. Choky.” That lady hesitated a little

-before putting this question into Italian.</p>

-

-<p>“What does she say to me?” Natale

-asked, his brown eyes twinkling as he looked

-from one to the other, his teeth showing

-white between his red lips. Natale’s was

-a wide, good-natured mouth, very prone to

-laugh upon small provocation.</p>

-

-<p>“She wants to know if you would not like

-to go to school, and learn to read and write,”

-said Madame Cioche.</p>

-

-<p>“And leave the <i>circo</i>?” Natale asked with

-a gasp.</p>

-

-<p>“Yes, you could not go to school unless

-you should stop in one place, you know.”</p>

-

-<p>“And not travel about with the horses

-and wagon any more, and leave Nonna?”</p>

-

-<p>“Of course, Natale. But she is only asking

-you about it, <i>carino</i>, so do not look so

-troubled.”</p>

-

-<p>Natale laughed then, and happily.</p>

-

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</span></p>

-

-<p>“She wanted to find out how much I love

-the <i>circo</i>!” he exclaimed. “Please tell her,

-signora. You know, how we all love the

-<i>circo</i>!”</p>

-

-<p>“I think I do, Natale. He does not want

-to go to school, Mrs. Bishop,” turning to the

-eager old lady, “because he loves his life

-with the circus and his own people too

-much.”</p>

-

-<p>“And he does not wish to leave his grandmother,”

-chimed in Betty who had very

-cleverly picked up a good deal of Italian

-during a winter and summer in Italy, and

-all grandmothers are Nonnas in that land.</p>

-

-<p>Mrs. Bishop was silent for a moment, her

-gaze taking in every detail of Natale’s little

-figure standing sturdily before her, dusty

-shoes, and rough peasant leggings, velveteen

-trousers, faded blue blouse, and rumpled

-curls, with the old hat held in one sun-burned

-hand. His face was not so clean as

-usual now, and there were tired circles about

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</span>his eyes. It had been a long, exciting summer’s

-day.</p>

-

-<p>“Children&mdash;especially boys&mdash;do not

-know what is best for themselves,” she said

-presently, bending her brows, but not in the

-least frightening Natale, “and I am not going

-to give up my plan, for this baby’s

-nonsense. Why, he cannot be over eight

-years old, at the most.”</p>

-

-<p>“Here, Natale,” said Madame Cioche,

-judging that the interview might well be

-concluded, and handing the boy a small

-packet. “Take this to your papá, and tell

-him that the ladies and gentlemen in my

-house have heard of the loss of the money,

-and are sending him thirty-five francs as

-a little present. Can you carry it safely?”</p>

-

-<p>Again Natale’s sweet smile broke over his

-face, but he only nodded happily in reply,

-tucking the money away in the bosom of his

-blouse.</p>

-

-<p>“Ask him how long they are going to

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</span>stay,” Mrs. Bishop called after Madame

-Cioche, who was going to the gate with

-Natale.</p>

-

-<p>“He says that the <i>sindaco</i>&mdash;the mayor&mdash;has

-offered them the use of the field for

-another week,” Madame Cioche said, her

-eyes glowing, as she returned to the hall.

-“I am glad of that, as the poor creatures

-will need all they can make here, now.”</p>

-

-<p>“I call it a sort of punishment, their losing

-the money when playing on Sunday,” Mrs.

-Bishop said severely, and one or two other

-English ladies nodded their approval of this

-speech. “And I think the whole business

-wrong and that it ought to be discouraged.

-I was not at all sure about the propriety of

-giving my francs to your little collection,

-Mrs. Choky.”</p>

-

-<p>“Would it have been more Christian to

-have let them suffer, perhaps for food, and

-the poor beasts too?” the hostess asked,

-pausing on her way through the hall.</p>

-

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</span></p>

-

-<p>“But surely you think circusing wrong

-and <i>un</i>christian?” the disputative old lady

-exclaimed.</p>

-

-<p>“Aunty, do be quiet,” cried Betty

-warmly. “I am sure you ought not to

-dispute ‘on Sunday’! Besides,” she added,

-as everybody laughed, and two or three

-softly applauded, “they make their living

-that way, and we cannot change them into

-farmers, or preachers. But I think it is

-always wrong not to help honest people who

-are in trouble.”</p>

-

-<p>“If they <i>are</i> honest,” Mrs. Bishop remonstrated,

-but under her breath, this time,

-for Madame Cioche’s eyes were sparkling,

-and she seemed waiting to speak.</p>

-

-<p>“Those poor creatures down there deserve

-nothing but praise,” she said stoutly;

-“they are quiet folks, who teach their children

-obedience and keep themselves

-remarkably clean and mended. If they

-make their living in a way we do not approve,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</span>

-we cannot change them, as Miss

-Betty says, but we can feed them when they

-are hungry, and that seems to me not

-‘unchristian’!”</p>

-

-<p>“I am afraid she has a little temper,”

-said Mrs. Bishop, as their hostess went

-upstairs.</p>

-

-<p>“A temper I like!” exclaimed a gentleman

-who had before kept silent, looking up

-from his book. “But do you still think of

-carrying out your plan, Mrs. Bishop?”</p>

-

-<p>“If possible, certainly,” was the reply,

-while Betty, shaking her head, walked out

-into the garden. There, under the stars,

-she stood looking down upon the tent in the

-field. There was no wind, and the heavens

-were fair, so the canvas had not been furled.</p>

-

-<p>“I should like it myself,” she murmured.

-“What a fascinating life to live! Camping

-out the year round in Italy, with no troublesome

-dressing four times a day, no tiresome

-<i>table-d’hôte</i> dinners at night. But after all

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</span>I should not like to be that girl,&mdash;Arduina,

-they call her. Of course, Aunty is right

-about the rope dancing and other ‘circusing’

-on Sunday, only she need not be quite

-so fussy over what we certainly cannot help.

-Poor Natale! how disturbed he did look

-when Madame Cioche asked him about

-going to school!”</p>

-

-<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />

-

-<div class="chapter">

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</span></p>

-<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_VI">CHAPTER VI<br />

-<span class="smaller">SEPARATION</span></h2></div>

-

-<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap"><span class="dropcap">N</span>atale</span> lay flat on the grass, his

-face hidden on his arms, and his

-feet rebelliously kicking the ground.

-The added week granted by the mayor

-had passed, and the circus-wagon was

-about to move on.</p>

-

-<p>“You are only to try it, child, and if it

-will not do, you can come back to us. One

-year is not a hundred.”</p>

-

-<p>No reply from Natale.</p>

-

-<p>“You ought to think, sometimes, of how

-many mouths your stepfather has to fill,”

-another voice began. “Five children, and

-not one his own.”</p>

-

-<p>“Why did he marry us then?” fiercely

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</span>muttered Natale, but without lifting his

-head, so perhaps nobody heard.</p>

-

-<p>“You will have new clothes and shoes!”</p>

-

-<p>“And a new hat, Natalino!”</p>

-

-<p>“And you will learn to read much faster

-than I can teach you ’Lino, with all the

-practicings and the journeyings. Perhaps

-you will even learn to be as clever as my

-Antonio was, before&mdash;” Nonna ended with

-a sigh instead of more words.</p>

-

-<p>The women and girls were in the side

-tent, busied about dinner, and Nonna

-would not finish her sentence in the presence

-of Antonio’s wife.</p>

-

-<p>“I would rather be our Antonio than&mdash;than

-the King or the <i>principino</i>,”<a id="FNanchor_5" href="#Footnote_5" class="fnanchor">[5]</a> Natale

-cried helplessly. Then he sat up on the

-worn grass, and faced them all, tearful but

-resolute. “I shall not stay here with the

-priest and go to school, mamá,” he said

-earnestly. “You shall not leave me behind<span class="pagenum" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</span>

-and take Maria and Pietro and the

-rest.”</p>

-

-<p>“Perhaps we can persuade Giovanni to

-leave little Bianco with you, if the good

-priest does not object,” Nonna whispered

-in his ear.</p>

-

-<p>“No, I shall go with you,” returned

-Natale.</p>

-

-<p>“Ah! what is all this?” came suddenly

-in Giovanni’s gruff, good-natured tones.

-“What? Natale will not stay? The beautiful

-little star of the ring will not leave us

-in the darkness?” And the clown entered

-the tent and flung himself down, laughing,

-beside the little boy.</p>

-

-<p>“Hurry with the polenta, Arduina,” he

-called to his stepdaughter, who had lifted

-her hot face from the steam of the mush pot

-to laugh at the man’s rough wit. “The

-biggest hole yet torn in the tent must be

-mended this afternoon, and the canvas is

-almost dry now in this wind. If it had not

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</span>rained yesterday, and if the wind had not

-played us such a trick on the very eve of

-our going, we should have made our fortunes

-yesterday. A cattle fair does not

-offer itself every day, with its crowd of

-country bumpkins who never saw a man

-in tights. Now, that will do, Natale,”

-turning to the boy, who was sniffing

-audibly. “Hours ago it was all decided,

-and there is nothing more to be said.”</p>

-

-<p>“Then I am <i>not</i> to stay in this horrid

-place, Giovanni&mdash;papá&mdash;”</p>

-

-<p>“‘Giovanni&mdash;papá&mdash;!’ No more of

-these tears, Natalino. You are to stay in

-this beautiful place, and after polenta, you

-are to go up to the garden and thank the

-lady.”</p>

-

-<p>With a loud, rebellious howl, Natale

-sprang to his feet and rushed out into the

-open air. Nor did he stop until he stood

-among the briar bushes below the garden

-palings. Clenching his small grimy fists, he

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</span>stood there looking up toward the many-windowed

-<i>pension</i> and shook them vehemently,

-while his shrill voice cried out

-passionately:</p>

-

-<p>“I shall not stay here! I shall not go to

-school! I like my old hat, and I want

-Nonna to teach me to read. I shall never

-thank you, <i>never</i>, <span class="allsmcap">NEVER</span>, NEVER!”</p>

-

-<p>He had seen no one in the garden, and

-was only addressing the whole houseful of

-his enemies up there in the big yellow building

-with the staring windows. Why should

-they interfere with him? Why should

-any one be trying to make him wretched,&mdash;the

-most wretched boy in all Italy?</p>

-

-<p>“Heyday! what’s all this about?” and

-a white-haired old man, speaking from the

-garden, came close to the palings and looked

-over at the small, threatening figure among

-the bushes. “I cannot understand your

-gibberish, if you are talking to me. You

-would better go away now, little boy, or

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</span>some of your people will come and whip

-you.”</p>

-

-<p>“How suddenly you stopped the noise,

-Mr. Grantly,” exclaimed Betty, coming up

-to his side. “Who was it? Why, Aunty’s

-little protégé, Natale! How pitiful he

-looks, walking away as if his feelings were

-hurt. You must have frightened him.”</p>

-

-<p>“Not a bit of it, ma’am. He frightened

-<i>me</i> with his fierce little voice. It came

-suddenly, just as I was dropping off to

-sleep in my chair. It is a relief to have

-them moving on this afternoon, with their

-horns and drum. But that boy stays,

-some one tells me. Is it possible that the

-family agreed to give him up? I have

-understood that the Italians cling to each

-other as much as even we do in America

-or England. Do they really leave the

-child?”</p>

-

-<p>“For more money than he could ever

-bring them by his somersaulting, yes,”

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</span>Betty answered. “Sometimes I think

-Aunty really does not know what to do

-with her money,” the girl went on confidentially

-to the old gentleman, who was

-listening with interest. “Now, that boy

-has no desire to be taken away from ‘the

-evil life he is leading’ in Aunty’s estimation,

-and he does not wish to be sent to school

-and become ‘a decent man.’”</p>

-

-<p>“Ah! tell me the whole plan, now. I

-heard something of it a few days ago.”</p>

-

-<p>“It is very simple&mdash;all but getting Natale

-to agree to being imposed upon,” Betty went

-on a little vexedly. “Aunty has had the

-stepfather and the mother up here several

-times this past week to be talked to, and

-an old woman who seems to be the grandmother

-of them all. Miss Lorini has done

-all the interpreting, and also saw the priest

-about it, as Madame Cioche would not.

-They have agreed to leave Natale here for

-one year; he is to be taken care of by the

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</span>priest’s mother, and to be sent to school and

-made ‘decent,’ poor little fellow.”</p>

-

-<p>Mr. Grantly laughed, but said nothing, for

-his heart was still young and understanding

-of boyish hearts, if his head was white, and

-he felt a wise interest in Mrs. Bishop’s

-philanthropic scheme.</p>

-

-<p>“Aunty is to pay everything, and she

-says she thinks she knows now why all the

-hotels up at Abetone were full so she could

-not get a good room there for these three

-weeks. She finds that she was ‘ordained’

-to rescue a boy from his persecutors, as she

-persists in calling the circus men. It is

-supposed, I believe, that all little boys and

-girls of circuses have been stolen from kind

-parents, and if not are half-killed with

-cruelty by their own.”</p>

-

-<p>“You speak very warmly, young lady,”

-Mr. Grantly remarked, a little reproof in his

-tone. “There is no doubt that many such

-children do suffer and are very unhappy.”</p>

-

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</span></p>

-

-<p>“Those certainly do not!” retorted Betty,

-pointing to a number of the circus children

-frolicking in the field with Niero and Bianco.

-Olga’s red cotton dress was flitting over the

-grass, and her merry laugh was echoed by

-the other little ones, as Niero finally caught

-her red skirts in the chase.</p>

-

-<p>“Of course the clown objected at first,”

-Betty continued, “but Aunty was more

-determined than he and soon proved to

-him that it would be worth his while to

-agree. The old lady, whom they call

-Nonna, was curiously anxious for Natale

-to have a chance at schooling. I wondered

-at that till I heard about her son.”</p>

-

-<p>“Yes, I know,” Mr. Grantly assented.

-“Some, however, would think he had made

-a very fair exchange in giving up the future

-of a priest for the easy, out-of-doors life of

-an acrobat. There is no accounting for tastes,

-though. And is this boy to be made a priest?”</p>

-

-<p>“Only let my Aunty hear you say that!”

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</span>laughed the girl. “No, indeed, but the

-priest was the only one who would agree to

-be troubled with the child, after Miss Lorini

-had explained all Aunty’s conditions&mdash;how

-Natale was to have a cold bath every morning,

-meat to eat every day, and new shoes

-as soon as his old ones come into holes.

-The priest, too, has agreed to write a letter

-to Aunty every month to tell her of Natale’s

-progress&mdash;”</p>

-

-<p>“Toward growing into a ‘decent man’?”

-interposed Mr. Grantly. “Well, I hope the

-plan will work well for all parties. Few

-Italian peasant lads get such a chance.”

-Then the old gentleman went back to his

-chair to continue his nap.</p>

-

-<p>All that afternoon, until four o’clock,

-there was an unusual bustle going on about

-the little encampment. The tattered,

-damp, half-ruined canvas was rolled up and

-packed along with poles and planks and

-ropes on a small cart hired for this occasion,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</span>

-while the cooking utensils and the

-scant furniture of the tents were gathered

-together for conveyance in the house-wagon.

-It was a cold and dreary day, following the

-night of stormy wind, with the clouds settling

-close about the mountain tops and the

-wind sweeping down the valley wet with

-rain. And in the heart of Natale there

-was even less promise of sunshine. He sat

-apart from the others on the damp wall,

-frowning and sullen.</p>

-

-<p>Half an hour before, he had been almost

-forcibly dragged up the hill to the house in

-the garden by Giovanni, who had made

-little jokes to hide the sulkiness of the boy’s

-replies to the questions of the ladies gathered

-there. Madame Cioche had promptly hidden

-herself when she saw the green gate

-open and the pair coming in, but the clown

-had walked directly through the hall and up

-to the little table where Mrs. Bishop sat

-taking her tea.</p>

-

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</span></p>

-

-<p>No command of Giovanni nor persuasion

-of Miss Lorini, who was an artist, could

-induce Natale to say: “Thank you, signora,

-for your kindness.” His revolt had

-been beforehand hushed into silence by

-some very plain threats of punishment by

-his mother, but nothing could make him

-say that he was glad to stay in Cutigliano

-and go to school every day.</p>

-

-<p>He stood before them all, miserable as a

-child could be, his face very clean and pale,

-and a new pair of shoes already upon his

-feet. They pinched his toes woefully, but

-his heart ached more than his feet.</p>

-

-<p>“You will love the signora very much,

-some day, when you are a man and remember

-how good she was to the poor little boy

-who knew nothing but how to turn somersaults,”

-Miss Lorini had said caressingly in

-her softest Italian, studying the piteous

-face meanwhile with an eye to painting it

-some day, when it should smile again.</p>

-

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</span></p>

-

-<p>“I shall learn to do something besides the

-<i>capitomboli</i>,<a id="FNanchor_6" href="#Footnote_6" class="fnanchor">[6]</a> when I am a man,” Natale had

-said eagerly. “I shall be like our Antonio

-some day.” Perhaps these foreigners would

-be willing to leave him in peace if he could

-convince them that he <i>wished</i> to be a strolling

-player all his life.</p>

-

-<p>“He speaks as if he does not exactly

-understand,” said Miss Lorini, looking at

-Giovanni inquiringly. “Does he not know

-that he is to give up the circus now?”</p>

-

-<p>Giovanni shrugged his shoulders, then

-shook Natale’s slender shoulder, muttering:</p>

-

-<p>“No more of your silly talk, boy!”

-Then louder, “If you will not thank the

-lady, I do, with all my heart.” And with

-that he bowed low, then pushing Natale

-before him, went quickly away. He was,

-in secret, rather sorry for the boy, who had

-never before given any trouble with foolish

-willfulness, and who had moreover such high

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</span>ambitions! It did seem a stupid life to

-which they were leaving the poor child, but

-then there was to be considered the roll of

-money already sewed into his own belt,

-with more to accumulate there, if Natale

-should be left still another year with the

-priest Luigi. If rich <i>forestieri</i> had nothing

-else to do with their money but give it

-away in this frantic fashion, the stepfather

-was not unwilling to share the bounty, and

-Elvira, the mother, had seemed not to mind.</p>

-

-<p>So now Natale sat alone on the wall, feeling

-very much out of it all, and longing to

-hear some one say, “Natalino, do fetch me

-this”, or “Carry that”; but no one said

-anything of the kind. They seemed to feel

-that he was no longer one of them, and his

-little heart swelled to breaking.</p>

-

-<p>He was too young to long harbor ill-will

-and of too sunny a spirit to sulk for many

-minutes at a time, so presently he slipped

-off the wall and ran to meet Olga, who was

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</span>struggling over to the traveling house-on-wheels,

-dragging two stools behind her.

-The very last things were being done, and

-already the horses were standing by, ready

-to be hitched at the last moment.</p>

-

-<p>“Do let me carry the stools, Olga,”

-Natale pleaded with unwonted entreaty

-in his voice. “Well, one of them, then.”</p>

-

-<p>“I am sorry you are going to stay behind

-here, Natalino,” the little girl panted.

-“Why do you? I should run after the

-wagon if I were you!”</p>

-

-<p>Natale had never thought of such a

-simple thing to do by way of escape! He

-promptly set down the stool he had grasped

-and looked fixedly away from Olga’s red-brown

-eyes.</p>

-

-<p>Alas! in that critical moment, what did

-he see approaching from the village? The

-flat, broad-brimmed hat and flowing black

-skirts of a priest, descending the street and

-turning in at the field!</p>

-

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</span></p>

-

-<p>There was then not a moment to be lost!

-Forgetting Olga and the heavy stools,

-Natale turned and fled, away&mdash;anywhere&mdash;out

-of sight of the jailor advancing.

-Everything flashed out of his mind except

-the impulse to escape, to hide himself from

-those searching eyes under the felt hat brim.

-His flying feet skimmed across the field, and

-when they had borne him out of sight down

-the nearest slope, Natale flung himself

-on the ground under a thicket of thorny

-blackberry bushes.</p>

-

-<p>He lay there for what must have been a

-long time, for, after a while, a sudden

-shower of rain swept down the valley and

-for a few minutes enveloped everything

-in a gray mist. Even after it had passed,

-Natale delayed returning to the wagon

-until the priest should have quite gone,

-in despair of capturing his prisoner. When

-at last he did venture forth, and crept

-to the upper verge of the slope, his first

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</span>glance was across the field for the brown

-wagon.</p>

-

-<p>It was not there!</p>

-

-<p>He set out in a headlong run for the place

-where it had stood. There was nothing

-left&mdash;absolutely nothing. Only a priest

-sat quietly waiting in a gap in the wall.</p>

-

-<p>Natale, with eyes only for the deserted

-spot, came stumbling upon the man, without

-so much as seeing that he was there,

-and then the priest rose, and taking the

-boy’s hand, spoke with the utmost quietness.</p>

-

-<p>“Come home with me now, Natalino,”

-was what he said, and Natale heard as one

-hears dream voices.</p>

-

-<p>Poor child! If he had only listened, he

-might have heard the dull screeching of the

-brakes as the wagon crawled carefully down

-the hill toward the arched bridge, and it

-would have been an easy matter to snatch

-his hand from the limp grasp of the priest

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</span>and go hurrying down the short cuts in

-pursuit. But his head seemed so full of

-a hundred roaring noises that he could not

-hear, and his heart beat so fast that he

-could not speak, and so up the hill he went

-at the priest’s side.</p>

-

-<p>Nor did he see the quiet smile upon

-Luigi’s shaven lips, as they passed the green

-gate of the garden where Betty stood peering

-through. She would not have spoken to the

-boy just then for all the world, and as for

-Madame Cioche, she could not have done

-so if she had wished. She gazed down from

-her latticed window, her bright eyes dimmed

-as they fell upon the little caged bird of the

-fields fluttering by.</p>

-

-<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />

-

-<div class="chapter">

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</span></p>

-<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_VII">CHAPTER VII<br />

-<span class="smaller">THE CAGED BIRD OF THE FIELDS</span></h2></div>

-

-<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap"><span class="dropcap">T</span>here</span> is a short, crooked street in

-Cutigliano, which leads back of the

-church and out upon the promenade

-of San Vito. This street is confined on

-either hand by stone houses and stone walls

-of gardens, and paved with large square

-stones. Here and there a gateway gives a

-peep at lapping hills across the river. The

-massive church tower rises directly from a

-narrow turn in this street, and when the

-bells ring down from the arches in the top

-of this tower, the stony street reverberates

-with a deafening clamor.</p>

-

-<p>By the time the priest and Natale reached

-the foot of the church tower, the boy was

-weeping bitterly but quietly. His one free

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</span>arm hid as much of his face as possible,

-and his feet in the clumsy new shoes stumbled

-so helplessly that Luigi had some

-trouble in preventing his falling.</p>

-

-<p>As they had passed through the town,

-where everybody sat at their doors or

-lounged in the <i>piazza</i>, all had recognized

-the little acrobat, as Natale realized only

-too well. Many accosted him in wonder,

-and some would even have stopped him to

-inquire into his misfortune in being left

-behind by his family. But the young

-priest motioned such away with authority,

-silencing with a gesture of his long finger the

-too curious. Others had already learned

-how it had come about that Natale was to

-spend a year with Sora Grazia, and her son

-the priest, and these contented themselves

-with shrugs and smiles for the boy’s companion,

-as who should say: “We wish you

-well of your bargain, Signor priest.”</p>

-

-<p>The great hands of the church clock

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</span>pointed to ten minutes of four, as the bell

-boomed the hour of six. No one, however,

-ever thought of consulting the huge figures

-painted on the stone face of the tower

-clock, for those long iron hands had not

-stirred for many a day.</p>

-

-<p>The deep sound of the bell struck so

-suddenly upon Natale’s ears that he started,

-and dropping his arm from before his eyes,

-gazed dully ahead. It was not often that

-he had strayed farther than this corner of the

-old church, and he had never followed the

-San Vito promenade to the end. Most of

-the town was left behind now; whither

-could this man be taking him?</p>

-

-<p>A row of houses with numbers in blue

-figures on one side of the lintels extended

-back of the church, but before none of

-these did Luigi pause. Next came a low,

-broken wall, and then a house, detached

-from its neighbors and with a long, sloping

-roof, covered with slabs of slate. This

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</span>house had no door opening on the street,

-and in the blank front wall there was only

-a very small window at one corner close

-under the eaves. Over a door in the end of

-the house nearest the church there was a

-small crucifix in carved stone set into the

-wall, but this door was seemingly closed

-and unused.</p>

-

-<p>The priest led Natale a few steps farther,

-to the other end of the house, and then they

-left the street and entered a long balcony

-leading to a wide-open door.</p>

-

-<p class="p2b">A middle-aged woman sat just inside this

-doorway at the foot of a flight of stairs

-leading up into the room under the roof.

-She wore a kerchief of red and black cotton

-over her head and tied in a knot under her

-chin, and her eyes were bent upon a coarse

-piece of mending occupying her work-worn

-hands.</p>

-

-<div class="chapter">

-<div class="figcenter" style="width: 350px;">

-<a id="illo2"><img src="images/i_094.jpg" width="350" alt="The priest led Natale to the other end of the house."

-title=""  /></a></div></div>

-

-<p class="caption">The priest led Natale to the other end of the house.<br />

-<span class="center"><i>Page <a href="#Page_94">94.</a></i></span></p>

-

-<p class="p2">At Luigi’s heavy step on the stone flooring

-of the balcony, she lifted her face to his and

-something like a smile softened the expression

-of her stern features. Her black brows

-unbent and she made way for her son to

-enter by twisting her stool slightly and

-shifting her feet. Luigi passed by her and

-took up his stand in the gathering gloom of

-the little passage, his eyes fixed warily upon

-Natale. The little boy had released his

-hand from the priest’s outside the door,

-and now stood leaning against the railing

-of the balcony, staring frowningly at the

-woman.</p>

-

-<p>“You are content to have it over with,

-Gigi?” the mother asked, glancing from

-man to boy and back again.</p>

-

-<p>Luigi nodded his head.</p>

-

-<p>“Give him something to eat and put him

-to bed,” he counseled in a low tone, “and

-do not argue with him to-night. To-morrow

-the sun will shine and he will begin

-to forget.”</p>

-

-<p>Natale’s sharp ears caught every word,

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</span>stolid as he looked. “Forget?” What did

-they think he would forget? Not Olga’s

-last words, certainly: “I would run after

-the wagon, if I were you.”</p>

-

-<p>But, <i>why was he not running now</i>? No

-door, as yet, kept him prisoner. There was

-the empty street. Below ran the long,

-long white road. The night was coming

-down, and he was not afraid of the dark.

-Once out of sight, around one of the loops

-of the road, it would take but a moment to

-slip off the heavy shoes with their soles half

-an inch thick, and then on and on in the

-cool darkness he might run on light bare

-feet&mdash;“after the wagon.”</p>

-

-<p>He thrilled with the thought as it flashed

-through his mind, but a flash of the same

-thought thrilled Sora Grazia at the same

-time, for just then she leaned forward and

-laying her hand on Natale’s arm, she drew

-him to her side.</p>

-

-<p>“Once I had a curly-haired little boy of

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</span>my own,” she said with a serious smile,

-“but after a while, he grew to be a man, and

-now he has brought to me another little

-boy. Natalino, I hope you will be as good

-a boy as my Gigi ever was.”</p>

-

-<p>Natale gazed earnestly into the woman’s

-face.</p>

-

-<p>“I am not at all good, signora,” he said

-unsteadily, and he could not help the stirring

-of hope in his heart, with this confession,

-but Sora Grazia only smiled again and

-tapped his cheek, and said that perhaps the

-good Luigi would teach him to be good.</p>

-

-<p>And there was no more opportunity left

-Natale for running away, for he was presently

-led into the kitchen where he had to

-sit and watch Sora Grazia prepare the

-macaroni for supper. He was hungry

-enough to enjoy a plateful of this but the

-slip of boiled beef served him on a clean

-plate afterward could not be choked down.

-He had overheard some one in the tent&mdash;could<span class="pagenum" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</span>

-it have been only that very day?&mdash;say

-that he was to have meat every day in

-his new home, and his sister, Arduina, had

-added that she wished <i>she</i> were sure of

-getting a morsel three times a week. Had

-not a doctor in Sicily said that she must

-have all delicate and nourishing food? And

-what were dry bread and sour wine as substitutes?

-No, Natale could not eat the

-meat that night. Happily the plate of

-macaroni had been generous, and what in

-all the land of sunny Italy is so filling as a

-plate of macaroni?</p>

-

-<p>The valley looked dismally dark that

-night, as Natale crept from his little trestle

-bed and crouched on the brick floor at the

-window, after he was supposed to be asleep.

-He was to share the priest’s attic chamber,

-and a few moments before Sora Grazia had

-carried away the candle. He peered out

-between the flower pots on the window

-ledge and again wondered in his childish

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</span>way why anybody in the big world outside

-should have troubled to make him miserable.</p>

-

-<p>He was very sure that he had done

-nothing to harm the foreign lady with the

-spectacles. Once he had laughed when

-she had sneezed many times very loudly,

-in crossing the field near him, but he was

-sure no one had heard him, for he was lying

-on the ground and had buried his face in the

-grass. The pretty signorina with her had

-laughed too, and said something in their

-strange language which the lady had answered

-by another loud sneeze. Besides this,

-there was absolutely nothing he could have

-done to provoke any of the people in the

-garden. Yet, here he was being punished!</p>

-

-<p>The thought of Sora Grazia oppressed

-him, her serious face and her high hopes of

-his goodness. The house, too, was quieter

-than any place he had ever known,&mdash;he

-who had been used to few roofs save those

-of the caravan and tent. There were no

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</span>children about, and there was no sound

-inside of crying, or laughing, or singing, or

-whistling. It was almost as bad as having

-to live in a solemn church when the candles

-are all out and the crowds are gone, and

-one feels, in the dimness and silence, as if

-something were coming up stealthily behind

-one to scare one’s wits away. It is all very

-well to rest for a minute in a cool church,

-out of the glare of the sunlight, when one

-may run out again at will, free as a wild bird

-or butterfly. But to have to stay, night

-and day, for a whole year in such a place!

-Natale shuddered, for this was just the way

-in which the awful quiet of the little stone

-house of the priest affected him.</p>

-

-<p>When Luigi came up to bed, hours later,

-he lifted the sleeping boy from the bricks

-at the window and covered him up snugly

-in bed.</p>

-

-<p>“My mother thinks we can do it,” he

-muttered to himself, as he threw off his

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</span>black gown. “I shall do my part, but I am

-not sure they have done a wise thing.”

-Then he sighed a little. Perhaps he was

-wishing that he could be a little boy again,

-with the wide, wide world before him, and

-no one to interfere with his choice of a career,&mdash;free

-to be acrobat or priest, but always

-to have his own choice.</p>

-

-<p>With the passing of the first night all idea

-of running away seemed to have left Natale’s

-mind, and Sora Grazia was at first delighted

-to find her charge as submissive as

-a lamb to all her arrangements. After the

-first day or two, however, it became not

-quite so comfortable to see the little boy

-sit immovable for hours at a time, on the

-floor of the balcony, gazing down into the

-valley where the river ran merrily over the

-rocks. She would even have preferred to

-rebuke the child for something a little more

-outrageous than his listless torpor. She

-herself had to eat the meat prepared for

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</span>Natale, if she would not see it wasted, for

-Natale could not touch it, nor would Luigi,

-her usually tractable son.</p>

-

-<p>The young priest was no less puzzled over

-Natale’s conduct than his mother was.

-The schoolmaster reported to him that the

-boy held his little paper-covered spelling-book

-before his eyes with the utmost diligence,

-and really seemed to try to remember

-the letters as they were pointed out to him

-with patient repetition, but that he might

-as well have been gazing off into the valley

-instead, for all the good the pages did him,

-and Luigi believed it.</p>

-

-<p>The other boys tried to lure him into their

-games and to practice his funny <i>capitomboli</i>

-but he would only sit quietly by, on the

-stone steps of the church, watching them

-till playtime was over, when he must sit up

-on the bench in the schoolroom again and

-hold his book before his eyes.</p>

-

-<p>“He cannot keep up his sulking forever,”

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</span>Sora Grazia said on the sixth day of Natale’s

-stay with her. Luigi was standing near her

-in the balcony, brushing the dust from the

-skirts of his long gown, which he shook

-vigorously with his strong hands, as his

-mother continued, “I confess that I am

-surprised he has taken things so quietly.”</p>

-

-<p>“A little too quietly!” muttered Luigi

-into the folds of his gown.</p>

-

-<p>“But now, one would like to see him

-brighten up a little instead of glooming

-over his food and everything else,” Sora

-Grazia went on. “He is not the same child

-he was a week ago, making his ridiculous

-<i>capitomboli</i> over the circus carpet. I wonder

-if he could turn a somersault now,

-Luigi.” The woman lifted her head from

-her work to look over at Natale, who sat

-on the low street wall with his feet dangling

-into the road.</p>

-

-<p>“I gave him leave to go and play with

-the boys down in the field, this afternoon,”

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</span>said Luigi, shaking his gown almost

-viciously. “He said he did not wish to go

-where his tent had been, and that he never

-expected to turn a somersault again.”</p>

-

-<p>“Impertinent!” exclaimed Sora Grazia.

-“We’ll let him alone a while longer, and

-he’ll come all right. A child cannot sulk

-forever, as I said before.”</p>

-

-<p>“But one can die of starvation and homesickness,

-perhaps,” quoth Luigi, stepping

-past his mother and springing up the stairs,

-his gown upon his arm.</p>

-

-<p>Grazia’s retort was stayed upon her lips

-by what she now saw passing in the street.</p>

-

-<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />

-

-<div class="chapter">

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</span></p>

-<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_VIII">CHAPTER VIII<br />

-<span class="smaller">THE CAGE DOOR OPENED</span></h2></div>

-

-<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap"><span class="dropcap">N</span>atale</span>, too, was looking up, but

-only dully, as a party of ladies and

-gentlemen sauntered toward him

-laughing and talking gayly as they came.

-Many such groups had passed him already,

-taking afternoon strolls toward the beautiful

-promenade of San Vito leading around the

-mountain side. But this particular group

-paused, when a spectacled old lady did, and

-all gathered about Natale, except the white-haired

-gentleman standing a little aloof

-and tapping the paving stones with his

-stick.</p>

-

-<p>“Why haven’t you been to see us, Natale

-Marzuchetti?” Miss Lorini asked cheerfully<span class="pagenum" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</span>

-in Italian. “Mrs. Bishop was sure

-you would come.”</p>

-

-<p>“He does not look like the same child!”

-whispered Betty to her aunt, who now

-pushed forward.</p>

-

-<p>“Ask him if he is a <i>smart</i> boy in school,

-and if he is not <i>glad</i> to be dressed so decently

-and to be learning something <i>useful</i>,”

-Mrs. Bishop said hurriedly to the

-Italian lady, all of which was repeated to

-Natale in his own language as was requested.

-But Natale only shook his head

-slowly and wistfully.</p>

-

-<p>“You used to talk fast enough!” Mrs.

-Bishop cried impatiently. “Look,” she

-went on, pointing to the next house, a little

-farther on, “don’t you see that white stone

-in the wall? The words on it tell about a

-man who was born there, two hundred and

-fifty years ago, who was so good and useful

-that the people here put his name up there

-that he might never be forgotten. What’s

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</span>to hinder there being a stone put up on this

-house, to tell about little Natale who was

-only a poor circus boy, but who came to

-live here when he was eight years old and

-became a very useful and good man? Tell

-him, Miss Lorini, just what I say!” And

-Mrs. Bishop pointed from the memorial

-tablet in one house to the blank front wall

-of the other, while Luigi, peering out of his

-window between the flower pots, dodged

-behind a tall geranium, and hoped the sharp

-eyes of the old lady were not searching for

-him.</p>

-

-<p>Natale listened gravely to Miss Lorini’s

-communication, his eyes passing carelessly

-from the memorial tablet to the wall of an

-opposite house.</p>

-

-<p>There was a rude painting on this wall of

-a Madonna holding a baby in her arms, and

-it was protected from the weather by a

-shallow arch of masonry. As Natale looked

-at the picture, he was reminded in some

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</span>mysterious way of Nonna, who was never

-without a child in her arms, unless she were

-bending over a fountain washing the children’s

-clothes. A new look sprang into

-his eyes.</p>

-

-<p>“Our Antonio had <i>his</i> name printed in

-Egypt and in Turkey and in Greece!” he

-answered proudly, for the first time opening

-his lips. “I would rather be like that than

-have my name cut here on the priest’s

-house!”</p>

-

-<p>“Good for the little chap,” cried the

-gentleman softly. He had understood what

-the shrill little voice said.</p>

-

-<p>“Printed on what, child? What was

-‘our Antonio’s’ name printed on, in all

-those places?” Miss Lorini asked.</p>

-

-<p>“On paper, of course,” answered the child

-simply. “And there were pictures of him

-too, all red and yellow and blue, performing

-on the bars. Everybody in the streets

-was looking at his name and the pictures.”

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</span>The little fellow’s face was glowing as he

-spoke of his friend, and Miss Lorini had not

-the heart to translate his words to Mrs.

-Bishop, who could hardly have passed them

-by calmly.</p>

-

-<p>“But you are content here?” Betty

-managed to ask in intelligible Italian.</p>

-

-<p>The shadow fell again over Natale’s face,

-and his figure visibly drooped. He did

-not pretend to answer her question.</p>

-

-<p>“Oh, Aunty, let him go back to his

-people,” Betty pleaded, seeing the change.

-“Anybody can see that he is miserable.

-He is too little to be made to suffer.”</p>

-

-<p>“He is too little to suffer long,” Mrs.

-Bishop replied calmly, with but one thought

-in her mind, of course.</p>

-

-<p>“Poor little Egyptian!” sighed the gentleman.

-“He was born in Egypt, was he not,

-Miss Betty?”</p>

-

-<p>“At Port Said, yes, and Pietro in Tunis

-they say.”</p>

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</span></p>

-<p>“Well, be a good boy, Natale,” said Mrs.

-Bishop, patting his head, in its new cap.

-“Then you will be happy. In a few days,

-I shall send for you to come to see me, and

-we will drink tea in the garden. Good-by!

-<i>Addio!</i>”</p>

-

-<p>Natale touched his hat, as he had long

-ago been taught to do, and the pedestrians

-moved away, all but the gentleman who

-had called him a “little Egyptian.”</p>

-

-<p>He stood for a moment at Natale’s side,

-with his back turned to the house and his

-departing friends, and in a trice a handful

-of copper coins was transferred from his

-pocket to Natale’s hands. Mr. Grantly

-had just had a paper note changed into small

-coins, at the fruit shop, and he was glad to

-relieve his pocket of some of its weight.</p>

-

-<p>“I hope his guardians will let him keep

-the money,” was his thought as he turned

-away from Natale’s brilliant smile of thanks.

-The boy’s training had made him none too

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</span>proud to accept the money of a stranger,

-and he lost no time in stowing it away in

-his jacket pocket, while Mr. Grantly hurried

-after the echoing steps of his party.</p>

-

-<p>Luigi at the window above had seen the

-money given to Natale, but he asked no

-questions of the boy, who, after kicking his

-heels against the wall for some time longer,

-was presently called to his supper.</p>

-

-<p>There was a flush on Natale’s cheeks and

-a brightness in his eyes which even Sora

-Grazia noticed, and as the evening was cool,

-she thought it wise to forbid his sitting

-out on the balcony or the wall, as was his

-wont, until bedtime. He looked feverish,

-she said, and in her own mind she planned

-a cup of hot camomile tea as a remedy at

-bedtime. Natale’s disappointment at this

-command to keep indoors showed so plainly

-upon his childish features that Sora Grazia

-was provoked, and for the first time since the

-boy had been with her she used harsh tones.</p>

-

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</span></p>

-

-<p>“There! you may as well go to bed at

-once!” she cried, as he was leaving the

-kitchen, without a word it is true, but with

-the light all gone from his face. “I can

-never please you, whatever I do, and you

-are here only to waste food and sulk. Go

-to bed, Natale!”</p>

-

-<p>Luigi had gone off directly after eating his

-supper, about some matter of business with

-one of his superiors at the church, so he was

-not there to take Natale’s part.</p>

-

-<p>It is hard enough to be sent to bed on an

-ordinary night and at one’s regular time, as

-any child will agree, but to be forbidden the

-early hours of a moonlit evening outdoors,

-especially when one’s little head is teeming

-with wild, delicious ideas of flight&mdash;away

-from daily baths, from the cramping walls

-of a house, and out into the freshness and

-freedom of the night, which has no terror

-for the dwellers in tents, was well-nigh

-unbearable.</p>

-

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</span></p>

-

-<p>Ah! how little Sora Grazia knew of the

-anguish she was causing!</p>

-

-<p>But Natale obediently stumbled slowly

-upstairs in the dark to the bedroom, and

-when there, crouched in his usual place on

-the floor behind the flower pots without an

-audible murmur.</p>

-

-<p>The little acrobat had made no plans at

-all, but with the touch of the money given

-him by the kind old gentleman on San Vito,

-an impulse to seek his freedom had occurred

-to his mind, and in the half-hour while he

-continued on the wall, furtively handling

-the coins in his pocket, he had wished,&mdash;only

-wished, however,&mdash;that he might

-have the courage to steal out into the moonlight,

-after eating, while Sora Grazia should

-be about her dish-washing, and Luigi poring

-over one of his little black books, perhaps, by

-the light of the candle in the kitchen. He

-had often thought of Olga’s words, “I would

-run after the wagon, if I were you,” but he

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</span>had been too closely watched during the

-first day or two to admit of his carrying out

-so bold a plan, and since then, for the rest of

-the long, dreary week since the caravan had

-gone, he had not had the spirit to undertake

-such a measure. The whole world seemed

-to intervene between himself and the beloved

-company who had gone, and he felt

-sure that he would be seen by some mistaken

-person and brought back, even before he

-could reach the river, if he should attempt

-to follow.</p>

-

-<p>Until to-night no thought of leaving under

-the protection of the friendly darkness had

-come to him, and he had only been able to

-see himself flying down the sunny road in

-full view of all the village, to be promptly

-turned back again by some carriage driver

-of the place, or some schoolboy bigger than

-himself and therefore stronger. Besides,

-he had had no money, and Natale had

-traveled enough to know that a few cents

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</span>in one’s pocket make one’s road easier and

-less long. So the days had passed, and

-Natale was fast drifting into a state of listless

-torpor which must have ended in illness,

-had not Mr. Grantly changed a five-franc

-note at the fruit shop that sunny afternoon

-and taken a stroll along San Vito where

-Natale sat “sulking” on the wall!</p>

-

-<p>Presently, as the little child continued to

-gaze longingly out into the moonlight, a ray

-of further hope illumined his mind. As

-Luigi had gone to the church now, it would

-be late before he would return. Sora

-Grazia always sat dozing on her stool in the

-doorway until time for barring the door and

-going to bed. Why should he not slip past

-her and away into the shadows of the street,

-before Luigi should return? His heart

-leaped at the thought, and he rose noiselessly

-to his feet and glanced around the

-darkening room. His small cot stood

-smooth and white against the wall. Another<span class="pagenum" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</span>

-thought struck him, and he quailed

-with a sense of utter discouragement.

-When Luigi should come in,&mdash;and he

-might be very early, one never knew,&mdash;the

-runaway would be missed straightway from

-the empty little bed, and easily overtaken

-if he should have taken the regular road

-down the hill.</p>

-

-<p>It is true there were paths innumerable

-down the terraces from the back of almost

-any house in the street, most of them

-probably leading down to the river far

-below, but Natale had been no explorer of

-the neighborhood during his week of captivity,

-and was ignorant of the precipitate

-windings and the final ending of even the

-most practicable of these. No, he must go

-by the road, and he must wait until Luigi

-should return, and get to bed and to sleep.</p>

-

-<p>Natale knew that the priest slept soundly,

-for, one night he had had the misfortune to

-knock over upon the floor a pot containing

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</span>a carnation plant, and the crash had not

-awakened Luigi. The boy had waked and

-had gone to the window to peer out into the

-night, fancying that he heard the hoarse

-creaking of the caravan brake as the clumsy

-vehicle crawled down the hill, and in craning

-his head between the pots, his elbow had

-pushed over one of them. Fortunately,

-neither pot nor plant had broken, and he

-had spent a good deal of time in packing the

-loosened earth about the carnation’s roots

-and replacing the pot among its fellows.

-The next morning, Sora Grazia had bidden

-him be more careful about carrying mud

-upstairs on his shoes, only to be cleaned up

-by her afterward, and he supposed he must

-have left some of the earth upon the floor,

-in the dim light.</p>

-

-<p>At any rate, Luigi slept soundly, and if

-he, himself, could only manage to keep

-awake until all was safe, he knew that he

-would have no difficulty in unbarring the

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</span>door. He had accomplished it unaided

-only that morning, with Sora Grazia standing

-by and saying that it was the first thing

-of use he had set his hands to do since coming

-there to live. She had spoken good-naturedly

-though, and Natale had nothing

-against her. No, not even now did he

-remember her late harsh words, for he was

-too sweet-natured to harbor malice. He had

-only suffered, and now there was a prospect

-of escaping more suffering of the same kind.</p>

-

-<p>So after sitting on his bed with a wild

-turmoil of thoughts engaging his busy little

-brain, he began rapidly to undress. Luigi

-must not find him up! But, after taking

-off the strong new suit of clothes which

-Mrs. Bishop had had made for him, he

-rummaged under his mattress where his

-old things had been stored by Sora Grazia

-and quickly got into the worn trousers, the

-faded blouse and leggings, tucking the old

-shoes under his pillow. He had set the new

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</span>shoes and stockings in orderly fashion on the

-floor and folded up the new clothes and laid

-them at the foot of the little cot. How

-fortunate that his old shoes had not been

-thrown away, for he could hardly have

-traveled barefoot over the flinty stones of

-the road and the river. Natale chose to

-wear the old easy shoes, for the new ones

-had always hurt him, and he would not have

-been able to steal unheard out of the house

-with those heavy, creaking soles tramping

-over the bricks. If he had known of the

-long way ahead of the old worn shoes, perhaps

-he would have planned to carry the

-despised footgear in his hands. But forethought

-had little place in the mind of so

-young a runaway, and he was guided in his

-change of clothes only by his own desires for

-comfort. The old clothes were as familiar as

-old friends, and therefore he preferred them.</p>

-

-<p>Then, after making his preparations, not

-forgetting to change the money from the

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</span>pocket of the new jacket to that of his old

-trousers, he laid himself down on the cot,

-and drew up the light covering snugly about

-his shoulders, devoutly hoping that he

-would not fall soundly asleep.</p>

-

-<p>If Natale had only known it, Sora Grazia,

-believing Natale safe for the night, had

-slipped off for a gossip with a friend living

-just back of the church, simply drawing the

-door to behind her and leaving the coast

-clear for flight. And it would not have been

-difficult for the boy to leave a semblance of

-himself tucked under the bed covering, in

-the shape of the roll of discarded clothes and

-shoes! But little Natale was not possessed

-of a very designing brain, and after all, Luigi

-<i>might</i> have come in untimely, and spoiled

-it all!</p>

-

-<p>In a few moments, the would-be runaway

-was fast asleep, while the moon sailed across

-the valley from the eastern toward the

-western sky.</p>

-

-<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />

-

-<div class="chapter">

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</span></p>

-<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_IX">CHAPTER IX<br />

-<span class="smaller">THE FLIGHT OF THE BIRD</span></h2></div>

-

-<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap"><span class="dropcap">W</span>hen</span> Natale next opened his

-eyes he became very wide

-awake indeed, in an instant.

-In fact, he did not know that he had been

-asleep at all, until the moonlight, slanting

-in, showed Luigi’s long body stretched upon

-the iron bed close by.</p>

-

-<p>What could have waked Natale? For a

-moment he lay still without recollection of

-the momentous plans made at his early bedtime.

-Then he recalled a sensation of icy

-cold water about his feet, and he remembered

-that he had dreamed of a sudden

-plunge into the river while trying to find the

-stepping-stones. It must have been the

-chill of the dream-water that had awakened

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</span>him! He sat up and found that he was

-still dressed and in his old clothes.</p>

-

-<p>Ah! it was easy to remember all now,

-and after a breathless glance over his

-shoulder at Luigi, who was comfortably

-snoring, Natale slipped out of bed. Catching

-up his old hat and his shoes he stole

-softly over the brick floor and down the

-stone stairs as quietly as any mouse would

-have done.</p>

-

-<p>Sora Grazia slept downstairs, but the

-door of her room was mercifully closed, and

-Natale knew that she often locked it at

-night. He turned his back upon it, therefore,

-with confidence, as he felt in the darkness

-for the balcony door. He exerted all

-his strength to raise the heavy bar of iron

-which guarded the door. Then he was very

-careful to keep his hold on the bar, as it

-swung downward, lest it should rouse the

-house with its usual clanging fall. The huge

-key was in the lock, and Natale succeeded

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</span>in turning it with both hands, although this

-was much more difficult than raising the bar

-above the lock. It creaked dully as it

-turned, and Natale’s heart leaped into his

-throat, and a dozen noises buzzed in his

-ears.</p>

-

-<p>Breathless, he stood with his hand on the

-latch, afraid to move lest the door behind

-him should open, and everything come to an

-end. But nothing happened, so he swung

-open the door, and without stopping to

-close it behind him, he again caught up his

-shoes, which he had had to set down, and

-ran along the balcony and out into the

-street, his feet pattering softly on the

-stones.</p>

-

-<p>In his haste he did not stop to think of the

-direction he should take. His only impulse

-was to get out into the night somewhere,

-away from the houses and street.

-So he ran swiftly along in the shadow cast

-by wall and house, in just the opposite

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</span>direction from that which would have led

-him past the church tower and through the

-village, out upon the downward road.

-Presently he crouched in a shadow to draw

-on his shoes, then fled onward again.</p>

-

-<p>Once away, he lost his bearings utterly and

-hurried on without turning, past the small

-house with the Madonna painted on the

-wall, past the large house where the white

-tablet to “Pietro Pacioni” gleamed in the

-moonlight, and then downward, by a

-roughly paved path leading to the Campo

-Santo. Perhaps he would have kept on

-aimlessly along San Vito,&mdash;the fashionable

-promenade leading always higher along the

-mountain side till it ended in an open

-plateau high up above the valley,&mdash;if he

-had not heard steps approaching. Whether

-these steps came from behind or from ahead

-he did not stop to discover. The downward

-path offered safety, and a small pink villa

-threw a dark shadow across its entrance, so

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</span>Natale lost not an instant in scudding down

-the friendly by-way.</p>

-

-<p>On he trotted, past the shrine where the

-tiny Della Robbia Madonna sits under her

-arch, the moonlight touching the shining

-blue of her hood, the yellow of her robe and

-the pink of the baby on her knees with a

-radiance that was almost startling on the

-edge of the shadow. Now the path grew

-level, and the stones were left behind, and

-no more noise of footsteps disturbed the

-quiet.</p>

-

-<p>A few rods more, and Natale stood in

-front of the small mortuary chapel outside

-the cemetery. The iron gates set in the

-wall of the cemetery were locked, as Natale

-found on gently shaking them. He had

-paused to peep through the slender grating

-into the inclosure where the moonlight

-touched the white tomb of the foreign

-gentleman buried close under the wall, and

-showed so plainly the numbers on the low

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</span>stakes marking the graves of the nameless

-poor. The shadows of the cypress trees lay

-like long black fingers outstretched upon the

-wilds of weedy undergrowth, and the wind

-stirred dismally on the exposed hillside.</p>

-

-<p>One day, Natale and Olga had wandered

-together as far as these iron gates. He

-remembered it now, and with the recollection

-he sprang away, eager to continue his

-journey,&mdash;then stood still, uncertain as to

-his path.</p>

-

-<p>The way which had brought him downward

-came to an abrupt end with the little

-chapel, outside the gates. It would not do

-to lose himself among the chestnut woods in

-search of a path! Yet, how could he plunge

-down the pathless slopes among the great

-trees, with nothing to guide him but the

-murmur of the river far below? Still less

-was he willing to return to the road above

-and turn about to take his way through the

-village and so on out upon the road. He

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</span>was almost sure that if he could only see to

-find his way, some downward path from

-where he stood would bring him to a river

-crossing, perhaps a long, long way below the

-arched bridge, and therefore much farther

-on his journey.</p>

-

-<p>Bewildered and tired, he was almost

-ready to give up his flight, and to creep into

-the dark portico of the little chapel, and

-back into the shade beneath the picture of

-the Saint with the skull in his hand, and

-there end this strange night, which already

-seemed to him longer than any night he had

-ever known. But he roused himself to one

-more effort, and crept around to the back

-wall of the chapel. There, to his joyful

-surprise, he came upon a semblance of a

-path!</p>

-

-<p>All indecision was gone now, and he fairly

-slid down the rocky and precipitous way,

-which was more gully than footway, being

-in fact a watercourse for the torrents leaping

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</span>down the mountain side, after some storm

-of rain, as well as a short cut to the river for

-roughly shod peasant feet.</p>

-

-<p>More than once Natale stumbled, and

-once he fell headlong, bruising his hands and

-knees, but he did not mind, for the rushing

-of the little river down among the rocks was

-becoming very loud in his ears.</p>

-

-<p>When at last he came out of the woods,

-and stood on the edge of the waste of

-rounded stones loosely paving the river bed,

-he looked back a moment to where the

-village must be, high above, a huddle of gray

-wall and roof, with the square church tower

-in its midst. All seemed as silent in the

-sleeping town as in the home of the sleeping

-dead on its outskirts. Then, just as Natale

-again turned his back upon the mountain

-side, where perched Cutigliano like a bit of

-gray lichen growing on some mossy bowlder,

-the beautiful, bright, friendly moon slipped

-quite over the mountain in the west, and

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</span>darkness fell upon the valley, where deep

-down in its darkest shadow Natale was

-ready to cross the river. The light of the

-moon still touched the chestnut woods

-higher up the slopes, but every moment the

-shadow would be creeping higher and

-higher, until there would be no more moonlight

-on this side the mountain, and only the

-stars would come peeping out at Natale.</p>

-

-<p>After slipping off his shoes and leggings,

-the boy began picking his way carefully over

-the large dry stones which were worn

-smooth and round by slow wasting in the

-wet seasons, when the river flooded its

-narrow course and spread to the grassy

-banks. The stones rolled under even his

-light footsteps, but Natale kept his balance

-in crossing the smaller stones, and clambered

-patiently over or around the largest ones,

-and presently arrived at the edge of the

-black, rushing water. The brawling Lima

-makes a great ado hereabouts, as it tumbles

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</span>over the rocks, for its bed slopes decidedly

-all the way to Lucca and beyond, and there

-is no opportunity for it to moderate its

-pace, or calm its chafings against the rocks.</p>

-

-<p>With the first touch of the icy water upon

-his bared feet, Natale recalled his dream.

-How long ago it had been since he had lain

-safely in his bed under the slanting roof of

-Luigi’s house! Again and again he tried

-to plant his foot firmly in the midst of the

-swirling water, which was perhaps as much

-as twenty feet wide at that point, but

-always it was deeper and colder than he had

-expected, and the stones more slippery and

-unsteady. Then he began wandering up and

-down the bank, in quest of the stepping-stones,

-which here and there certainly

-crossed the river both above and below the

-arched bridge. Unsuccessful in this, Natale

-finally exerted himself to make a reckless

-dash into the current, where he found himself

-the next instant up to his waist in the

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</span>black water and clinging desperately by

-one free hand to a wet rock, with the instinct

-of preserving himself from being

-carried off his feet. Then miserably he felt

-his way back to the dry rocks on the edge

-of the stream, and dropping down upon

-their harsh bosom, he began to cry bitterly.</p>

-

-<p>He had so hoped there would be a crossing

-place! If he could only find it! His

-feet were sore with bruises now, and he felt

-as if he could not walk another step. He

-grew cold as he crouched there, sobbing with

-disappointment, for though the sun shines

-hot during the daytime on the chestnut

-trees and the vines of the Apennines, the

-nights, even of summer, are cool, and now

-a chill wind came sweeping down the valley

-from the fir-crowned summits of Abetone.</p>

-

-<p>Presently the little wanderer roused himself

-and stood on his feet. Nothing could

-tempt him to try to find his way back to the

-house of the priest, not even aching feet or

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</span>shivering limbs, but he began to think there

-might be a more sheltered place near by&mdash;this

-little boy of the road, who had taken

-many a noontide nap curled up at the foot of

-some wayside tree. Perhaps the earliest light

-of dawn would show him the stepping-stones

-and the road, of which there was no hint

-now in the blackness of darkness across the

-river. Painfully he crept back toward the

-bank, where presently he curled himself into

-a knot at the foot of a huge, distorted old

-chestnut tree, a short distance up the slope.

-The grass was soft and springy about the

-roots of the old tree, and a huge boulder near

-by shut off the wind from Natale’s shivering

-legs. So, with a sigh of content, and for

-the first time tasting the sweets of his new

-freedom, the little acrobat closed his eyes

-upon the stars winking down at him from

-above the stirring leaves, and fell asleep for

-the second time that night.</p>

-

-<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />

-

-<div class="chapter">

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</span></p>

-<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_X">CHAPTER X<br />

-<span class="no-indent">ON THE WING</span></h2></div>

-

-<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap"><span class="dropcap">L</span>ong</span> before Natale waked, the day had

-dawned, but the sun had not long

-looked down into the valley before

-he turned stiffly on his grassy couch and

-rubbed his eyes. Then, however, he lost not

-an instant in taking up his journey where it

-had left off the night before.</p>

-

-<p>How easy it was in the light of the sunbeams

-of the early morning to spring over

-the dry stones of the bank, and with a swift

-glance up and down select a safe place to

-cross the water which had seemed so dangerous

-and cruel in the dark.</p>

-

-<p>The daylight changed everything, of

-course, and it was but a few moments after

-waking before he was across the stream and

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</span>scrambling up to the low wall bounding the

-road on the river side. From the inner

-edge of the road the mountains rose precipitately.</p>

-

-<p>As Natale clambered over the wall the

-church bells of Cutigliano burst into a

-wrangle of sound, which must have echoed

-from one end of the village to the other.

-Though the distance softened the metallic

-tones, the little boy was startled by them

-into a scamper away down the sunlit road

-as if the mischievous village boys whose

-office it was to ring the bells were in headlong

-chase after him. The day must have

-been the <i>festa</i> of some saint, and for a long

-time Natale heard the bells’ voices, sweetened

-more and more as his bare feet trudged

-onward and the distance fell between him

-and them. But he soon gave up his running

-because his legs were stiff and his feet sore,

-and as yet no one appeared coming along

-the road behind him, in pursuit.</p>

-

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</span></p>

-

-<p>There had been no doubt in his own mind

-of the direction he should take after once

-gaining the road. He knew that Giovanni

-and Antonio with the house-wagon had been

-bound for the Bagni di Lucca, and also he

-knew that the road to the Bagni led downward

-with the stream, and not up toward

-the cold region of Abetone, the “Great Fir

-Tree.”</p>

-

-<p>So all he had to do was to follow the road,

-broad and white, by the way they had come

-three weeks before, without need, even, of

-asking his way of the peasants he should

-meet. He had turned the shoulder of a great

-green mountain-spur which entirely shut

-off the view of Cutigliano before he would

-stop for an instant in his lame tramping.

-Once assured that the town was out of sight

-behind him, he sat down breathlessly on

-one of the heaps of loose stones such as flank

-every mountain road in Italy. Then he

-deliberately took each foot in turn in his

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</span>small hands and gravely and pitifully

-examined its bruises. There was nothing

-to be done, then, but plant them in the road

-again and continue his way.</p>

-

-<p>For an hour or more he trudged painfully

-on, but the stiffness in his legs left him after

-a while, and he began to be only hungry.

-He wished he had thought of hiding in his

-pocket, the night before, a crust of the dark,

-coarse bread he loved, and which had always

-been plentiful at Sora Grazia’s. But

-the coppers jingled comfortably there instead,

-and Natale contented himself to

-wait for breakfast till he should pass some

-bread shop along the road.</p>

-

-<p>The morning air was sweet with the freshness

-of early day, and the delicious odor of

-the wild thyme’s tiny blossoms. Tall harebells

-nodded to him from the thyme and

-heather bank shoulder-high above the road,

-and sparkled with the sunshine and dew

-upon their purple flowerets. The river,

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</span>which in the darkness had seemed to mock

-him with its roaring, now only murmured

-softly as it slipped over the stones in the

-sunlight.</p>

-

-<p>By and by, Natale began to meet people

-in the road, men with donkeys bearing huge

-basketfuls of wet grass and wild flowers

-shorn from the steep terraces above for the

-cow or donkey at home, and women tramping

-in their thick-soled shoes to Cutigliano

-with baskets of fresh fruit or eggs or cheeses

-for the summer hotels balanced on their

-heads. From all of these Natale kept his face

-steadily averted, lest they should bear back

-to the town tidings of his going. Usually,

-after passing a group of these wayfarers, the

-boy broke into a quick run in order to

-lengthen the distance between them and

-himself, but these spurts of speed availed

-him little, for he had always to stop and rest

-afterward, and so lost many more minutes

-than he had gained of the golden day.</p>

-

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</span></p>

-

-<p>The road had already become a curving

-white glare before Natale came in sight of a

-long stone house having many windows and

-doors, and standing on the inner edge of the

-road. He came upon it suddenly, on turning

-a sharp curve, and then he saw that

-another house faced it on the opposite side

-of the road, and that an inviting shade lay

-between. The back of one of the houses

-looked directly upon the steep slope of the

-mountain behind, while the rear wall of its

-opposite neighbor had its foundation in the

-rocky banks of the tumbling river. In the

-shade between, barefoot peasant children

-played noisily. Near by, a stream of spring

-water, clear and cold, trickled from a

-wooden trough into a rough stone basin.</p>

-

-<p>And here at last were rest and food and

-drink for the runaway,&mdash;only no one must

-learn that he was a runaway!</p>

-

-<p>A fat and black-eyed housewife with arms

-akimbo stood in one of the doors, and as

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</span>Natale came up to her on limping feet, she

-eyed him with interest from the stone of the

-doorstep.</p>

-

-<p>“Will you give me a little piece of bread,

-signora? See, I have money,” said Natale,

-showing her a handful of Mr. Grantly’s

-copper coins in his open palm.</p>

-

-<p>“A bit of bread you shall have, to be sure,

-and your <i>soldi</i> you shall keep, little one,”

-the good-natured creature promptly answered,

-and while the children left their

-play and gathered about Natale, with

-friendly eyes, their mother disappeared into

-the very small and dusky shop behind.</p>

-

-<p>“There, sit down and eat,” she said,

-returning with a hunk of bread and a

-generous lump of cheese on a coarse plate

-in her hand.</p>

-

-<p>As Natale received the plate and moved

-rather lamely toward the dripping fountain

-in the shade, the children ran ahead, and

-one filled a rusty tin cup with the cold

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</span>water and had it ready for Natale by the

-time he reached the mossy brink of the

-fountain.</p>

-

-<p>These little ones of the road, wild and rude

-enough in their play, were well used to offering

-the “cup of cold water” to the passing

-wayfarer, and Natale’s thirsty throat gulped

-the draught gratefully.</p>

-

-<p>There was something about the child

-which arrested the attention of the woman

-more than the ordinary passer-by often did,

-and she also stood watching Natale breakfast

-hungrily.</p>

-

-<p>He was shy and downcast, fearing difficult

-questions, and as soon as the last

-crumb of bread and cheese had disappeared

-he got to his feet, setting the empty plate

-on the margin of the fountain.</p>

-

-<p>“Thank you, signora, and good-by,” he

-said, and was off.</p>

-

-<p>“No, but wait!” she cried, laying her

-hand on his shrinking shoulder. “You

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</span>have eaten my bread; now answer my

-questions. What is your name, <i>picino</i>,<a id="FNanchor_7" href="#Footnote_7" class="fnanchor">[7]</a>

-and where are you going?”</p>

-

-<p>“Down the road,” was the shyly spoken

-answer to the last question, with a quiet

-waiving of the first. “Please let me go,

-signora. It is already late, and I must

-hasten.”</p>

-

-<p>“Well, go!” she exclaimed then, “and a

-good journey to you!” But she stood

-watching him trudge briskly away from her

-until another curve in the zigzag road hid

-him from her sight.</p>

-

-<p>“Some stranger’s child!” she muttered to

-herself, going back to the doorstep. “I

-have never seen him pass here before, and

-few there be who pass by without the

-knowledge of Chiara. Well, I am glad he

-has his <i>soldi</i> safe in his pocket. May the

-saints protect and feed my own children

-when they go a-wandering! You, Beppo!

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</span>keep your head out of the dust of the

-road!”</p>

-

-<p>“Mamá, mamá, Beppino is making <i>capitomboli</i>,

-such as the boy who was here just now

-made in the circus at Cutigliano, on the day

-we went with our father to the big tent! Do

-you not remember?” cried an admiring small

-sister of Beppo. “See, our Beppo does them

-even better than the other boy, mamá!”</p>

-

-<p>The woman gave a little start of recollection,

-and then dismissed the idea which

-had occurred to her, as impossible&mdash;fortunately,

-perhaps, for Natale.</p>

-

-<p class="p2b">“Silly girl! The circus people went down

-the road a week ago to the Bagni, do <i>you</i> not

-remember? How should the boy be seven

-days behind? No more <i>capitomboli</i>, I say,

-Beppo <i>mio</i>, in all this dust!”</p>

-

-<div class="chapter">

-<div class="figcenter" style="width: 350px;">

-<a id="illo3"><img src="images/i_142.jpg" width="350" alt="“Capitomboli, such as the boy who was here just now made in the

-circus at Cutigliano.”"

-title=""  /></a></div></div>

-

-<p class="caption">“Capitomboli, such as the boy who was here just now made in the

-circus at Cutigliano.”<br />

-<span class="center"><i>Page <a href="#Page_142">142.</a></i></span></p>

-

-<p class="p2">In a carriage, with two good horses and a

-fine cracking whip behind them, one may

-drive from Cutigliano down to the Baths of

-Lucca in the first half of a summer’s day.

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</span>On two tired slim little legs, one would need

-much more time to accomplish the journey.

-Also when one has been for six days imprisoned

-within stone walls, one does not

-hurry&mdash;if fairly out of danger&mdash;along

-beauteous and fresh-smelling paths of freedom.</p>

-

-<p>Every hour or so after leaving the woman

-and children at the fountain, Natale stopped

-for a rest along the way. Sometimes he sat

-down on a heap of mending stones by the

-wayside, in company with some stone-breaker

-hammering away in the shade of

-his sun screen, a rude lattice of chestnut

-boughs propped behind the heap of stones.</p>

-

-<p>The monotonous clink of the hammer

-breaking the sharp-edged stones was usually

-stayed as the lonely worker turned to chat

-with the large-eyed child hovering near.

-Only once or twice was Natale’s cheerful

-“<i>Buon’ giorno!</i>”<a id="FNanchor_8" href="#Footnote_8" class="fnanchor">[8]</a> returned by an unwelcoming<span class="pagenum" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</span>

-growl or by sour silence. In such cases,

-the dawdling feet made all haste to pass and

-seek a resting-place in the shade of some

-breeze-rustled chestnut tree quite out of

-sight of the cross stone-breaker.</p>

-

-<p>The second night was passed as the first

-had been, out of doors, after a supper of hot

-rice paid for at an <i>osteria</i>,<a id="FNanchor_9" href="#Footnote_9" class="fnanchor">[9]</a> a short way

-back along the road. Natale might have

-slept, as well, at the little inn, but he was

-too unused to roofs to dream of proposing

-it, and the absent-minded old landlord had

-not seemed to be thinking of anything but

-puffing away at his pipe, as Natale slipped

-past him and out of the dingy passage-way,

-after paying for his food.</p>

-

-<p>A long-bodied two-wheeled cart stood

-outside the inn door, its shafts’ ends resting

-on the ground, its rear high in air, and

-Natale, with an instinct for sleeping above

-wheels, had decided to return to the cart

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</span>for a night’s lodging place when the world

-should be dark again. But sleep overtook

-him as he lay waiting at the foot

-of a tree to which he had scrambled from

-the road below, and when he roused,

-dawn was staining the pale sky with

-rose color.</p>

-

-<p>The next day promised to pass as the

-first had done,&mdash;with slipping shyly past

-occasional houses of entertainment along

-the way, with lingerings to stare into the

-mysterious depths of some noisy mill in

-league with the tumbling river, and with

-long, monotonous trampings, between times,

-along the smooth road, bordered always by

-the mountains and the river. As the road

-neared the valley, it crossed dashing streams

-hurrying to join their waters to the broader

-water of the river, and so solid was the stone

-masonry of the arches that one would never

-have known that he was crossing a bridge

-but for the sparkle and the laughter of the

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</span>foaming water as it dashed under the road

-and out again.</p>

-

-<p>Many times Natale, himself a small dark

-speck on the endless white road, looked up

-the long mountain slopes, green in the sunlight,

-purple in the shadow, and glimpsed

-high above him on the giddy heights the

-climbing roofs of some hoary old mountain

-town, away out of hearing of the busy

-river, out of reach of traveling circus wagons,

-and which,</p>

-

-<div class="poetry-container">

-<div class="poetry">

-  <div class="stanza">

-    <div class="verse indent0">“Like an eagle’s nest hangs on the crest</div>

-    <div class="verse indent0">Of purple Apennine.”</div>

-  </div>

-</div>

-</div>

-

-<p>It was past noon of the second day when

-Natale entered a village on a level with the

-highway. Here the road suddenly changed

-into a stone-paved street, running between

-high houses and echoing with the tramp of

-wooden-soled shoes and the patter of donkeys’

-hoofs.</p>

-

-<p>He stopped at the door of a sour-smelling

-wine shop where sat a man on a stool outside<span class="pagenum" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</span>

-the door. To him the little boy put

-his question as to whether this town might

-perhaps be very near to the Bagni di Lucca.

-This man wore a red fez on his bushy, black

-head, and down his long, black beard trickled

-drops from the wine cup at his lips. The

-fellow did not stop his drinking long enough

-to reply in so many words to the question,

-but a decided shaking of his head and the

-pointing of a long, dirty finger onward sufficiently

-enlightened Natale, and he kept

-slowly on his way.</p>

-

-<p>In passing a small baker’s shop, he

-stopped and bought a great ring of sweetish

-bread, and then slipping his arm through

-this, he went more cheerily onward. There

-were still many <i>soldi</i> left in his pocket, and

-surely this beautiful ring of bread would last

-until the Bagni di Lucca should come in

-sight, with, of course, the dear yellow tent

-set in its midst!</p>

-

-<p>One of the last houses he passed as he left

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</span>the town was entered through a garden by

-a huge wooden door opening upon the

-cobblestones of the street. This door

-stood ajar, and Natale stayed his steps for

-a moment to gaze through the aperture

-down a charming vista of trellised vines

-supported on crumbling white columns of

-masonry. Green and gold lights played

-over the rough paving-stones of the cloister-like

-colonnade through the latticework

-above. Halfway down this corridor, two

-or three girls romped and sang together,

-their scarlet kerchiefs and the rich blues of

-their skirts making dashes of vivid color in

-the shade where they lounged. Pale jewels

-of grapes, already growing pink and amethystine,

-crowded the vines with promise of

-luscious sweetness when their full time

-should come.</p>

-

-<p>The girls peered back at the travel-worn

-lad peering in at them, but when the largest

-of them called mockingly to him, “Enter,

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</span>signore!” Natale ran away down the street

-and again out upon the road. The girls

-had made him think of Arduina and Olga

-and little Maria, and away down at the end

-of the corridor he had caught a glimpse of

-a gray-haired woman sitting on a flight of

-broken stone steps, with an infant on her

-lap. His heart swelled with homesickness.

-If only he might see Nonna once again!

-How long was the monotonous road to

-Bagni di Lucca!</p>

-

-<p>The day, however, was not to close without

-an exciting and important event.</p>

-

-<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />

-

-<div class="chapter">

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</span></p>

-<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XI">CHAPTER XI<br />

-<span class="smaller">FLUTTERING A LITTLE FARTHER</span></h2></div>

-

-<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap"><span class="dropcap">N</span>atale</span> sat down in his leisurely

-fashion on the low wall bounding

-the road just beyond the town and

-began daintily nibbling around the crisp,

-sugared edges of his bread ring. It was

-mid-afternoon, and while his jaws worked

-steadily, his wide bright eyes watched with

-interest two bicyclists toiling up the hill and

-trundling their wheels alongside. As they

-passed him by without a glance, their faces

-red and perspiring, and their shoes whitened

-with the light dust, the boy’s eyes still followed

-them and lighted upon a queer figure

-coming from the town he had just quitted.

-It was the red-capped, swarthy-faced man

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</span>of the wine-shop door, and now his shoulders

-were bent under a pack slung on his back,

-and his legs were bowed as he limped along,

-and he wore an old overcoat much too long,

-which had seen better days upon another’s

-shoulders.</p>

-

-<p>The wheelmen paid no attention to this

-fellow, as he stopped on meeting them and

-perhaps offered them a sight of his wares

-hidden in the pack, so the peddler presently

-came up with Natale, grumbling sourly.</p>

-

-<p>“These foreigners without manners!” he

-growled, planting himself in front of the

-little boy’s swinging legs. “Ah! you are

-the boy who goes to the Bagni. Come, I

-also go thither. We shall be companions

-merry enough!”</p>

-

-<p>Natale had no fancy for joining company

-with this man who frowned with his black

-brows and grinned, in turn, with big white

-teeth gleaming in his hairy face, but neither

-had he the courage to demur. Therefore,

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</span>he slipped down unwillingly from his perch

-and trotted along at the peddler’s side.</p>

-

-<p>Fortunately, the man asked no questions

-and spoke little, and before evening, his

-steady tramp had led Natale over more

-miles than the whole previous day had

-carried him. Little cared this strange,

-silent fellow for leaning over walls to gaze

-at the foaming water singing over the rocks,

-or for idly resting on a bridge to watch the

-white cloud-ships crossing the azure sea

-overhead, as the white sails of the orange

-boats ply the blue waves between Sicily

-and the Italian coast, and to dream of

-future glory as an acrobat of renown!</p>

-

-<p>The sun had again sunk behind the

-rounded summits in the west, when the

-peddler at last stood still and grinned down

-upon the panting child.</p>

-

-<p>“One easily sees that you are no traveler,”

-he said in his hoarse, unpleasant voice.

-“Now we will sit down here by the roadside

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</span>and make our beds for the night. Did you

-mention supper? The bracelet you wear

-on your arm will suffice for us both, if we

-divide it according to the size of our

-stomachs. <i>Ecco!</i>” And Natale’s precious

-ring of sweetened bread was rudely snatched

-from his arm.</p>

-

-<p>Naturally, Natale was most indignant at

-being treated in this manner by so perfect

-a stranger, and he did not hesitate to remonstrate.</p>

-

-<p>“But the bread is mine, signore! I

-bought it with my own <i>soldi</i> in the town,”

-he cried, clutching at the beautiful ring of

-bread, already being broken in two by the

-peddler’s dirty fingers.</p>

-

-<p>“<i>Soldi!</i>” echoed the man; “and where

-are your precious <i>soldi</i>?”</p>

-

-<p>“At the shop where I bought the bread,

-of course,” was the shrewd reply, and not

-a coin remaining in Natale’s pocket jostled

-against its neighbor now. They kept as

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</span>quiet as if they knew that long, eager fingers

-were ready to pounce upon them.</p>

-

-<p>Then a change came over the peddler’s

-manner, and he showed his unpleasant-looking

-teeth in a broad smile. Perhaps

-he was planning a look into those little

-pockets by and by, who knows?</p>

-

-<p>“What a clever boy you are!” he cried.

-“Well, as you are also such a hungry little

-beast, take back your bread, and for a

-relish I shall give you a smell of my own

-supper. See!”</p>

-

-<p>So speaking, he drew a roll of sausage

-from a pocket of his long coat. The sausage

-was wrapped in a soiled handkerchief, and

-there was a hunk of black bread with it.

-A knife with a curious curved handle and

-long, shining blade was next produced, and

-the peddler went to work, alternately whacking

-off bits of the highly seasoned meat

-and the hard bread, and devouring them

-with crunching teeth and smacking lips.</p>

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</span></p>

-<p>Natale gnawed industriously at his own

-bread without even thinking of offering to

-barter a portion of it for a taste of the savory

-sausage. There was a kind of fascination

-in watching the ugly fellow eat, and the

-wondering brown eyes were fixed upon the

-peddler’s surly face.</p>

-

-<p>It was now the close of a warm afternoon.

-A light haze wrapped the more distant

-mountains in misty blue, a chirring of

-insects stirred the silence about the travelers,

-and now and then a carriage or cart whisked

-downward, or toiled upward, along the road,

-accompanied by the jingle of harness bells

-and the whooping cries of the drivers. A

-fog of white dust rose behind every passing

-vehicle, and the chestnut leaves overhead,

-long unwashed by rain, hung grimy and

-listless in the heavy air.</p>

-

-<p>As the peddler supped, large drops of

-sweat gathered on his long, red nose and

-dripped down his black beard, while his

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</span>face grew flushed and more scowling than

-ever. Presently, with an angry movement

-which startled Natale half out of his wits,

-he dropped the sausage and knife to the

-ground and tore off his coat.</p>

-

-<p>“Poor men have no choice!” he muttered.

-“Bare shoulders in winter, the cast-off

-winter coat of an Englishman in summer!”</p>

-

-<p>The soiled and tattered old coat was

-tossed aside, falling uncomfortably close to

-Natale’s feet, but he did not dare to push it

-away with disdainful touch. The peddler’s

-meal now came to an end, the remains of the

-sausage were gathered up with the cruel-looking

-knife and laid aside with the handkerchief,

-after which the peddler, with a

-satisfied grunt, sprawled himself on his

-side&mdash;to sleep, as Natale devoutly hoped.</p>

-

-<p>But not quite yet was the man ready for

-sleep. Reaching for his pack, with a lazy

-movement from where he lay, he unstrapped

-it and drew from among the coarse

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</span>laces and horn buttons inside a flat bottle,

-which he uncorked and turned up to his

-lips. As the liquor gurgled down his throat

-and its strong odor tainted the air, Natale

-let his eyes fall to the uncomely garment

-lying within touch of his fingers.</p>

-

-<p>Then the boy’s heart leaped into his

-throat, and it seemed as if he would suffocate

-where he sat. He dared not move, and

-bravely he looked away from the thing

-which lay within such easy reach of his longing

-hands, half-in, half-out of the fellow’s

-old coat pocket.</p>

-

-<p>If only the peddling thief would go off

-into a drunken sleep!</p>

-

-<p>For there, close by, lay Giovanni’s old

-pocketbook of stamped Spanish leather,

-stained and battered, as Natale had always

-known it!</p>

-

-<p>Who could tell whether any money still

-remained in it? There was nothing to do

-but wait till the man should go to sleep, and

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</span>then, stealthily drawing the pocketbook

-away from the overcoat, speed down the

-road to a safe distance and find out all

-about it.</p>

-

-<p>He had not long to wait before the peddler

-returned the bottle to the pack, and then,

-disposing himself on the ground, sank into

-an open-mouthed slumber.</p>

-

-<p>Only when quite sure that the sleep was

-real did Natale steal away on noiseless feet,

-prize in hand, across the shallow ditch bordering

-the road, and onward to the shelter

-of a ruined shed quite out of sight of their

-resting-place. Putting the shed between

-him and the road, Natale unstrapped the

-pocketbook with trembling eagerness.</p>

-

-<p>There lay the notes into which Giovanni

-had from time to time changed the cumbersome

-copper soldi of their earnings! There

-were the dingy blue five-franc notes, with

-many one and two-franc notes of a most

-uncompromising dirt color!</p>

-

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</span></p>

-

-<p>The boy dared not take time to count

-them all. The fierce ogre asleep under the

-tree might rouse at any moment and find the

-pocketbook gone. Away, away, he must

-fly, on and on toward the Bagni di Lucca,

-even though evening was at hand, and a

-gray blanket of cloud threatened to hide

-the coming stars. So the little feet twinkled

-away through the dust, Natale’s heart now

-heavy with the dread of what was behind,

-now light with the joy of what might be

-ahead. As the warm dusk fell, it seemed

-safe to walk again, although every sound

-from behind made Natale’s heart seem to

-leap into his throat. Indeed, it seemed

-pretty much to stay in his throat, until, by

-and by, he came upon some one who was

-to give him most welcome news.</p>

-

-<p>He had traveled half a mile farther, and

-still it was not yet dark when he sighted a

-cluster of houses ahead and heard cheerful

-human voices. Coming up to the first

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</span>house, he found a pretty, plump young

-mother on her doorstep, cuddling a nursling

-on her breast. From across the road and

-about the house came busy sounds of sheep

-and cows being housed for the night in their

-thatched pens, and nobody seemed at

-leisure except the laughing woman with the

-crowing baby in her arms.</p>

-

-<p>On plying the woman with his usual

-question, Natale learned that the end of

-his pilgrimage was indeed “just down the

-road a little distance”, although, on such

-short legs as his, the woman added thoughtfully,

-it might take two hours more of brisk

-walking to reach even the big circus tent,

-standing on the outskirts of the Bagni all

-the past week.</p>

-

-<p>Ah! and was the circus still there?</p>

-

-<p>Of that the woman could not speak

-certainly, as some passer-by had mentioned

-only the day before that but one or two

-more performances were to be given before

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</span>the <i>circo</i> moved on to Lucca. She herself

-had wished to go to see the wonderful

-Antonio Bisbini, also the little Olga who

-had no more fear of a great horse’s hoofs

-than she herself of her baby’s brown toes.

-But how was a woman to leave her house

-and the tired men folks, to tramp down

-the hill and up again at night, with a

-heavy baby in her arms? Was the little

-boy hoping to reach the tent in time for the

-night’s exhibition?</p>

-

-<p>Natale’s heart had thrilled at the mention

-of Antonio’s magic name, and his spine

-straightened and his head was lifted with

-the pride of conscious relationship with the

-hero of the circus. He gave but a thought

-now to Olga’s usurpation of his place in the

-ring. For was he not returning to his own

-again, with the stolen pocketbook in the

-breast of his blouse? What a welcome

-there would be for him now!</p>

-

-<p>“Well, good night, <i>bimbo</i>, if you will go,

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</span>and may you enjoy seeing the riding in the

-tent!” the woman called to him, looking

-wistfully after the little figure plodding

-away, after a polite return of her farewell.</p>

-

-<p>Natale’s heart was carefree now, as he

-limped lamely onward to the tune of the

-“Dead March,” humming the air as he

-went.</p>

-

-<p>The road had been growing more level

-for some hours as it entered the valley, and

-the river flowed more still and deep. The

-hush of night gathered under the trees, and

-the birds and insects went to rest or noiselessly

-crept from their haunts about vine

-and root, intent upon the business of the

-hour.</p>

-

-<p>As signs of the famous Baths of Lucca

-began to appear at certain curves in the

-road, Natale became possessed of but

-one idea. Down the river he began to see

-the lights of the town, and he even thought

-he heard the notes of band music, which,

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</span>in truth, were wafted to his ears from the

-terrace of the Casino. His head was full

-of plans of stealing into the tent, and for at

-least this last night at Bagni di Lucca, playing

-his own part in the dying-horse act.

-He would not take precious moments now

-for practicing a somersault or wheel, as he

-went along, but it was easy to rehearse the

-dialogue over the dying brute&mdash;if only his

-tired, tired legs could keep the road, and his

-aching eyes find the old yellow tent set up

-somewhere among the trees.</p>

-

-<p>Presently, the gleaming eyes of bicycles

-began to whiz by, and a squarely built,

-many-windowed villa or two rose flush with

-the road. A little farther now, and the tent

-would surely appear, with perhaps Cara in

-her red dress at the doorway, and the band

-playing outside in the light of the big lamp!</p>

-

-<p>Laughing stragglers now sauntered here

-and there, none noticing the child making

-his dizzy way among them toward a flare

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</span>of light on one side where the trees fell

-apart. One would have hardly believed it

-possible that there was room for even the

-tent of the Circo Equestre of Antonio

-Bisbini and Giovanni Marzuchetti in the

-space between the long storehouse of corn

-and the terraced hillside behind. Yet, not

-only was the tent there, spread to its full

-circle and height, but the brown wagon also

-was visible, drawn within its shadow, and

-now the staring brown eyes of the little

-wanderer had found them both.</p>

-

-<p>Yes, there was the dear old tent, with its

-white patches upon the dull yellow, showing

-against the vine-clad hillsides of the Bagni.

-Also, there was the smoky lamp fastened to

-a post, where two ways met and parted.

-There was the usual crowd gathered outside

-about the entrance where Cara in her

-red dress and gauzy veil watched over the

-money bowl, in wait for some possible late-arriving

-spectator. The big reflecting lantern<span class="pagenum" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</span>

-on the table showed the wistful features

-of the outsiders as they crowded about the

-tent.</p>

-

-<p>As Natale crept around the tent, he saw

-the bare, brown legs of some trespassing

-youngster following squirming head and

-shoulders inside, under the curtain by way

-of the ground. In former times, the little

-acrobat would have been the first to raise

-an alarm and assist with alacrity in the

-ignominious expulsion of the intruder who

-wanted to see the show, and yet keep his

-<i>soldi</i> in his pocket, if such were there. But

-the sight of the enterprising offender made

-little impression on Natale’s mind now, as

-he stepped past the struggling legs, for, the

-hour being much later than he thought, the

-band inside just then struck up the familiar

-schottisch, and Natale knew that Il Duca

-was even now treading the ring in a dignified

-dance, led by Giovanni himself. His heart

-gave a suffocating throb, and his cheeks

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</span>burned. Then he shivered with cold, and

-his weary legs faltered before the daring

-deed about to be perpetrated.</p>

-

-<p>There was plenty of time, even yet, and

-he would do it even if Giovanni should strike

-him to the ground with his cracking whip,

-which had never yet, however, been raised

-against him with more than threatening

-intent.</p>

-

-<p>He stopped to listen a moment longer

-to the music before entering. Yes, there it

-was, the schottisch, accompanied by the

-beat of the clever hoofs. Then, as he

-knew the moment was at hand for Il Duca

-to drop dying in the ring, Natale crept

-swiftly in among the players gathered as

-usual in the small tent behind. Olga was

-there and Arduina, in their fanciful costumes,

-and Elvira, his mother, waiting for

-their “cues.”</p>

-

-<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />

-

-<div class="chapter">

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</span></p>

-<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XII">CHAPTER XII<br />

-<span class="smaller">AT LAST</span></h2></div>

-

-<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap"><span class="dropcap">T</span>he</span> small, pale apparition of Natale,

-suddenly projected into their midst,

-so startled them all that even Olga

-forgot to listen for the thud of Il Duca’s

-heavy body on the ground and the sound of

-his groans. They stared open-mouthed for

-an instant, and then the apparition vanished

-as suddenly as it had appeared.</p>

-

-<p>But the strains of the “Dead March”

-now recalled little Olga to herself, and she

-darted from behind the curtain and out into

-the light of the oil lamp, only to hear a

-familiar boyish voice instead of her own

-answering shrilly Giovanni’s question,

-“What are you crying about, child?”</p>

-

-<p>“Because our horse is dead!”</p>

-

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</span></p>

-

-<p>“But are you sure he is quite dead?”

-And Giovanni’s voice faltered with sudden

-fear, as he gazed at Natale’s small, dusty

-figure kneeling at the horse’s head, with

-Oh! such a world of pleading in his dark

-eyes and folded hands.</p>

-

-<p>“Quite dead!” wailed Natale.</p>

-

-<p>“Get up and feel his pulse, boy. If

-there is any pulse he is <i>not</i> dead!” Giovanni

-spoke fiercely, but there was no frown upon

-his face.</p>

-

-<p>And so the farce went on as usual, to the

-end, while Olga, with pouting lips, slipped

-behind the curtain again and joined the

-others who were, every one, peeping in to

-see little Natale do his beloved dying-horse

-act.</p>

-

-<p>The little girl had come to enjoy her bit

-of acting with Giovanni and Il Duca, for

-kneeling with folded hands and sobbing

-breath was a pretty attitude, always loudly

-applauded, and she no longer feared that

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</span>Il Duca would lift his faithful hoof against

-her. But now, here was Natale back again,

-and his shrill little voice going over the silly

-replies to the clown in his own, old way.

-Well, it would be rather nice, after all, to

-have Natale again, and she would not fuss

-about it as there were so few things he could

-really do, while she was learning new feats

-already, and would soon be riding Tesoro

-bareback around the ring.</p>

-

-<p>A perfect storm of applause succeeded the

-end of the dialogue, when Il Duca scrambled

-to his feet, and the tent was filled with cries

-for a repetition of the scene. But Giovanni

-turned swiftly and lifted Natale to

-the horse’s back, only in time to prevent the

-child’s falling to the ground, as if stunned

-by the noise of the shouting. Out of the

-ring and through the smaller tent to the

-open air beyond Il Duca pranced proudly,

-with Giovanni at his bridle, holding Natale

-in his place with his free hand.</p>

-

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</span></p>

-

-<p>Outside, they laid the child down on the

-warm ground in the dim light, and Arduina

-brought a cupful of water and bathed his

-face, while Olga stood by, and Antonio and

-Elvira went back to help Giovanni with his

-table-leaping inside.</p>

-

-<p>“He is not dead, is he, Arduina?” Olga

-asked in a frightened voice. “Feel his pulse

-as we do Il Duca’s!”</p>

-

-<p>“Hurry and call Nonna!” the older girl

-urged nervously. “We shall have to go in,

-the very next thing after this, and Nonna

-will know what to do.”</p>

-

-<p>So when Natale next opened his eyes, the

-light of a sputtering candle showed him the

-gray head of dear Nonna bent over him.

-He lay on a small mattress in a corner, and

-the smoke-stained ceiling of the house-wagon

-shut out the sky.</p>

-

-<p>“<i>Ecco!</i> he opens his eyes, my <i>bimbo</i>! my

-Natalino! <i>Carino</i>,<a id="FNanchor_10" href="#Footnote_10" class="fnanchor">[10]</a> what does it all mean?

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</span>Tell Nonna how you have come back to the

-<i>circo</i>!”</p>

-<p>But at first Natale only lifted one hand

-to stroke the dear, wrinkled face of Nonna,

-in smiling content. After a little, he laid

-his hand on the breast of his blouse and

-begged to be allowed to go to Giovanni.</p>

-

-<p>“He will not scold me for coming back

-when he sees what I have brought with

-me,” he urged.</p>

-

-<p>But Nonna reminded him that the tent

-was still crowded with spectators,&mdash;did

-he not hear the music close by, and the

-laughter of the people, as the clown and

-Antonio and Arduina did the funny pantomime?</p>

-

-<p>Natale lay back listening, with a happy

-smile on his lips, while Nonna went to blow

-up the coals of a small fire on the ground

-outside, and to hurry the broth that Natale

-might have nourishment. She could not

-prevail upon the boy to confide to her

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</span>what he was so anxious to tell his stepfather,

-and she left him alone, too glad to

-have him returned to them, to grumble over

-his reticence.</p>

-

-<p>Of all the children, Natale most sweetly

-recalled her own son’s childhood, and

-Antonio’s boyish affection for her, his

-cheeriness and obedience, had seemed to

-live again in Natale, although he was

-Elvira’s son, and no grandson, at all, of her

-own.</p>

-

-<p>The little ones, Tito, Maria, Gigi and the

-rest, were asleep in their corners, and Nonna

-had been sitting at rest in the wagon door

-when Olga had rushed up with the news that

-Natale had arrived and lay dying, perhaps,

-on the ground outside the tent. It was

-Nonna’s strong arms that had borne him

-away to the house-wagon, and Nonna’s

-vigorous rubbings and applications of cold

-water that had brought him out of the

-half-swoon of exhaustion. So Nonna was

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</span>content with her work, and would not press

-Natalino’s secret from him.</p>

-

-<p>By the time the performance was over,

-and the merry-makers had streamed out

-whistling, chatting and laughing together,

-and had gone their ways homeward, Natale,

-fed and rested, was sitting up bright-eyed

-and eager to announce his news.</p>

-

-<p>It was stuffy and hot in the wagon, and

-Giovanni went to fetch the boy outside, the

-moment the tent had emptied and the

-players were at leisure. Olga had not even

-taken time to change the yellow satin

-blouse and pink tights for her usual faded

-cotton frock. As for Antonio, he had only

-slipped his feet into a pair of loose slippers,

-so the great acrobat stood before Natale in

-all the glory of his spangled black velvet

-and shapely, pink-clad limbs.</p>

-

-<p>As the night was dark, one of the lamps

-was brought from the tent, and a wild,

-gypsy-like scene its rays revealed under the

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</span>trees about the steps of the house-wagon.

-Elvira, in an access of motherly tenderness,

-gathered Natale to her red satin

-bosom, and called him by all the musical

-pet names belonging to the boys and girls

-of Italy, while the musicians peeped over

-the shoulders of the actors and wondered

-how little Natale had ever found his way on

-foot all the way from Cutigliano to the

-Bagni.</p>

-

-<p>“The tramping will have limbered up his

-legs!” one whispered to another.</p>

-

-<p>“Stiffened them, rather!” was the reply,

-and then everybody stopped talking and

-only gazed the harder as Natale put his

-hand within the breast of his blouse and

-drew out the old leather pocketbook.</p>

-

-<p>“There, Giovanni!” he said simply,

-reaching the book toward his stepfather.

-“The ugly, black peddler with the red cap

-like our Leo’s stole the money, and while he

-slept on his back, by the road, I stole it from

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</span>him, and then&mdash;Oh, how fast I ran and

-ran that he might not catch me and kill me

-with his long, sharp knife!”</p>

-

-<p>Giovanni, speechless with astonishment

-and joy, solemnly received and kissed and

-opened the pocketbook, and then spread

-out the notes, one by one, on his knee, while

-the rest crowded around, counting them

-aloud.</p>

-

-<p>What if all should not be there? Natale’s

-eyes shone feverishly as he leaned forward

-from his mother’s knee, his gaze alternately

-upon the clown’s face, and the long, lithe

-fingers handling the money.</p>

-

-<p>Five, ten, fifteen, twenty, twenty-five,

-thirty, thirty-five, forty, forty-five, fifty,

-fifty-five, sixty, sixty-five, seventy, seventy-five,

-eighty, eighty-two, eighty-four, eighty-six,

-eighty-eight, ninety, ninety-one, ninety-two,

-ninety-three, ninety-four, ninety-five,

-ninety-six, ninety-seven, ninety-eight,

-ninety-nine, <i>one hundred</i>!</p>

-

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</span></p>

-

-<p>Natale’s head dropped back against the

-red satin shoulder of his mother, and his

-large eyes gazed wistfully into Giovanni’s

-face.</p>

-

-<p>Would they let him stay now that he had

-come all the weary way “after the wagon”,

-bringing them the lost money? Their welcome

-had been encouraging; would they let

-him remain, or must he be sent back to

-Cutigliano, to the priest, to Sora Grazia,

-to school, to imprisonment in a house without

-wheels, and without Nonna?</p>

-

-<p>It was Antonio Bisbini who brought up

-the question finally and in a manner settled

-it with his slow-spoken words. Everybody

-had wondered and rejoiced over the safe

-return of the pocketbook, with the money

-untouched, and Natale had had to tell all

-about the peddler, and the risks he had run

-of rousing the fellow from sleep in making

-his escape with the pocketbook.</p>

-

-<p>“He was the man who teased me to buy

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</span>the beautiful diamond brooch on the day of

-San Lorenzo!” cried pretty Arduina, who

-well remembered the peddler’s flattering

-attentions to her in his hope of finding a

-purchaser for his paltry glass jewelry.</p>

-

-<p>“And the same who so frightened our

-Tito outside the church,” Nonna chimed

-in indignantly. “And he all the time pretended

-to be so pious and anxious to see the

-saints’ relics in the church! No wonder

-Tito cried at the snapping of those dirty,

-thievish fingers in his little face. The

-saints only know how he found the money

-in Giovanni’s coat-pocket hung in the

-tent!”</p>

-

-<p>“Mamá <i>mia</i>, do you remember how stiff

-my legs were when I played at leaping with

-the boys at school in Florence?” Antonio,

-the finished acrobat, asked thoughtfully,

-breaking a long straw with his fingers and

-looking at nobody. His blond head reached

-almost to the lowest boughs of the chestnut

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</span>tree under which he stood, and the lamplight

-flared over his fair face and glittering

-costume.</p>

-

-<p>Natale sat up to hear the words of this

-oracle, and even slipped off the satin lap of

-Elvira to the ground, in order to be nearer

-Antonio.</p>

-

-<p>“I remember that you were a studious

-boy,” Nonna murmured in reply, with a

-note of the old bitterness in her voice.</p>

-

-<p>“Natale has done a good work in returning

-the money to us, Giovanni,” the acrobat

-continued. “Why send him back to the

-foreigners? He was unhappy, or he would

-never have come all this distance alone&mdash;mere

-baby that he is.”</p>

-

-<p>“And the Englishwoman’s money?”

-Giovanni asked in a businesslike tone.</p>

-

-<p>“What has been used, replace from the

-pocketbook. It is not much, as we have

-taken in so good a sum, here at the Bagni.

-Leo can ride back with it to Cutigliano

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</span>to-morrow morning, and return in time for

-our last night here.”</p>

-

-<p>“<i>Ebbene!</i>” said Giovanni, and this meaning

-“All right, with a very good will,” so it

-was decided, and then everybody hurried

-to get into comfortable old clothes and to

-eat supper.</p>

-

-<p>Leo was sent to the nearest wine shop for

-a bottle of good red wine that the troop

-might drink to the joy of Natale’s return

-and the recovery of the money; also to the

-just discomfiture of all thieving peddlers.</p>

-

-<p>Long before the evening came to an end,

-a tired but most happy little boy had crept

-into the shadow and fallen asleep, with his

-head pillowed against Nonna’s knee.</p>

-

-<p>“I am glad thou art come back to us,

-Natalino,” she whispered in the softest

-Italian above the tangled brown curls,

-while the rest sang and made merry, “and

-if thy little legs will only grow as straight

-and as strong as my Antonio’s, and thy

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</span>heart remain as faithful to old Nonna, the

-saints forgive me if I care very much whether

-thou be acrobat or priest!”</p>

-

-<hr class="tb" />

-

-<p>For some reason known best to himself,

-but readily guessed by the clown and the

-rest of the older members of the circus, the

-swarthy peddler was not seen in Bagni di

-Lucca for many a day after. But Natale

-did not lose his dread of encountering the

-fierce eyes and the cruel knife until long

-after the circus troop had taken to the road

-again.</p>

-

-<p>Nothing in the world could have induced

-Mrs. Bishop, the English lady at Cutigliano,

-to touch the money returned with, what

-was to her, most astonishing promptness

-and honesty through Leo, one of the musicians.</p>

-

-<p>In the first place, the notes were very dirty,

-much more so, she was sure, than when she

-had paid them to the clown a little more

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</span>than a week before. Secondly, she would

-not reclaim money which had been once

-devoted to the cause of civilization and

-of education. If the “little ingrate” despised

-his opportunities and had finally

-returned to his “wallowing in the mire”,

-let the money which would have bought

-him for decency and for usefulness go with

-him. Thirdly&mdash;but this was not acknowledged

-even to Betty&mdash;the old lady’s heart

-had been touched by the tale Luigi the

-priest had come to tell her on the morning

-after the flight of the birdling. So her

-heart was not quite so hard as her words

-sounded, and she was in truth rather rejoiced,

-as well as very much relieved in

-mind, when Leo had arrived to tell of runaway

-Natale’s return to the troop in

-safety. Therefore, generously, Mrs. Bishop

-would not receive the money because it

-seemed to her no longer her own; surely

-Giovanni and Elvira and Nonna had kept

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</span>their part of the bargain in giving up the

-child, while Natale had not even been

-consulted in their plan.</p>

-

-<p>The roll of notes was therefore returned

-by Leo to Giovanni, with the foreign lady’s

-instructions that the money was to be spent

-in providing meat for broth for the children

-so long as it should last. There would still

-be plenty of cold water always, free as air,

-for daily baths along the roads of Italy, and

-Mrs. Bishop hoped that Sora Grazia’s

-ministrations in that line would not soon

-be forgotten by Natale, who for one short

-week had been a scrubbed little lad. (It is

-safe to say that they were not!)</p>

-

-<p>Along with the money, Mrs. Bishop sent

-a school primer to Natale, with the admonition

-that he would at least try to learn

-to read while jogging up and down the

-earth and upsetting his stomach in all

-heathenish sports.</p>

-

-<p>But Madame Cioche and Betty rejoiced

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</span>in open triumph over Natale’s freedom, to

-say nothing of the priest Luigi and the

-wise old gentleman who had in fact unwittingly

-opened the cage door for flight.</p>

-

-<p>Sora Grazia was a trifle glum for a day or

-two at finding her pains thrown away upon

-the sulky little protégé of the foreign lady,

-but as the month’s pay for his board and

-lodging had been in advance, and the

-nearly new clothes and shoes and cap were

-now thrown into the bargain by Mrs.

-Bishop, to repay her for her extra trouble,

-she too soon became content and even

-pleased with the ending of the rich lady’s

-scheme.</p>

-

-<p>So the bare front wall of the priest’s

-house in Cutigliano among the mountains

-has, as yet, no prospect of being adorned

-by a memorial tablet to a waif of all outdoors

-who was willing to be a great man in

-books and goodness.</p>

-

-<p>And Natale?</p>

-

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</span></p>

-

-<p>Well, Natale is learning, better and better,

-how to turn his <i>capitomboli</i> over the dusty

-circus carpet, and he still feels Il Duca’s

-pulse with sorrowful apprehension to the

-tune of the “Dead March in Saul”&mdash;by

-night among the oil lamps.</p>

-

-<p>By day, he trudges along hot white roads,

-under the marvelous blue of Italy’s sky,

-with Niero and Bianco for company. Or,

-he lies on the ground at Nonna’s side under

-some spreading tree in the camping-out

-times, sometimes spelling out words in a

-dog-eared primer, oftener gazing past the

-tree tops at the cloud-ships sailing overhead,

-while Nonna tells of Antonio’s wonderful

-childhood.</p>

-

-<p>By and by, when Natale grows too large

-to do the dying-horse act, and little Tito,

-or Gigi takes his place, he will be dashing

-with the horses around the ring. And then,

-in the still further and sweeter by and by,

-when Antonio’s agile legs will perhaps have

-<span class="pagenum" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</span>begun to stiffen again, and the straight back

-to bend forward a little as he walks, who

-but Natale will be the shining star of the

-Circo Equestre, like another bespangled,

-pink-clad Antonio, with crisp brown curls

-and laughing eyes, and the nimblest,

-straightest legs in all Italy?</p>

-

-<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />

-

-<div class="adblock"><div class="chapter">

-<p class="center no-indent"><span class="smaller"><i>The story of a little patriotic Cuban girl</i></span></p></div>

-

-<div class="box"><p class="ph2">LITTLE CUBA LIBRE</p></div>

-

-<p class="center no-indent"><i>By</i> JANIE PRICHARD DUGGAN</p>

-

-<p class="center no-indent">Illustrated. 282 pages. 12mo. $1.35 <i>net.</i></p>

-

-<p>In all the big city of Havana there was no more patriotic

-little girl than Amada Trueno, daughter of one of the city

-gardeners. With all her heart she hated the Spaniards who

-ruled her beloved island of Cuba. “Little Cuba Libre” they

-called her when she stamped her foot and called the Spaniards

-enemies and tyrants. When she went to her cousin’s house

-in the country, although she played on friendly terms with

-the children of a Spanish planter, still her hatred of the oppressors

-slumbered. How the Cubans finally revolted, and

-how little Amada herself took part in that revolution, even

-to the extent of bearing arms, is told in this charming story.

-“Little Cuba Libre” contains faithful pictures of Cuban life

-and Cuban people, and while written especially for young

-readers, its fine qualities should also appeal to older ones.

-Besides being an interesting story of Cuban girlhood it is a

-depiction of the very spirit of patriotism.</p>

-

-<hr class="tiny" />

-

-<p class="center no-indent">LITTLE, BROWN &amp; CO., <span class="smcap">Publishers</span></p>

-

-<p class="center no-indent"><span class="smcap">34 Beacon Street, Boston</span></p></div>

-

-<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />

-

-<div class="adblock"><div class="chapter">

-<p class="center no-indent"><span class="smaller"><i>Real stories of three famous elephants</i></span></p></div>

-

-<div class="box2"><p class="ph2">THE ADVENTURES OF<br />

-MOLLIE, WADDY and TONY</p></div>

-

-<p class="center no-indent"><i>By</i> PAUL WAITT</p>

-

-<p class="center no-indent">Illustrated in color by Clara E. Atwood.</p>

-

-<p class="center no-indent">75 cents net.</p>

-

-<hr class="tiny" />

-

-<p>Mollie, Waddy and Tony are three of the most wonderful

-elephants in the world. Born in India, they have traveled

-all over Europe and our own America, showing their clever

-tricks to thousands of boys and girls. They were bought by

-the children of Boston and are now kept in the Franklin

-Park Zoo, where they will remain the rest of their lives.</p>

-

-<p>Mr. Waitt writes of their adventures when they were

-traveling, and tells of some tricks they played which their

-keeper never taught them. Little Tony is the roguish one,

-and he is always getting into mischief. That clever little

-trunk of his pokes into all sorts of places where it doesn’t belong,

-and sometimes it takes Mollie, Waddy and Johann, the

-keeper, to make him behave as a proper little elephant should.</p>

-

-<div class="blockquot">

-

-<p>“This is the most bewitching elephant story we ever read.

-It is the story of their travels through many countries. It is

-as good a story for boys and girls as any boys and girls will

-ever want to read.”&mdash;<i>Journal of Education</i>, Boston.</p>

-

-<p>“The story of ‘The Adventure of Mollie, Waddy, and

-Tony’ is one of the nicest that little people who like animals

-can read.”&mdash;<i>New York Times.</i></p></div>

-

-<hr class="tiny" />

-

-<p class="center no-indent">LITTLE, BROWN &amp; CO., <span class="smcap">Publishers</span></p>

-

-<p class="center no-indent"><span class="smcap">34 Beacon Street, Boston</span></p></div>

-

-<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />

-

-<div class="footblock"><div class="chapter">

-<p class="ph2 nobreak"><span class="smcap">Footnotes:</span></p>

-</div>

-

-<p><a id="Footnote_1" href="#FNanchor_1" class="footnote label">[1]</a> Pronounced Nah-tah´le.</p>

-

-<p><a id="Footnote_2" href="#FNanchor_2" class="footnote label">[2]</a> Mush of corn meal.</p>

-

-<p><a id="Footnote_3" href="#FNanchor_3" class="footnote label">[3]</a> “The little boy! The little boy!”</p>

-

-<p><a id="Footnote_4" href="#FNanchor_4" class="footnote label">[4]</a> Foreigners.</p>

-

-<p><a id="Footnote_5" href="#FNanchor_5" class="footnote label">[5]</a> Young prince.</p>

-

-<p><a id="Footnote_6" href="#FNanchor_6" class="footnote label">[6]</a> Somersaults.</p>

-

-<p><a id="Footnote_7" href="#FNanchor_7" class="footnote label">[7]</a> Little boy.</p>

-

-<p><a id="Footnote_8" href="#FNanchor_8" class="footnote label">[8]</a> Good morning.</p>

-

-<p><a id="Footnote_9" href="#FNanchor_9" class="footnote label">[9]</a> Inn.</p>

-

-<p><a id="Footnote_10" href="#FNanchor_10" class="footnote label">[10]</a> Darling.</p></div>

-

-<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />

-

-<div class="transnote"><div class="chapter">

-<p class="ph2 nobreak"><span class="smcap">Transcriber’s Notes:</span></p></div>

-

-<p>On page 4, Tesore has been changed to Tesoro.</p>

-

-<p>On page 71, up-stairs has been changed to upstairs.</p>

-

-<p>Illustrations have been moved to avoid interrupting the flow of

-paragraphs.</p>

-

-<p>All other spelling, hyphenation, and non-English dialogue have been

-retained.</p></div>

-

-<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LITTLE ACROBAT: A STORY OF ITALY ***</div>

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+/* Poetry */
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+<body>
+<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 69064 ***</div>
+
+<div class="figcenter hide" style="width: 32%">
+<img src="images/cover.jpg" alt="Cover"  />
+</div>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
+
+<p class="ph1">THE LITTLE ACROBAT</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 350px;">
+<a id="i_frontispiece"><img src="images/i_frontispiece.jpg" width="350" alt="The pale apparition of Natale startled them all."
+title=""  /></a></div></div>
+
+<p class="caption">The pale apparition of Natale startled them all. <i>Frontispiece.</i><br />
+<span class="center"><i>See page <a href="#Page_167">167.</a></i></span></p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
+
+<h1>THE<br />
+<br />
+LITTLE ACROBAT</h1>
+
+<p class="ph3">
+A STORY OF ITALY</p>
+
+<p class="ph2 nobreak"><span class="smaller">BY</span><br />
+JANIE PRICHARD DUGGAN</p>
+
+<p class="center no-indent p2b"><span class="smaller"><i>WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY</i></span><br />
+NANA FRENCH BICKFORD</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 70px;">
+<img src="images/i_title.jpg" width="100" alt="Publishers Logo"
+title=""  /></div>
+
+<p class="p2">&nbsp;</p>
+
+<p class="ph3"><span class="smaller">BOSTON</span><br />
+LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY<br />
+<span class="smaller">1919</span></p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<p class="center no-indent"><i>Copyright, 1919</i>,
+<br />
+<span class="smcap">By Little, Brown, and Company</span>.
+<br />
+<i>All rights reserved</i><br />
+
+Published, September, 1919<br />
+<br />
+Norwood Press<br />
+Set up and electrotyped by J. S. Cushing Co., Norwood, Mass., U.S.A.<br />
+Presswork by S. J. Parkhill &amp; Co., Boston, Mass., U.S.A.</p></div>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<p class="center no-indent">DEDICATED<br />
+TO MEMORIES OF<br />
+TWO LITTLE “ANGELICALS” OF ROME<br />
+SPOTTISWOODE AND SUSIE<br />
+BY<br />
+“CUDDIE”</p></div>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<p class="ph2 nobreak" id="CONTENTS">CONTENTS</p>
+</div>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="3" cellspacing="3" summary="CONTENTS">
+<tr><td class="tdbr smaller">CHAPTER</td>
+<td>&#160;</td>
+<td class="tdc smaller">PAGE</td></tr>
+
+<tr><td class="tdbr">I</td>
+<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Along the White Road</span></td>
+<td class="tdbr"><a href="#Page_1">1</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td class="tdbr">II</td>
+<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Nonna</span></td>
+<td class="tdbr"><a href="#Page_12">12</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td class="tdbr">III</td>
+<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">In the Ring</span></td>
+<td class="tdbr"><a href="#Page_26">26</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td class="tdbr">IV</td>
+<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Festival of San Lorenzo</span></td>
+<td class="tdbr"><a href="#Page_39">39</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td class="tdbr">V</td>
+<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">A Gift for the Circus</span></td>
+<td class="tdbr"><a href="#Page_55">55</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td class="tdbr">VI</td>
+<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Separation</span></td>
+<td class="tdbr"><a href="#Page_73">73</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td class="tdbr">VII</td>
+<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Caged Bird of the Fields</span></td>
+<td class="tdbr"><a href="#Page_91">91</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td class="tdbr">VIII</td>
+<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Cage Door Opened</span></td>
+<td class="tdbr"><a href="#Page_105">105</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td class="tdbr">IX</td>
+<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Flight of the Bird</span></td>
+<td class="tdbr"><a href="#Page_121">121</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td class="tdbr">X</td>
+<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">On the Wing</span></td>
+<td class="tdbr"><a href="#Page_133">133</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td class="tdbr">XI</td>
+<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Fluttering a Little Farther</span></td>
+<td class="tdbr"><a href="#Page_150">150</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td class="tdbr">XII</td>
+<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">At Last</span></td>
+<td class="tdbr"><a href="#Page_167">167</a></td></tr>
+</table>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<p class="ph2 nobreak">LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS</p></div>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="3" cellspacing="3" summary="CONTENTS">
+<tr><td>&#160;</td><td>&#160;</td></tr>
+
+<tr><td class="tdlh">The pale apparition of Natale startled<br />
+them all</td>
+<td class="tdr"><a href="#i_frontispiece"><i>Frontispiece</i></a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td class="tdlh">Mrs. Bishop looked down upon the tent<br />
+from the garden terrace</td>
+<td class="tdr"><span class="allsmcap">PAGE</span> <a href="#illo1">45</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td class="tdlh">The priest led Natale to the other end of<br />
+the house</td>
+<td class="tdr"><span class="allsmcap">“&nbsp;&nbsp;</span> <a href="#illo2">94</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td class="tdlh">“<i>Capitomboli</i>, such as the boy who was<br />
+here just now made in the circus at<br />
+Cutigliano”</td>
+<td class="tdr"><span class="allsmcap">“&nbsp;</span> <a href="#illo3">142</a></td></tr>
+</table>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_1">[Pg 1]</span></p>
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<p class="ph1 nobreak">THE LITTLE ACROBAT</p></div>
+
+<p class="ph2"><i>A STORY OF ITALY</i></p>
+<p class="ph2 nobreak"></p>
+
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_I">CHAPTER I<br />
+<span class="smaller">ALONG THE WHITE ROAD</span></h2>
+
+<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap"><span class="dropcap">T</span>he</span> July sunshine lay hot and
+golden over the fields of wheat on
+the Italian hillsides, and the deep
+shade of the chestnut woods along the
+road was more inviting than the white glare
+beyond. The sun stood directly overhead,
+and along the middle of that white, dusty
+road there was not an inch of shadow.</p>
+
+<p>A small brown house on wheels crept
+slowly along this sunny way, drawn by a
+queer, ill-matched team of three&mdash;a plump
+white horse with long, silky mane and tail,
+a large spotted horse with fierce eyes and
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_2">[Pg 2]</span>nostrils, and a lean, little brown pony, with
+strangely twisted neck.</p>
+
+<p>Up and up, always a little higher up, the
+horses toiled with the house-wagon, as the
+road rose into the mountains. From the
+interior of the wagon came the sound of
+voices, mingled now and then with a complaining
+note, or an exclamation of pain.
+The travelers were very tired, and poor
+Pietro’s fever was rising with every turn of
+the wheels.</p>
+
+<p>Several men and a sturdy girl of fifteen
+walked beside the horses in the powdery white
+dust. Behind the big wagon lagged a boy
+of eight or nine years. This was Natale,<a id="FNanchor_1" href="#Footnote_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a>
+a slight little fellow, with dusty lean legs
+and dragging feet. His light brown hair
+curled damply about his sun-browned forehead,
+and he wore an old, misshapen hat
+set far back on his pretty head. His loosely
+fitting clothes were dingy with dust but
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</span>Natale did not mind, for, presently, they
+would come to Cutigliano, the old, old
+town on the mountain side, and there they
+would camp out on the soft, green grass.
+And Natale knew from much experience
+that nothing could clean the dust from
+travel-stained clothes so well as rolling down
+the grassy slopes of the chestnut woods,
+with Niero and Bianco as companions.</p>
+
+<p>Of course the sun was hot; was it not
+always hot at noon of a summer’s day in
+the Apennines? But Niero did not complain,
+and why should Natale?</p>
+
+<p>Bianco had tired of trotting along at
+Natale’s side, and at the last stopping-place,
+when Pietro had had a drink of
+water from the wayside fountain, the tired
+little black dog had begged to be allowed
+to ride, and had been willingly taken inside
+the wagon.</p>
+
+<p>Natale never asked to ride in the wagon,
+unless he were very tired and sleepy. They
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</span>were rather crowded in there even without
+him, for Pietro took up a great deal of room,
+now that he had to lie down all the time.
+Besides, the other children, good travelers
+as they usually were, sometimes grew
+quarrelsome and made the mothers and
+the grandmother angry. Natale did not
+like quarreling and loud voices, so he always
+preferred his resting times to be given
+him on the back of one of the horses. But
+now Tesoro and Il Duca were tired also, and
+they were so near Cutigliano, it did not
+matter if Natale did lag behind a little,
+always with big Niero for company.</p>
+
+<p>Niero was a large, lean, white dog with a
+closely sheared body. About his neck,
+however, he wore a fluffy collar of long
+white hair, and bracelets of the same
+adorned his four paws, while his long tail
+ended in a tuft, having very much the appearance
+of a dishmop. Why this white
+dog should have been named Niero, meaning<span class="pagenum" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</span>
+black, the clown who had also named the
+little black dog Bianco, white, could have
+best explained.</p>
+
+<p>By and by, long after the gray church
+tower had come in sight and the red-tiled
+roofs of the town showed bunched together
+against the green of the wooded hillside, the
+travelers reached the arched stone bridge
+across the river at the foot of the mountain.
+Here the wagon made a halt before beginning
+the last steep climb to the town.
+Above, they could see the stone wall which
+was the boundary of the road winding by
+loops, one above the other, up the mountain
+side, but the town had now disappeared
+from view, so sheer was the rise of the
+chestnut woods.</p>
+
+<p>This halt gave Natale time to come up
+with the wagon, and then he sat down with
+a tired sigh on a heap of mending-stones by
+the roadside, in front of the wagon door.
+His legs ached with weariness, but this was
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</span>no time to think of riding, as even the
+women and all the children but Pietro must
+alight now, to relieve the horses in the last
+pull up hill. Natale watched them descend
+from the wagon one by one, by the steps one
+of the musicians placed at the door.</p>
+
+<p>First came Nonna, the grandmother of
+Rudolfo and Tito and the five other children
+of the blond acrobat, Antonio Bisbini. She
+was not Natale’s Nonna, of course, yet
+everybody called her Nonna, and why
+should not he, who had no grandmother of
+his own?</p>
+
+<p>Nonna carried Tito in her arms and led
+Rudolfo by the hand. Then came Tito’s
+mother, the three-months’-old infant, Gigi,
+in her arms, followed by Olga, who held
+little Maria by the hand. Next, Natale’s
+own mamá stepped down, glad to stretch her
+active limbs by walking, after nursing
+Pietro for so many tedious hours. Then
+the rest of Bisbini’s children scrambled
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</span>out, aided by the music-man’s helping
+hands.</p>
+
+<p>On they went again then, the clown, who
+was Natale’s stepfather, walking at the
+horses’ heads, and cracking his long whip,
+and chirruping to them while the other men
+strode behind the wagon, pushing upon it
+with all their might at the steep places in
+the road.</p>
+
+<p>The women and children, meanwhile, left
+the road to climb the short cuts upward,
+leading directly from terrace to terrace,&mdash;mere
+paths paved with rough stones, here
+and there loosened and displaced by rushing
+rain-torrents of the past. The little ones
+bore the heat and the roughness of the way
+without murmuring, being allowed to
+straggle along as they pleased, now stopping
+to gather a red poppy from the edge
+of the wheat, now dropping on the ground
+to search for a briar afflicting some tired
+foot. Natale was not the last in the procession<span class="pagenum" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</span>
+now, for he was anxious to get
+to the top and see what the tall wheat
+and the green slopes were hiding from
+his eyes.</p>
+
+<p>At last they reached the wide turn in the
+road where the wagon must finally stop, at
+the edge of the town field. The wagon
+also came toiling upward, and now the good
+horses might rest. So these were unhitched
+from the wagon, and while one or two of the
+men led them up the steep, paved street into
+the village to find food and shelter for them,
+the others attended to the house-wagon,
+drawn close against the low stone wall
+inclosing the field, placing great stones
+against the wheels to steady it in its place.
+Now was Natale’s hour and the dogs’, and
+they understood this as well as he! Over
+the low wall they scampered and down on
+the soft, hot grass they lay, rolling over and
+over down the gentle slope of the field until,
+suddenly, Natale found himself landing
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</span>directly upon his feet, with a whirring in his
+head, and the sound of distressed barking
+in his ears.</p>
+
+<p>The dogs had had the wit to stop on the
+very edge of a sharp descent which Natale
+had not noticed, and now they stood on the
+bank, half-a-dozen feet above him, their
+forefeet firmly planted on the brink of the
+grassy precipice, and their tufty tails high
+in the air, begging with all their might to
+know whether their dear little comrade were
+hurt. Natale was not hurt, but the jar
+of the descent gave him a queer feeling
+under the waistband of his trousers, and
+he sat down directly where he stood,
+on the lower terrace, turning his back
+upon the dogs.</p>
+
+<p>A fringe of bushes threw a narrow band
+of shade about him from above, and he
+made up his mind to stay there till something
+should be made ready for dinner.
+He hoped he would not be wanted to fetch
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</span>anything from the village,&mdash;he was always
+fetching something for somebody. He had
+heard his mother calling to her husband to
+bring a little meal for the polenta,<a id="FNanchor_2" href="#Footnote_2" class="fnanchor">[2]</a> when he
+should finish stabling the horses, and he
+knew there was wine left in the flask in the
+wagon.</p>
+
+<p>From where Natale sat he could look
+directly down upon the roof of a house far
+down by the stone bridge and could faintly
+hear the rushing of the little river Lima over
+the rocks. Presently he eased himself out
+on the grass at full length, with his arms
+crossed beneath his head. As he dropped
+off to sleep, he was thinking how well it was
+that there could be no performance in the
+tent that evening. He was sure that
+Arduina would laugh more than ever at
+his stiff little feats on the circus carpet if
+he should have to turn somersaults after
+the long tramp.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</span></p>
+
+<p>Then Natale slept, with the great green
+mountains closing around him, and Bianco
+the black dog and Niero the white keeping
+watch above his head from where they had
+stretched themselves on the edge of the
+terrace in the sun.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</span></p>
+
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_II">CHAPTER II<br />
+<span class="smaller">NONNA</span></h2></div>
+
+<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap"><span class="dropcap">N</span>atale</span>, as will have been discovered
+by this time, was an
+Italian circus boy, a cheerful,
+happy little soul, who loved his “profession”,
+and whose ambition reached to the
+giddy height of some day rivaling even
+Antonio Bisbini in his wonderful trapeze
+performances. He loved everything connected
+with the life he led,&mdash;the long slow
+journeyings through his beautiful Italy, the
+camping out at night along the quiet roads,
+the open-air loungings in some village
+through the sunny days, until the evening
+should come and the oil lamps be lighted in
+the tent, and the people come crowding
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</span>in to see Arduina dance the tight rope, and
+little Olga do her wonderful turns and
+twists on the carpet, and to applaud Antonio
+and the clown and the horses, and&mdash;yes,
+and himself too, little Natale, stiff as
+his short thin legs always were and hopeless,
+as Arduina declared, in his bows and scrapes.</p>
+
+<p>Besides the three musicians, there were
+two families in the strolling company.
+Giovanni Marzuchetti was the clown, also
+the stepfather of Paulo, Arduina, Pietro,
+Natale and little Maria, and husband of
+Elvira, the black-haired mother of the five
+children. This man had no children of his
+own but was kind in his rough, clownish way
+to Natale and the rest.</p>
+
+<p>It is not difficult to understand why
+Giovanni should have married Elvira and
+her family, when it was known that the
+woman brought to her husband a small
+fortune in the shape of her own wonderful
+skill as a rider of horses, and the little ones
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</span>as possible acrobats of the future. They
+had been married for two years now, and
+if Giovanni had counted largely upon his
+ready-made family for speedy reënforcements
+in the “ring”, he must have become
+a little discouraged even by this time. It
+is true that Paulo and Arduina were well
+trained in the art of circus acting; but poor
+Pietro, the middle-sized one, who was
+twelve years old, was always ailing and
+feeble. Sleeping out of doors in the marshy
+regions had developed in his system a
+chronic fever which could not be thrown
+off, even with the aid of Nonna’s assiduous
+doctoring, and lately the weakness had
+settled in one leg and foot, threatening
+permanent lameness.</p>
+
+<p>Natale, who came next, was agile enough
+when running about on his slim brown legs,
+but his funny stiff-legged somersaults and
+awkward antics in the ring were matters of
+jesting among the whole troop. Poor little
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</span>Natale, who did so wish to be like Antonio
+Bisbini!</p>
+
+<p>Lastly there was Maria, who was a mere
+baby and as yet only just learning to stand
+upright on her stepfather’s head.</p>
+
+<p>But Antonio Bisbini, the father of the
+other family, was the star of the little troop
+of strolling players. Tall and lean and
+muscular, he stood six feet two in his sandals.
+His blond hair and skin and strong,
+clear-cut features gave him the look of some
+stern young Viking from the cold forests of
+the North, yet this youthful-looking, ruddy
+athlete was already the father of seven
+young children.</p>
+
+<p>No one in the company, not even the
+clown, could hold a candle to Antonio in
+looks or in graceful skill. Natale was sure
+that the noblest and most beautiful figure
+in all Italy was that of Antonio Bisbini as
+he would step forth from behind the tent-curtain,
+ready to thrill the spectators about
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</span>the ring. The flesh-colored tights clothing
+his limbs showed to perfection their symmetry
+and grace, relieved by the brilliantly
+spangled hip garment of black velvet and
+fringe, while the proud glance of his gray
+eyes and the light tread of his feet never
+failed to impress the beholder.</p>
+
+<p>Antonio’s oldest, little red-haired Olga,
+tumbled and danced with all a healthy
+child’s love of activity and applause, and
+Oh! how Natale envied her the perfect
+“wheels” she turned, one after the other
+with dizzying swiftness across the dusty
+strip of carpet in the ring. But the rest of
+Antonio’s seven were as yet too small to be
+useful as tumblers or dancers, and Nonna’s
+hands were always full, while their mother
+did her daring dances in the air.</p>
+
+<p>The three musicians, then, and Nonna
+completed this strolling band of twenty,
+with the two horses, the dogs and the
+twisted-necked pony. Poor Caffero had
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</span>grievously hurt his pretty neck one day
+when very young, while tied in his stall and
+leaping to reach his food from a manger
+set cruelly high. Since then he had trotted
+painfully through three years of going up
+and down the earth, with his brown head and
+long neck twisted far around to one side
+without the power of righting them. Caffero
+would have made a pretty part of the
+show had not this accident befallen him.
+As it was, he was good for little but helping
+to guide the house-wagon along the weary
+roads. Yet every one loved Caffero.</p>
+
+<p>On the day of the arrival at Cutigliano
+the two horses Tesoro and Il Duca were left
+in their stalls in the village stables during
+the whole afternoon, while Caffero was
+brought down the steep village street and
+allowed to graze in the public field. Nonna
+herself had gone up for him with Tito in her
+arms, after the midday meal of polenta, or
+thick mush of yellow meal, had been eaten.
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</span>As the trio passed through the narrow
+street of the village, many heads turned to
+wonder at the strangers&mdash;the gray-haired
+woman, the bright-eyed child in her arms,
+and poor Caffero, who always seemed
+pulling against the leading rope and trying
+to twist his head after something left
+behind.</p>
+
+<p>It was while Nonna, a little later, was
+tying Caffero’s rope to a tree in the field that
+she spied the two dogs asleep in the sun near
+the edge of the terrace. As Tito recognized
+them at the same time, and called them in
+his baby voice, the grandmother added her
+summons, and was rather astonished at
+their failure to obey. They bounded to
+their feet, it is true, but instead of scampering
+to meet her, they stood still, quivering
+with nervous excitement and waving their
+tails in much perplexity. Then as Tito
+began to fret and belabor the air with his
+fists, Nonna started swiftly toward the
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</span>dogs with something threatening in her
+gait.</p>
+
+<p>But where were they, those lazy brutes,
+which a moment before had defied her and
+then had promptly disappeared? A few
+more hasty steps brought Nonna near
+enough to the edge of the descent to see
+both Niero and Bianco crouching over
+Natale on the lower terrace. The boy had
+been awakened by the sudden onset of his
+faithful friends, and lay looking lazily upward
+as Nonna and Tito peered over at
+him.</p>
+
+<p>“Natalino!” the old woman exclaimed,
+and, at the word, Natale scrambled to his
+feet.</p>
+
+<p>“I am ready! Where am I to go?” he
+asked hurriedly, preparing to creep up the
+bank. But Nonna only laughed and
+reached down a helping hand to the child,
+as he clutched at the long grass for support.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</span></p>
+
+<p>“Come and eat your polenta,” she said,
+when Natale stood at her side, the dogs
+panting close by. “I suppose they have
+saved you a bite. Why did you run away?
+Though, as for that, you were not missed
+in all this hurly-burly of arriving. Now,
+Niero, stand on your hind legs and beg.
+See, Tito is fretting for you to do it&mdash;”</p>
+
+<p>“But we haven’t a bone or a crust of
+bread for him, Nonna,” Natale pleaded.
+“See how sadly his eyes look at you.
+Giovanni always gives him a bone.”</p>
+
+<p>“There! take to your legs then, poor
+thing!” Nonna cried in a friendly way
+to the hungry dog. “Perhaps to-morrow
+there will be a bone. Who knows?”</p>
+
+<p>Natale ran off toward the wagon, followed
+by the patient animals, who perhaps were
+well assured that he was going to share with
+them his own scanty heap of polenta.</p>
+
+<p>The brown house on wheels leaned
+slightly inward against the stone wall for
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</span>security, as the hill’s incline was steep at
+this point. The door opened directly upon
+the top of the wall, which formed a broad
+and convenient doorstep, reached from the
+ground by a short ladder. About the
+wagon and in the field close by everybody
+was busy.</p>
+
+<p>The great canvas of the tent had been
+unpacked from the top of the wagon, and
+the two women sat on the ground patching
+the holes and thin places worn in it by long
+use. Some of the men were making trips
+back and forth from wagon and field,
+carrying sections of board for inclosing
+the ring. These were to be set up in their
+places by and by, when Antonio should have
+finished marking off the circle on the grass,
+with the hole in the center for the tent pole.
+There was nothing, as yet, for the children
+to do but loll in the shadow of the wagon,
+asleep or awake, and chatter among themselves.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</span></p>
+
+<p>As Natale and the dogs drew near,
+Elvira, the boy’s mother, looked up from
+her stitching and clapped her hand to her
+forehead on seeing them.</p>
+
+<p>“Natale! I had forgotten the child.
+Little pest, where have you been, away
+from us all, and your dinner? One would
+think you had friends in the town and
+had been taking your polenta in grander
+houses than ours here.”</p>
+
+<p>Natale replied to these mocking words
+with only a rather naughty shrug of the
+shoulders, and went to sit down on the
+lowest step of the short ladder against the
+wall.</p>
+
+<p>“Give him his polenta, Arduina,” Nonna
+called shrilly from a little way behind.
+“He was asleep, Elvira, all tired out with
+walking to-day as much as any man among
+us. I keep my eyes open. Don’t scold the
+boy.”</p>
+
+<p>“One would think my Natale your own
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</span>grandson, Nonna,” Elvira replied, laughing
+good-naturedly.</p>
+
+<p>“All boys are as her own sons or grandsons,”
+Nonna’s daughter-in-law interposed
+carelessly, as the old woman passed on with
+Tito, perhaps to see that Arduina gave
+Natale his proper share of mush.</p>
+
+<p>In Nonna’s big warm heart there was indeed
+room for the sons and grandsons of
+those who were too sparing of motherly
+love and care for their own. The gray-haired
+woman had long ago accepted this
+wandering life for the sake of continuing
+near to her only son, Antonio, the acrobat,
+and Antonio’s children. When her boy at
+the age of twenty-two had given up everything
+that his mother thought of worth in
+the world&mdash;home, a decent, quiet life in
+it, books, school, a career as a priest&mdash;in
+order to marry Cara, a rosy, lithe-limbed
+rope-dancer out of Egypt, he had found that
+his mother was not going to be given up
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</span>along with these. By and by, when the
+babies began to come every year or two,
+Nonna came to be appreciated even by the
+fantastic daughter-in-law given her by
+Antonio, while in the hearts of all the little
+ones Nonna was&mdash;well, Nonna,&mdash;and
+therefore everything good and patient and
+sweet.</p>
+
+<p>It was Nonna who cared for the ailing
+Pietro, who rubbed Natale’s stiff ankles and
+elbows with an ointment of her own invention
+to limber them up, who thought to tuck
+Olga’s long red hair out of the way when
+practice time came and the curling locks
+would have teased the little face and shoulders
+turned upside down and hindside before.
+It was Nonna who nursed the babies
+and put them to bed while the mothers rode
+the horses in the tent, and Nonna who led
+the poor pony about to “fresh fields and
+pastures new”, and Nonna who instructed
+giddy-brained Arduina in the simple mysteries<span class="pagenum" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</span>
+of concocting savory stews out of next to
+nothing, and how to make corn meal for ten
+do service as polenta for twice as many.
+The little troop could not have done without
+Nonna, no, indeed!</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</span></p>
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_III">CHAPTER III<br />
+<span class="smaller">IN THE RING</span></h2></div>
+
+<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap"><span class="dropcap">I</span>t</span> took all of that first day and most of the
+next to get everything into shape for
+an exhibition on the second night after
+the arrival of the circus troop at Cutigliano.</p>
+
+<p>The turf had been removed from the ring,
+or round space inclosed by the low panels
+of wood, and the tent pole erected, by the
+time the canvas was mended and the side
+curtains were ready to be hung.</p>
+
+<p>The sun was just about to slip over the
+mountain rim in the west when everything
+was done, and it only remained to draw the
+stout ropes and hoist the canvas into
+position. Natale was generally on hand
+when this was done, listening for the creaking
+of the pulley at the top of the pole, as
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</span>the dull yellow canvas slowly rose into
+position, till, all at once, it spread like a
+queer, pointed mushroom over the green
+grass of the field.</p>
+
+<p>It was a fortunate thing that there was
+no wind that first evening, for if there had
+been even a stiff breeze there would have
+been no performance. A very little wind
+caught under the canvas spread on that
+exposed hillside before it was securely roped
+into place might have carried it all away to
+be stranded in the tops of the chestnut trees
+below, and a new canvas for such a <i>circo</i>
+as that would have cost certainly three
+hundred francs.</p>
+
+<p>When at last the tent was raised, Giovanni
+hung above the entrance a broad
+strip of blue canvas with clowns’ and
+horses’ heads painted upon it, and the sign
+in large letters: “Circo Equestre”, which
+is Italian for “Circus with Horses.”</p>
+
+<p>Lastly, figured curtains of pale green
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</span>calico were hung around the little vestibule,
+so that outsiders who had not paid the
+entrance fee might not peep inside and see
+what was going on, without payment.</p>
+
+<p>Now all was ready, and it was still early,
+although almost dark in the field. Among
+the mountains, where one lives perhaps at
+the foot or even half-way up the slopes,
+night falls early, because the sinking sun is
+hidden from sight over the mountain tops
+long before it really drops into the sea
+behind them.</p>
+
+<p>Yet it was not quite time to light the
+lamps inside the tent, as the performance
+was not to begin until half-past eight
+o’clock. Cutigliano was full of Italians,
+and a few English and Americans who had
+left the hot cities behind, with their churches
+and picture galleries and ruins, and had
+come to the pleasant hotels of the ancient
+mountain town to enjoy the fine air and
+the beautiful chestnut woods during the hot
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</span>summer months. These visitors would not
+be through with their dinners at the hotels
+before eight o’clock, while the servants and
+plain village folk would find a late hour
+convenient for coming down the hill to the
+yellow tent.</p>
+
+<p>At seven o’clock, however, the three men,
+with the big brass horn, the cornet and the
+drum, climbed the stony street into the town
+and made lively music in the little stone-paved
+<i>piazzas</i>, or open squares, where the
+children played in the sunset light.</p>
+
+<p>By this time everybody in Cutigliano had
+learned what had been going on down in the
+field for the past two days, and many even
+of the rich strangers had made up their
+minds to go to see the show, partly out of
+curiosity, partly out of kindly purpose
+to help the strolling players. It had been
+announced that six <i>soldi</i>, or cents, would
+admit to the side of the ring where there
+would be benches and a chair or two for
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</span>seats, while three cents offered room on the
+other side with a few boards and the green
+grass as accommodation. Visitors were
+invited to bring chairs for their sittings, if
+possible.</p>
+
+<p>The music sounded very brave and loud
+as it returned down the very steepest street
+of all, which ran between high walls past
+Madame Cioche’s English <i>pension</i> or boarding-house
+and ended in the field. As this
+was a dark and even dangerous descent at
+night for the unwary, Antonio had driven
+a nail into a tree at the foot of the street,
+and had hung there a smutty tin lamp, with
+the light flaring and the smoke pouring
+from two long spouts.</p>
+
+<p>Nonna had beguiled most of the children
+away from the tent by this time, and was
+putting the youngest to bed in the wagon,
+while the others rolled over the grass behind
+the tent.</p>
+
+<p>Natale was as busy as a bee in the small
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</span>tent which opened out of the large one.
+This was the dressing room, and the different
+costumes of the actors lay in heaps on
+the boxes scattered about.</p>
+
+<p>As half-past eight o’clock approached,
+the boy became as excited as if this were to
+be his first appearance in public, and he
+kept lifting up the flap of curtain dividing
+the two tents to see how fast the seats were
+filling. The band had brought back a horde
+of village children in its train, and though
+few of these were possessed of the three
+cents charged for children, they served to
+keep up an appearance of bustle and enterprise
+outside, where the band now played
+the National Hymn of Italy gaily in the
+light of the big lamp at the entrance.</p>
+
+<p>Cara, the mother of Olga and the rest of
+the seven, stood in the vestibule and took
+in the great copper cents which by and by
+began to pile up in the bowl on the table.
+She was a very striking person to look at,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</span>with her coal-black hair frizzed bushily on
+each side of her head, with her flashing
+black eyes and her heavy brows, her red,
+red lips and cheeks, and her scarlet and
+black gown. No one dared to slip in behind
+the rustling skirts or portly form of anybody
+without paying, for her piercing eyes
+seemed everywhere. Once or twice, when
+the crowds about the doors seemed to
+hesitate and to wonder whether, after all,
+it were worth while to expend six or even
+three cents for what was to be seen behind
+the curtain, the pretty little figure of her
+Olga was seen to flit, as if by accident,
+across the vestibule, the full light streaming
+over her little full blouse of yellow satin,
+and her pink feet tripping as if on air.</p>
+
+<p>The anxious half-hour of expectation
+ended in the sight of a full circle surrounding
+the ring, and then the band came inside and
+all the performers slipped into the smaller
+tent and hurried on their costumes.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</span></p>
+
+<p>The band played on; Arduina danced a
+measured dance on the tight rope which
+was stretched near the ground; the clown
+made his funny jokes; Antonio performed
+his clever feats on the bars; Elvira rode
+the galloping horses with Cara dancing in
+and out and everywhere, while Giovanni
+cracked the whip and Paulo held the bar
+for Il Duca to leap. The pantomime then
+brought shouts of laughter and loud hand-clappings
+from the spectators; and afterward
+the tumbling began.</p>
+
+<p>There was nothing that Olga loved so
+much, and she showed it in every line of her
+chubby, yet nimble little figure as she came
+prancing into the ring, and then went heels
+over head, over and over again, without
+stopping to breathe, as far as the strip of
+dusty carpet stretched. Then back again
+she tumbled, only stopping to toss a stray
+wisp of hair from her flushed face.</p>
+
+<p>Next Arduina came tripping in, and over
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</span>and over she went too, not so gracefully and
+daintily as Olga had done, for Arduina was
+getting a little too large for that kind of
+thing,&mdash;a great girl of fifteen years.</p>
+
+<p>The clown followed Arduina, dressed in
+his clumsy suit of black and white, and what
+a farce his tumbling was, to be sure; only
+the spectators must have known that he
+failed in order to make them laugh at his
+awkwardness, and make merry they did.</p>
+
+<p>Somehow Natale never quite enjoyed the
+laughter which often accompanied his own
+performances, and now his time had come.</p>
+
+<p>“<i>Ecco!</i> Natalino!” called his stepfather,
+the clown, rushing behind the curtain
+all breathless and covered with dust.
+“Over and over and over you go, youngster,
+without stopping to sneeze between!”</p>
+
+<p>Natale was such a little fellow, so much
+smaller than Olga even, that many of the
+faces outside the ring softened at sight of
+him, as he darted out into the light of the
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</span>lamps and then halted to make his funny
+little salute. He was dressed in imitation
+of the clown, in long black trousers and a
+tailed black coat, with a pointed white
+waistcoat reaching below his waist. With
+an earnest seriousness very different from
+Olga’s smiling grace, Natale turned his first
+somersault, paused on his back, turned
+another jerkily, while the little boys watching
+him hooted, and a ripple of laughter ran
+around the ring. Back again he came,
+however, his thin black legs sprawling in
+air, and his pale little face flushing with the
+exertion. On his feet again, he clapped one
+hand to the back of his neck, bobbed his
+head to the spectators, and trotted off
+behind the friendly curtain, satisfied that
+he had, at least, done as well as usual, and
+pleased with the loud clapping attending
+his exit. Indeed, there was a clapping and
+a calling out of something with laughing
+voices.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</span></p>
+
+<p>“<i>Il picino! Il picino!</i>”<a id="FNanchor_3" href="#Footnote_3" class="fnanchor">[3]</a></p>
+
+<p>“You will have to go back, Natalino,”
+laughed the clown. “Salute them and
+stand on your head, boy, but don’t lose it
+on the way.”</p>
+
+<p>The music played loudly, and Natale
+stepped gravely back again, made his odd
+little bow, and fell over on his hands as the
+first step toward standing on his head.
+Poor, stiff little legs! It took more than
+one effort to throw them into an upright
+position above his head, but finally he really
+did accomplish it, and stood thus several
+seconds while the shouting and laughing
+went on.</p>
+
+<p>When Natale had disappeared a second
+time behind the curtain, there were a few
+grave faces among the laughing ones looking
+on. An English lady whispered to her
+companion and sighed.</p>
+
+<p>“The poor little fellow is evidently afraid
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</span>to disobey that dreadful clown,” she said.
+“Did you see how he trembled as the man
+stood over him, when he tried to stand on
+his head? Something ought to be done to
+put a stop to this, Betty.”</p>
+
+<p>“The child looks weak, as if he were not
+very well fed,” Betty answered, “but I do
+not think he looks unhappy. And the
+clown was certainly smiling, and seemed to
+be standing by as if to help the little boy
+accomplish his wonderful feat, I thought.
+Don’t distress yourself, Aunty. He is just
+learning, it may be, and they bring him in
+to contrast him with that little beauty who
+turned the ‘wheels.’ Send the boy some
+good bread and meat to-morrow, and that
+will be better for him than our empty
+sympathy.”</p>
+
+<p>But “Aunty” was not satisfied, as we
+shall see.</p>
+
+<p>The last act of the evening again brought
+Natale to the fore. The big spotted horse,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</span>Il Duca, was again brought into the ring,
+and after he had cantered gaily around
+inside the ring many times, to the music
+of a schottisch, striking terror to the ladies
+occupying the front seats, with their knees
+pressed against the low barrier, the clown
+suddenly called a halt and caught the
+bridle of the panting steed. Gently the
+solemn strains of the “Dead March”
+sounded through the tent, and Il Duca fell
+slowly and painfully upon his knees, and
+then rolled over upon the ground, apparently
+dying. The light dust of the ring
+stirred under the beast’s laboring nostrils,
+and deep groans issued from his throat,
+while Giovanni stood mournfully by and
+the music played on.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</span></p>
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_IV">CHAPTER IV<br />
+<span class="smaller">THE FESTIVAL OF SAN LORENZO</span></h2></div>
+
+<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap"><span class="dropcap">S</span>uddenly</span> the small black figure of
+Natale appeared, kneeling at the
+horse’s side, although no one had
+seen him slip in. With his hands clasped in
+distress, he lifted his voice in such a disconsolate
+wail that even Betty started and
+wondered if the horse could be really dying.</p>
+
+<p>The solemn march was still sounding in
+the tent, and before speaking the clown gave
+the spectators full time to take in the tragic
+tableau. Then he exclaimed briskly:</p>
+
+<p>“What are you crying about, boy?”</p>
+
+<p>“Because our horse is dead.”</p>
+
+<p>“Do you think he is quite dead, Natale?”</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, quite,” wailed the child.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</span></p>
+
+<p>“Get up and feel his pulse, boy. If there
+is any pulse he is not dead.”</p>
+
+<p>Natale went nearer and took one of the
+great hoofs of the horse fearlessly into his
+little hands, and felt for the “pulse.”</p>
+
+<p>“Well, what do you find?” asked the
+clown impatiently.</p>
+
+<p>“There isn’t any pulse,” the little fellow
+wailed again, laying down the big black
+hoof with the utmost tenderness.</p>
+
+<p>“Too bad,” quoth the clown, taking his
+seat deliberately on the prostrate horse,
+which lay as motionless as if certainly dead.
+Then, all in a moment, Natale’s manner
+changed, and he skipped around in front of
+Giovanni, remarking glibly that the gentleman
+had found a beautiful sofa to sit upon.</p>
+
+<p>“And I shall have a kiss to prove that the
+beast is not dead,” exclaimed the clown,
+chirruping a little and smacking his lips.
+And the great brown head of the horse
+lifted itself from the dust, the graceful neck
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</span>turned, and Il Duca actually kissed his
+master, then scrambled hastily to his feet
+as if glad for that job to be over, while
+Giovanni hurried him out of the ring.</p>
+
+<p>“Such silly jokes!” commented Mrs.
+Bishop, otherwise Aunty, as the performance
+ended, and the rollicking crowd poured
+out of the tent. “Think of my having spent
+two whole hours listening to them, and all
+on pins too, for fear that poor, ill-used child
+should be forced to do some other unchristian
+thing.”</p>
+
+<p>“But, Aunty, what did you expect when
+you came?” Betty asked impatiently.
+“Surely the little show was not bad, and
+there was actually nothing but what was
+quite decent in every way.”</p>
+
+<p>“I call it ‘bad’ to beat and starve children
+into turning themselves into monkeys.”</p>
+
+<p>“If people would not go to see the
+‘monkeys’ it would be stopped,” was
+Betty’s retort.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</span></p>
+
+<p>“Well, I am sure I only went to oblige
+Mrs. Choky,” Aunty said in an injured tone.
+“She said she thought we ought to encourage
+the poor people on their first night. But it
+will be my last night there, as I shall very
+soon inform her. ‘Encourage’ them to
+martyrize that poor child, indeed!”</p>
+
+<p>From the first performance in Cutigliano,
+therefore, Natale’s trouble began, although
+he did not know it. Contented and tired he
+lay down in his corner of the brown house
+on wheels and went to sleep, while the men
+let down the big yellow canvas of the large
+tent and furled it about the pole. But
+first, he ate his supper of macaroni with
+the rest of the actors, gathered in the small
+tent behind. Midnight suppers were the
+rule on the nights when there were performances,
+as it would have been at the
+risk of upsetting their stomachs in more
+ways than one to eat food beforehand.</p>
+
+<p>Later, the stars kept quiet watch above
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</span>the little encampment, where even Pietro
+slept well, with the open house door admitting
+the fresh air of the mountains.</p>
+
+<p>For ten days the yellow “mushroom”
+spread over the grass of the field, although
+very much in the way of the fine city gentlemen,
+playing at ball with bats like tambourines.
+The noisy music at night and the
+cheering in the tent may have kept the
+invalids in the nearest boarding-houses
+awake and nervous, and the people at large
+may have grown tired of the performances
+which they soon learned by heart, but no
+one felt inclined to hustle the poor people
+away, and no one grumbled except Mrs.
+Bishop.</p>
+
+<p>There was something pathetic about the
+clown in his everyday dress, his gayety and
+paint all gone and the deep lines of his face
+showing too plainly in the garish light of
+day, as he pottered about the tent, adjusting ropes,
+and keeping off the village boys
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</span>who would throw stones upon the old
+canvas, or play hide and seek among the
+curtains. It gave one a queer feeling, also,
+to fancy the drooping figure of Pietro, with
+his pure little face like alabaster, a member
+of the “wicked circus troop.”</p>
+
+<p class="p2b">This child was perhaps twelve years old,
+and he had the face of an angel. He had
+begun to lose his daily feverishness after a
+week in the mountains, and was soon able
+to limp, and later to run feebly about the
+field with the village boys.</p>
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 350px;">
+<a id="illo1"><img src="images/i_044.jpg" width="350" alt="Mrs. Bishop looked down upon the tent from the garden terrace."
+title=""  /></a></div></div>
+
+<p class="caption">Mrs. Bishop looked down upon the tent from the garden terrace.<br />
+<span class="center"><i>Page <a href="#Page_45">45.</a></i></span></p>
+
+<p class="p2">But Natale, spidery little Natale, interested
+every one more even than did Pietro.
+Yet he looked only an everyday lad during
+the long summer days, when he trotted up
+and down, to and from the town, carrying
+now a bowl of this, now a flask of that,
+but always carrying something. To most
+people he seemed as happy as the days were
+long, just as ready for a chat with a strange
+foreigner who might address him in broken
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</span>Italian as with old Sora Teresa who sold
+fruit and vegetables in the piazza, and who
+sometimes presented him with a ripe red
+tomato, or a slice of melon all green and
+pink.</p>
+
+<p>But Mrs. Bishop looked down upon the
+tent from the garden terrace of Madame
+Cioche’s boarding-house every day, and
+slowly formed a plan for making Natale’s
+life happier. Poor little Natale!</p>
+
+<p>The terrace garden above the field was
+shaded with plane trees and the mountain
+ash, and the grass was soft and richly green.
+Each afternoon some of the boarders would
+gather at the palings on the edge of this
+garden and watch the gentlemen playing
+ball below, and the village boys imitating
+Olga and Natale at turning somersaults and
+wheels.</p>
+
+<p>One afternoon, while the boarders were
+drinking tea under the ash trees, with the
+berries overhead turning red, and the sun
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</span>streaming across the croquet ground, there
+came a knock at the side door of the boarding-house.
+Madame Cioche herself opened
+the door, and there stood Natale, smiling
+up into her face, with the old blue hat set
+far back on his dark curls. The lady
+noticed that the boy’s face was very clean.</p>
+
+<p>“Happy day to you,” he said brightly,
+using the peasant form of address, “and
+my mamá says will you please send her a cup
+of tea? She is feeling ill to-day.”</p>
+
+<p>Of course Madame Cioche would send the
+tea, fetching it herself from the dining room
+and handing it to the boy. But she kept
+Natale a moment to ask how it was that his
+mamá could possibly like tea.</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, but she has it every day when we
+are in Egypt,” was the reply. “And to-day
+her head aches. Thank you, Signora.”
+And Natale went off down the hill carrying
+the big cup as carefully as his bowls and
+flasks were always carried.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</span></p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Bishop overheard the word “Egypt”
+and sighed.</p>
+
+<p>The next day was Sunday and an important
+festival, being the day of San
+Lorenzo. A great harvest of <i>soldi</i> was
+expected, as peasants from all the mountain
+villages would come trooping in that day,
+to go to high mass in the church under the
+old mountain firs, and to take part in the procession
+of the “saints” in the afternoon. So
+there was, of course, to be a performance in
+the tent that day, but in the afternoon this
+time, just after the procession, instead of
+in the evening, when everybody would be
+tired or toiling homeward along the dark
+mountain ways. As there was nothing for
+him to do about the tent, however, until
+five o’clock should boom from the stone
+tower of the church, Natale made good use
+of his legs during the whole day, for there
+was much to see.</p>
+
+<p>Betty Bishop had tossed a penny into his
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</span>hands down over the garden palings that
+very Sunday morning. Perhaps she was
+thinking of some little child at home in
+England who would be clamoring for a
+penny to carry to Sunday school, but
+Natale had no thought of dropping his
+precious two <i>soldi</i> into the priest’s collecting
+bag in the church.</p>
+
+<p>The <i>piazza</i> was too fascinating a place to
+be passed by, when one held a penny of his
+own fast in his fist. With the dogs on each
+side of him, therefore, Natale spent most
+of the day above in the town, going from
+booth to booth, and in fancy spending his
+money over and over again. There were
+sweets of various kinds offered for sale on
+the little tables along the steep, narrow
+streets, and booths of everything from
+coarse stuffs and ready-made clothing to
+breastpins of gay mosaic work and filigree
+rings.</p>
+
+<p>Everywhere Natale was jostled by the
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</span>peasants who all through the morning had
+flocked to the town, dressed in their best
+clothes and wearing holiday looks on their
+faces. The women and girls wore gay
+kerchiefs on their heads, with brilliant
+borderings and flowing ends, while even the
+men wore bits of vivid color in the shape of
+gorgeous neck scarfs spread over their white
+shirt fronts. Mingled with these walked the
+lords and ladies of a higher class dressed
+according to the fashion plates of Paris, and
+seeming to enjoy the hot sunshine and the
+gay restiveness of the multitude as much as
+the plainer folk. All day the frolic and
+prayers and the music of the town band and
+the church organ went on in the little town,
+till mid-afternoon, when there fell a hush
+over all and a great expectation.</p>
+
+<p>Natale had not a very good place from
+which to see the procession pass, for he
+stood between a very stout peasant woman
+and a visiting priest in his full black gown.
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</span>Still, he managed to peer from under their
+elbows without attracting their attention,
+and he was content, holding securely in one
+hand, meanwhile, the balloon whistle which
+he had finally purchased with his penny.
+The pretty red bubble of rubber had not
+yet burst, and Natale was happy in its
+possession. The handful of crisp wafers
+flavored with anise seed, which he had
+almost bought&mdash;so very foolish he had
+been&mdash;would have been eaten long ere
+this, and it would be as if he had never had
+a penny of his own tossed over the fence to
+him by a smiling young lady, but now he
+still had the whistle!</p>
+
+<p>On they came, the straggling company
+of men and boys, dressed in white gowns
+and cowls, and bearing huge lighted
+candles in their hands. Natale thought he
+would like to have been one of the two boys
+bearing the immense candlesticks of brass;
+yet, after all, the candlesticks must be very
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</span>heavy, and they were propped very uncomfortably
+on the little boys’ stomachs,
+and very red and perspiring were the little
+boys’ faces.</p>
+
+<p>Natale thought the men’s feet ugly and
+clumsy, showing below the white gowns,
+and their harsh, chanting voices made him
+shiver. But he could not follow the awkward
+marching steps of the peasants with
+laughing looks as some of the onlookers
+were doing, for here, behind the banners and
+crucifixes, came two very curious-looking
+objects.</p>
+
+<p>“<i>Ecco!</i> the dead saints!” he exclaimed
+softly to himself. “How heavy they must
+be in the glass boxes on the men’s shoulders.
+Yet our Antonio Bisbini would never bend
+so under a small box as those men do.
+Ah! but the little girls are pretty, so pretty
+in their white veils, and scattering flowers
+before the saints.”</p>
+
+<p>The crowd closed in upon the end of the
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</span>procession now, and Natale could see no
+more, as he was nearly overturned where
+he stood. After a breathless moment or
+two, he found himself left in peace and
+quiet under the great old fir trees in front
+of the church, with the crowd all gone and
+Nicro and Bianco with them.</p>
+
+<p>Nonna had told him to be sure and see
+the saints, if possible, so he went into the
+dark old church and sat down on a low chair
+to wait for the procession to return. He
+knew that San Lorenzo and Sant’ Aurelio
+would surely be brought back to spend the
+night in the church, perhaps in front of the
+candle-lighted altar, and he wished to
+please Nonna. It was dark and quiet in
+his corner under the organ gallery, and it
+was a very easy and natural thing for a tired
+little boy to fall asleep in that quiet place.</p>
+
+<p>When the procession returned after half
+an hour, it was without the blare of trumpets
+and the crash of organ music, though for a
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</span>long while shuffling feet passed in and out.
+This continued until everybody had looked
+at the two saints robed in costly garments
+and reposing now at full length on their
+satin cushions within their caskets of glass
+set before the altar. Many touched the
+rich cloths draping the caskets with reverent
+fingers, and pressed kisses on the cold
+glass before passing out into the radiant
+sunset light.</p>
+
+<p>When Natale waked, the church doors
+were still open, but only one light swung
+before the high altar, and there was no
+trace anywhere of dead saint or living soul.
+He groped his way among the disarranged
+chairs and benches quite to the altar rail,
+but even the empty biers had been borne
+away to some inner recess of the church, so,
+with a dread that he had overslept awaking
+in his mind, Natale found his way out of
+the church again.</p>
+
+<p>The purple bloom of evening was creeping
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</span>up the mountain sides, and a star glowed in
+the sky. Just above the mountain line in
+the west the crescent moon hovered, as if
+uncertain over which side to sink. The
+dread in Natale’s mind had nothing to do
+with saints or dark churches. On awaking,
+his first sensation had been a fear that he
+might have missed the afternoon performance
+in the beloved tent, and now, standing
+outside the church in the dusk, he knew that
+he had missed it!</p>
+
+<p>With a sob in his throat he turned his
+face from the telltale sky, and fled through
+the village down to the field. When he
+reached the wagon,&mdash;for he would not go
+to the tent, quiet now and unlighted,&mdash;the
+first words he heard came from Olga:</p>
+
+<p>“Have you not heard, Natalino? Giovanni
+has lost a hundred francs! Somebody
+stole them when he changed his coat
+in the little tent. Yes, I know you were not
+there! We wondered where you could be!”</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</span></p>
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_V">CHAPTER V<br />
+<span class="smaller">A GIFT FOR THE CIRCUS</span></h2></div>
+
+<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap"><span class="dropcap">N</span>atale</span> held his breath with horror.
+One hundred francs lost! And he
+not at hand to hear of it, to help
+look for the money, among the very first?
+He could not ask Olga how it had happened,
+because his heart was almost too
+disappointed and sore for words. He sat
+down on the wall, with his back toward
+the tent, and waited for her to tell all
+about the loss, although he was not at all
+certain that she would condescend to do
+so. In fact, she said not a word more,
+but stood in front of Natale, wondering
+not a little at his unusual quiet.</p>
+
+<p>“You are sulky!” she exclaimed finally,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</span>“and Giovanni is very angry with you. So
+am I, for I had to feel Il Duca’s pulse, and
+I did not like it at all. Suppose he had
+kicked me, seeing that it was not you.”</p>
+
+<p>“Il Duca was dead!” Natale retorted,
+with a twinkle in his eye, if only Olga could
+have seen it. “He would not know you
+from me!”</p>
+
+<p>“Dead!” cried Olga. “I believe you
+truly do think that, when you set up your
+crying, Natale; really I did not do it half
+so well as you,” she confessed honestly.</p>
+
+<p>“But you ‘wheel’ much better than I
+do,” Natale conceded with ready generosity
+in return.</p>
+
+<p>“Il Duca did not shut his eyes at all,”
+Olga went on, nodding assent to Natale’s
+remark, “and I am sure he <i>winked</i> at me,
+Natale, just to frighten me. It did not
+take <i>me</i> long to feel his pulse! But where
+were you, Natalino, all the time? Nonna
+said she was afraid some of the peasants had
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</span>stolen you and carried you off, when Niero
+and Bianco came home without you.”</p>
+
+<p>“As if they would have let anybody steal
+me! Olga, I went to sleep in the church,
+waiting for the saints to come back, and
+when I waked it was dark, almost as dark
+as this!”</p>
+
+<p>“Oho! then you must have been in the
+church when Arduina and I went in to look
+at the saints. Arduina said&mdash;but you
+must not dare to tell anybody&mdash;she said
+that she did not believe there were any
+bones under the saints’ fine velvet robes
+because San Lorenzo had a hand of pink
+wax, and the rest of him looked rather
+stuffed. But do not tell Nonna, Natale!”</p>
+
+<p>“Arduina is very wicked,” said Natale,
+but he laughed with Olga, and then felt
+much better, and as if he could ask about
+the losing of the money.</p>
+
+<p>They were in a little nook to themselves,
+behind the wagon, and no one heeded them.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</span></p>
+
+<p>“<i>Ecco!</i> it was this way,” Olga began,
+charmed to be the first to recount the misfortune
+to Natale, who was usually behind
+none in his knowledge of the affairs of the
+company. “Just when Giovanni was going
+in to do the clown in the first dance on
+the rope, the Signor Barbera, the stable
+man, came behind the big tent with his bill
+for keeping the horses, and Giovanni took
+the big pocketbook out of the pocket of
+his coat&mdash;”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, I know which pocket,” Natale
+interposed. “I saw him put the money
+there this morning.”</p>
+
+<p>“Well, the signor could not make the
+change, so he told Giovanni it was all right,
+and any time would do, and then Antonio
+rang the bell for Giovanni, and he just put
+the pocketbook back in his coat and hung
+the coat on the nail in the little tent, and
+hurried on the black coat, and went into the
+ring.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</span></p>
+
+<p>“Yes, and then?” asked Natale breathlessly.</p>
+
+<p>“When he came back, he saw his coat on
+the ground, and he knew he had hung it up.
+‘How comes my coat on the ground?’ he
+said, very loud indeed, and your mamá told
+him he must have put it there himself.
+But he did not hear her, because he was
+shaking the coat and feeling in the pocket,&mdash;but
+there was nothing there!</p>
+
+<p>“We made a great fuss about it,”
+Olga ended, shrugging her shoulders and
+throwing up her hands, “but what was
+the use?”</p>
+
+<p>Natale was silent with dismay. A hundred
+francs meant so much. It was all
+that they had made during the ten days’
+stay at Cutigliano, and now it was gone,
+in a moment.</p>
+
+<p>“The stable man?” he questioned in a
+distressed tone of voice, and very low.</p>
+
+<p>“No, Giovanni said it could not have been
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</span>the signor. He is a rich man and honest,
+everybody says.”</p>
+
+<p>So subdued were they all over the trouble
+of the afternoon that not even Elvira
+thought it worth while to scold the quiet
+boy who presently slipped in among the
+little crowd of players in the tent, deep in
+fruitless discussion over their grievous loss.
+They had had a crowded tent that afternoon,
+and the receipts had been so good that
+this evening would have been one of rejoicing
+if only the money for the labors of the
+ten other days and nights had been again
+safe in Giovanni’s pocket. There was not
+the slightest clew to the thief, as no stranger
+had been known to enter the tent, and
+Giovanni had even interviewed the Signor
+Barbera from outside the doorway. It had
+been necessary to be on the lookout for
+possible thieving, as the field was crowded
+all the afternoon with strange peasants,
+attracted by the band music and the big
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</span>yellow tent, and by peddlers with their
+wares. One very decent-looking peddler
+had begged pretty, vain Arduina to look at
+his beautiful jewelry and ribbons, but she
+had refused him entrance very reluctantly,
+and Giovanni himself had noticed how
+patiently and decorously the man had
+turned away. He had worn a red fez cap
+over his long black hair, and his bushy
+black beard had reached nearly to his waist.</p>
+
+<p>“I saw him!” Emilio, one of the musicians
+exclaimed, “and his legs were as
+crooked as Pietro’s, only they bent out at
+the knee instead of in!” There was a laugh
+at this sally, but Pietro frowned and muttered
+something about Emilio’s having
+little right to criticize the legs of others.</p>
+
+<p>“I met such a man as I came out of the
+church in the crowd,” said Nonna, hastening
+to speak that a dispute might be avoided.
+“He walked very well notwithstanding his
+poor, bent legs, and he asked me if he were
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</span>too late to get a glimpse of the blessed
+relics. A politer man I never saw, though
+Tito was afraid of him, and began to cry
+when the man snapped his fingers at him.”</p>
+
+<p>Poor Natale felt so left out in the cold
+with this talk that he could not bear it long,
+and was just about to creep away, down to
+his corner in the wagon, when a strange
+hand lifted a corner of the tent flap, and a
+strange voice inquired for “<i>Il piccolo
+Natale</i>.”</p>
+
+<p>“Some ladies up at the house there have
+a little present for you all,” the black-coated
+Italian butler of the boarding-house
+announced, peering in upon the group
+gathered about the sputtering lamp inside,
+“but they wish to send it down by the boy,
+Natale.”</p>
+
+<p>Then Natale was himself again, and without
+demur or bashfulness presented himself
+to the servant.</p>
+
+<p>“It is well you turned up in time, Natalino,”<span class="pagenum" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</span>
+said the clown, giving him a little
+shove toward the dignified butler waiting
+just outside. “Perhaps Olga would not
+have done, in this case. Off with you to the
+<i>forestieri</i><a id="FNanchor_4" href="#Footnote_4" class="fnanchor">[4]</a> above!”</p>
+
+<p>Many a boy would have been abashed at
+finding himself the center of such a group as
+awaited Natale in the hallway of the house
+in the garden. But Natale was too well
+accustomed to an array of faces fixed upon
+him to make the least show of bashfulness.
+The lady of the house, whose pleasant face
+he knew very well, laid her hand on his
+shoulder and asked him kindly in Italian if
+anything had been heard of the money lost
+that afternoon, and her soft, dark eyes
+looked sympathetically into his own.</p>
+
+<p>“No, signora, and my papá says we shall
+never see a <i>soldo</i> of it again,” was Natale’s
+prompt answer.</p>
+
+<p>“Ask him if they have any idea of the
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</span>person who stole it,” Betty Bishop suggested
+in English, and Madame Cioche did so.
+Natale’s answer to this was more expressive
+than polite perhaps, for without words he
+simply raised his shoulders as high as
+possible, pressing his elbows against his
+sides, and spreading his hands wide to indicate
+the complete ignorance of his people
+as to the coward who had taken their hard-earned
+money. And the drawn-down
+corners of his mouth so changed the expression
+of his face that one would hardly
+have known him.</p>
+
+<p>“Who would have believed the child
+could make himself so ugly,” Mrs. Bishop
+exclaimed. “Have you no tongue, boy,
+to answer properly?”</p>
+
+<p>But as English words were far less intelligible
+to Natale than Caffero’s whinny,
+or Niero’s bark, he only looked up into
+Madame Cioche’s face and smiled.</p>
+
+<p>“There! it is a bonny little face after
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</span>all,” said that lady, “and now shall we give
+him the money and send him away?”</p>
+
+<p>“No, let me speak to him first,” demanded
+Mrs. Bishop, “and you, Mrs.
+Choky, must interpret. Ask him if he likes
+to be a wicked little circus boy.”</p>
+
+<p>“Aunty!” gasped Betty.</p>
+
+<p>“Never mind, I have a reason for my
+question, Betty. Hush, what does he
+say?”</p>
+
+<p>“Do you like to play in the circus, dear?”
+asked Mrs. Cioche’s kind voice, in Italian.</p>
+
+<p>Natale’s eyes shone.</p>
+
+<p>“Ah, yes, signora! And when I am a
+man, I shall be another Antonio Bisbini.”</p>
+
+<p>“He says he likes it very much, Mrs.
+Bishop,” was the interpretation.</p>
+
+<p>“Already corrupted, poor boy, and so
+young!” the old lady sighed, while Betty
+laughed outright.</p>
+
+<p>“Ask him if he would not like better to
+have some nice clothes, and go to school,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</span>and grow up to be a decent man some day,
+Mrs. Choky.” That lady hesitated a little
+before putting this question into Italian.</p>
+
+<p>“What does she say to me?” Natale
+asked, his brown eyes twinkling as he looked
+from one to the other, his teeth showing
+white between his red lips. Natale’s was
+a wide, good-natured mouth, very prone to
+laugh upon small provocation.</p>
+
+<p>“She wants to know if you would not like
+to go to school, and learn to read and write,”
+said Madame Cioche.</p>
+
+<p>“And leave the <i>circo</i>?” Natale asked with
+a gasp.</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, you could not go to school unless
+you should stop in one place, you know.”</p>
+
+<p>“And not travel about with the horses
+and wagon any more, and leave Nonna?”</p>
+
+<p>“Of course, Natale. But she is only asking
+you about it, <i>carino</i>, so do not look so
+troubled.”</p>
+
+<p>Natale laughed then, and happily.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</span></p>
+
+<p>“She wanted to find out how much I love
+the <i>circo</i>!” he exclaimed. “Please tell her,
+signora. You know, how we all love the
+<i>circo</i>!”</p>
+
+<p>“I think I do, Natale. He does not want
+to go to school, Mrs. Bishop,” turning to the
+eager old lady, “because he loves his life
+with the circus and his own people too
+much.”</p>
+
+<p>“And he does not wish to leave his grandmother,”
+chimed in Betty who had very
+cleverly picked up a good deal of Italian
+during a winter and summer in Italy, and
+all grandmothers are Nonnas in that land.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Bishop was silent for a moment, her
+gaze taking in every detail of Natale’s little
+figure standing sturdily before her, dusty
+shoes, and rough peasant leggings, velveteen
+trousers, faded blue blouse, and rumpled
+curls, with the old hat held in one sun-burned
+hand. His face was not so clean as
+usual now, and there were tired circles about
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</span>his eyes. It had been a long, exciting summer’s
+day.</p>
+
+<p>“Children&mdash;especially boys&mdash;do not
+know what is best for themselves,” she said
+presently, bending her brows, but not in the
+least frightening Natale, “and I am not going
+to give up my plan, for this baby’s
+nonsense. Why, he cannot be over eight
+years old, at the most.”</p>
+
+<p>“Here, Natale,” said Madame Cioche,
+judging that the interview might well be
+concluded, and handing the boy a small
+packet. “Take this to your papá, and tell
+him that the ladies and gentlemen in my
+house have heard of the loss of the money,
+and are sending him thirty-five francs as
+a little present. Can you carry it safely?”</p>
+
+<p>Again Natale’s sweet smile broke over his
+face, but he only nodded happily in reply,
+tucking the money away in the bosom of his
+blouse.</p>
+
+<p>“Ask him how long they are going to
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</span>stay,” Mrs. Bishop called after Madame
+Cioche, who was going to the gate with
+Natale.</p>
+
+<p>“He says that the <i>sindaco</i>&mdash;the mayor&mdash;has
+offered them the use of the field for
+another week,” Madame Cioche said, her
+eyes glowing, as she returned to the hall.
+“I am glad of that, as the poor creatures
+will need all they can make here, now.”</p>
+
+<p>“I call it a sort of punishment, their losing
+the money when playing on Sunday,” Mrs.
+Bishop said severely, and one or two other
+English ladies nodded their approval of this
+speech. “And I think the whole business
+wrong and that it ought to be discouraged.
+I was not at all sure about the propriety of
+giving my francs to your little collection,
+Mrs. Choky.”</p>
+
+<p>“Would it have been more Christian to
+have let them suffer, perhaps for food, and
+the poor beasts too?” the hostess asked,
+pausing on her way through the hall.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</span></p>
+
+<p>“But surely you think circusing wrong
+and <i>un</i>christian?” the disputative old lady
+exclaimed.</p>
+
+<p>“Aunty, do be quiet,” cried Betty
+warmly. “I am sure you ought not to
+dispute ‘on Sunday’! Besides,” she added,
+as everybody laughed, and two or three
+softly applauded, “they make their living
+that way, and we cannot change them into
+farmers, or preachers. But I think it is
+always wrong not to help honest people who
+are in trouble.”</p>
+
+<p>“If they <i>are</i> honest,” Mrs. Bishop remonstrated,
+but under her breath, this time,
+for Madame Cioche’s eyes were sparkling,
+and she seemed waiting to speak.</p>
+
+<p>“Those poor creatures down there deserve
+nothing but praise,” she said stoutly;
+“they are quiet folks, who teach their children
+obedience and keep themselves
+remarkably clean and mended. If they
+make their living in a way we do not approve,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</span>
+we cannot change them, as Miss
+Betty says, but we can feed them when they
+are hungry, and that seems to me not
+‘unchristian’!”</p>
+
+<p>“I am afraid she has a little temper,”
+said Mrs. Bishop, as their hostess went
+upstairs.</p>
+
+<p>“A temper I like!” exclaimed a gentleman
+who had before kept silent, looking up
+from his book. “But do you still think of
+carrying out your plan, Mrs. Bishop?”</p>
+
+<p>“If possible, certainly,” was the reply,
+while Betty, shaking her head, walked out
+into the garden. There, under the stars,
+she stood looking down upon the tent in the
+field. There was no wind, and the heavens
+were fair, so the canvas had not been furled.</p>
+
+<p>“I should like it myself,” she murmured.
+“What a fascinating life to live! Camping
+out the year round in Italy, with no troublesome
+dressing four times a day, no tiresome
+<i>table-d’hôte</i> dinners at night. But after all
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</span>I should not like to be that girl,&mdash;Arduina,
+they call her. Of course, Aunty is right
+about the rope dancing and other ‘circusing’
+on Sunday, only she need not be quite
+so fussy over what we certainly cannot help.
+Poor Natale! how disturbed he did look
+when Madame Cioche asked him about
+going to school!”</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</span></p>
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_VI">CHAPTER VI<br />
+<span class="smaller">SEPARATION</span></h2></div>
+
+<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap"><span class="dropcap">N</span>atale</span> lay flat on the grass, his
+face hidden on his arms, and his
+feet rebelliously kicking the ground.
+The added week granted by the mayor
+had passed, and the circus-wagon was
+about to move on.</p>
+
+<p>“You are only to try it, child, and if it
+will not do, you can come back to us. One
+year is not a hundred.”</p>
+
+<p>No reply from Natale.</p>
+
+<p>“You ought to think, sometimes, of how
+many mouths your stepfather has to fill,”
+another voice began. “Five children, and
+not one his own.”</p>
+
+<p>“Why did he marry us then?” fiercely
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</span>muttered Natale, but without lifting his
+head, so perhaps nobody heard.</p>
+
+<p>“You will have new clothes and shoes!”</p>
+
+<p>“And a new hat, Natalino!”</p>
+
+<p>“And you will learn to read much faster
+than I can teach you ’Lino, with all the
+practicings and the journeyings. Perhaps
+you will even learn to be as clever as my
+Antonio was, before&mdash;” Nonna ended with
+a sigh instead of more words.</p>
+
+<p>The women and girls were in the side
+tent, busied about dinner, and Nonna
+would not finish her sentence in the presence
+of Antonio’s wife.</p>
+
+<p>“I would rather be our Antonio than&mdash;than
+the King or the <i>principino</i>,”<a id="FNanchor_5" href="#Footnote_5" class="fnanchor">[5]</a> Natale
+cried helplessly. Then he sat up on the
+worn grass, and faced them all, tearful but
+resolute. “I shall not stay here with the
+priest and go to school, mamá,” he said
+earnestly. “You shall not leave me behind<span class="pagenum" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</span>
+and take Maria and Pietro and the
+rest.”</p>
+
+<p>“Perhaps we can persuade Giovanni to
+leave little Bianco with you, if the good
+priest does not object,” Nonna whispered
+in his ear.</p>
+
+<p>“No, I shall go with you,” returned
+Natale.</p>
+
+<p>“Ah! what is all this?” came suddenly
+in Giovanni’s gruff, good-natured tones.
+“What? Natale will not stay? The beautiful
+little star of the ring will not leave us
+in the darkness?” And the clown entered
+the tent and flung himself down, laughing,
+beside the little boy.</p>
+
+<p>“Hurry with the polenta, Arduina,” he
+called to his stepdaughter, who had lifted
+her hot face from the steam of the mush pot
+to laugh at the man’s rough wit. “The
+biggest hole yet torn in the tent must be
+mended this afternoon, and the canvas is
+almost dry now in this wind. If it had not
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</span>rained yesterday, and if the wind had not
+played us such a trick on the very eve of
+our going, we should have made our fortunes
+yesterday. A cattle fair does not
+offer itself every day, with its crowd of
+country bumpkins who never saw a man
+in tights. Now, that will do, Natale,”
+turning to the boy, who was sniffing
+audibly. “Hours ago it was all decided,
+and there is nothing more to be said.”</p>
+
+<p>“Then I am <i>not</i> to stay in this horrid
+place, Giovanni&mdash;papá&mdash;”</p>
+
+<p>“‘Giovanni&mdash;papá&mdash;!’ No more of
+these tears, Natalino. You are to stay in
+this beautiful place, and after polenta, you
+are to go up to the garden and thank the
+lady.”</p>
+
+<p>With a loud, rebellious howl, Natale
+sprang to his feet and rushed out into the
+open air. Nor did he stop until he stood
+among the briar bushes below the garden
+palings. Clenching his small grimy fists, he
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</span>stood there looking up toward the many-windowed
+<i>pension</i> and shook them vehemently,
+while his shrill voice cried out
+passionately:</p>
+
+<p>“I shall not stay here! I shall not go to
+school! I like my old hat, and I want
+Nonna to teach me to read. I shall never
+thank you, <i>never</i>, <span class="allsmcap">NEVER</span>, NEVER!”</p>
+
+<p>He had seen no one in the garden, and
+was only addressing the whole houseful of
+his enemies up there in the big yellow building
+with the staring windows. Why should
+they interfere with him? Why should
+any one be trying to make him wretched,&mdash;the
+most wretched boy in all Italy?</p>
+
+<p>“Heyday! what’s all this about?” and
+a white-haired old man, speaking from the
+garden, came close to the palings and looked
+over at the small, threatening figure among
+the bushes. “I cannot understand your
+gibberish, if you are talking to me. You
+would better go away now, little boy, or
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</span>some of your people will come and whip
+you.”</p>
+
+<p>“How suddenly you stopped the noise,
+Mr. Grantly,” exclaimed Betty, coming up
+to his side. “Who was it? Why, Aunty’s
+little protégé, Natale! How pitiful he
+looks, walking away as if his feelings were
+hurt. You must have frightened him.”</p>
+
+<p>“Not a bit of it, ma’am. He frightened
+<i>me</i> with his fierce little voice. It came
+suddenly, just as I was dropping off to
+sleep in my chair. It is a relief to have
+them moving on this afternoon, with their
+horns and drum. But that boy stays,
+some one tells me. Is it possible that the
+family agreed to give him up? I have
+understood that the Italians cling to each
+other as much as even we do in America
+or England. Do they really leave the
+child?”</p>
+
+<p>“For more money than he could ever
+bring them by his somersaulting, yes,”
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</span>Betty answered. “Sometimes I think
+Aunty really does not know what to do
+with her money,” the girl went on confidentially
+to the old gentleman, who was
+listening with interest. “Now, that boy
+has no desire to be taken away from ‘the
+evil life he is leading’ in Aunty’s estimation,
+and he does not wish to be sent to school
+and become ‘a decent man.’”</p>
+
+<p>“Ah! tell me the whole plan, now. I
+heard something of it a few days ago.”</p>
+
+<p>“It is very simple&mdash;all but getting Natale
+to agree to being imposed upon,” Betty went
+on a little vexedly. “Aunty has had the
+stepfather and the mother up here several
+times this past week to be talked to, and
+an old woman who seems to be the grandmother
+of them all. Miss Lorini has done
+all the interpreting, and also saw the priest
+about it, as Madame Cioche would not.
+They have agreed to leave Natale here for
+one year; he is to be taken care of by the
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</span>priest’s mother, and to be sent to school and
+made ‘decent,’ poor little fellow.”</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Grantly laughed, but said nothing, for
+his heart was still young and understanding
+of boyish hearts, if his head was white, and
+he felt a wise interest in Mrs. Bishop’s
+philanthropic scheme.</p>
+
+<p>“Aunty is to pay everything, and she
+says she thinks she knows now why all the
+hotels up at Abetone were full so she could
+not get a good room there for these three
+weeks. She finds that she was ‘ordained’
+to rescue a boy from his persecutors, as she
+persists in calling the circus men. It is
+supposed, I believe, that all little boys and
+girls of circuses have been stolen from kind
+parents, and if not are half-killed with
+cruelty by their own.”</p>
+
+<p>“You speak very warmly, young lady,”
+Mr. Grantly remarked, a little reproof in his
+tone. “There is no doubt that many such
+children do suffer and are very unhappy.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</span></p>
+
+<p>“Those certainly do not!” retorted Betty,
+pointing to a number of the circus children
+frolicking in the field with Niero and Bianco.
+Olga’s red cotton dress was flitting over the
+grass, and her merry laugh was echoed by
+the other little ones, as Niero finally caught
+her red skirts in the chase.</p>
+
+<p>“Of course the clown objected at first,”
+Betty continued, “but Aunty was more
+determined than he and soon proved to
+him that it would be worth his while to
+agree. The old lady, whom they call
+Nonna, was curiously anxious for Natale
+to have a chance at schooling. I wondered
+at that till I heard about her son.”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, I know,” Mr. Grantly assented.
+“Some, however, would think he had made
+a very fair exchange in giving up the future
+of a priest for the easy, out-of-doors life of
+an acrobat. There is no accounting for tastes,
+though. And is this boy to be made a priest?”</p>
+
+<p>“Only let my Aunty hear you say that!”
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</span>laughed the girl. “No, indeed, but the
+priest was the only one who would agree to
+be troubled with the child, after Miss Lorini
+had explained all Aunty’s conditions&mdash;how
+Natale was to have a cold bath every morning,
+meat to eat every day, and new shoes
+as soon as his old ones come into holes.
+The priest, too, has agreed to write a letter
+to Aunty every month to tell her of Natale’s
+progress&mdash;”</p>
+
+<p>“Toward growing into a ‘decent man’?”
+interposed Mr. Grantly. “Well, I hope the
+plan will work well for all parties. Few
+Italian peasant lads get such a chance.”
+Then the old gentleman went back to his
+chair to continue his nap.</p>
+
+<p>All that afternoon, until four o’clock,
+there was an unusual bustle going on about
+the little encampment. The tattered,
+damp, half-ruined canvas was rolled up and
+packed along with poles and planks and
+ropes on a small cart hired for this occasion,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</span>
+while the cooking utensils and the
+scant furniture of the tents were gathered
+together for conveyance in the house-wagon.
+It was a cold and dreary day, following the
+night of stormy wind, with the clouds settling
+close about the mountain tops and the
+wind sweeping down the valley wet with
+rain. And in the heart of Natale there
+was even less promise of sunshine. He sat
+apart from the others on the damp wall,
+frowning and sullen.</p>
+
+<p>Half an hour before, he had been almost
+forcibly dragged up the hill to the house in
+the garden by Giovanni, who had made
+little jokes to hide the sulkiness of the boy’s
+replies to the questions of the ladies gathered
+there. Madame Cioche had promptly hidden
+herself when she saw the green gate
+open and the pair coming in, but the clown
+had walked directly through the hall and up
+to the little table where Mrs. Bishop sat
+taking her tea.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</span></p>
+
+<p>No command of Giovanni nor persuasion
+of Miss Lorini, who was an artist, could
+induce Natale to say: “Thank you, signora,
+for your kindness.” His revolt had
+been beforehand hushed into silence by
+some very plain threats of punishment by
+his mother, but nothing could make him
+say that he was glad to stay in Cutigliano
+and go to school every day.</p>
+
+<p>He stood before them all, miserable as a
+child could be, his face very clean and pale,
+and a new pair of shoes already upon his
+feet. They pinched his toes woefully, but
+his heart ached more than his feet.</p>
+
+<p>“You will love the signora very much,
+some day, when you are a man and remember
+how good she was to the poor little boy
+who knew nothing but how to turn somersaults,”
+Miss Lorini had said caressingly in
+her softest Italian, studying the piteous
+face meanwhile with an eye to painting it
+some day, when it should smile again.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</span></p>
+
+<p>“I shall learn to do something besides the
+<i>capitomboli</i>,<a id="FNanchor_6" href="#Footnote_6" class="fnanchor">[6]</a> when I am a man,” Natale had
+said eagerly. “I shall be like our Antonio
+some day.” Perhaps these foreigners would
+be willing to leave him in peace if he could
+convince them that he <i>wished</i> to be a strolling
+player all his life.</p>
+
+<p>“He speaks as if he does not exactly
+understand,” said Miss Lorini, looking at
+Giovanni inquiringly. “Does he not know
+that he is to give up the circus now?”</p>
+
+<p>Giovanni shrugged his shoulders, then
+shook Natale’s slender shoulder, muttering:</p>
+
+<p>“No more of your silly talk, boy!”
+Then louder, “If you will not thank the
+lady, I do, with all my heart.” And with
+that he bowed low, then pushing Natale
+before him, went quickly away. He was,
+in secret, rather sorry for the boy, who had
+never before given any trouble with foolish
+willfulness, and who had moreover such high
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</span>ambitions! It did seem a stupid life to
+which they were leaving the poor child, but
+then there was to be considered the roll of
+money already sewed into his own belt,
+with more to accumulate there, if Natale
+should be left still another year with the
+priest Luigi. If rich <i>forestieri</i> had nothing
+else to do with their money but give it
+away in this frantic fashion, the stepfather
+was not unwilling to share the bounty, and
+Elvira, the mother, had seemed not to mind.</p>
+
+<p>So now Natale sat alone on the wall, feeling
+very much out of it all, and longing to
+hear some one say, “Natalino, do fetch me
+this”, or “Carry that”; but no one said
+anything of the kind. They seemed to feel
+that he was no longer one of them, and his
+little heart swelled to breaking.</p>
+
+<p>He was too young to long harbor ill-will
+and of too sunny a spirit to sulk for many
+minutes at a time, so presently he slipped
+off the wall and ran to meet Olga, who was
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</span>struggling over to the traveling house-on-wheels,
+dragging two stools behind her.
+The very last things were being done, and
+already the horses were standing by, ready
+to be hitched at the last moment.</p>
+
+<p>“Do let me carry the stools, Olga,”
+Natale pleaded with unwonted entreaty
+in his voice. “Well, one of them, then.”</p>
+
+<p>“I am sorry you are going to stay behind
+here, Natalino,” the little girl panted.
+“Why do you? I should run after the
+wagon if I were you!”</p>
+
+<p>Natale had never thought of such a
+simple thing to do by way of escape! He
+promptly set down the stool he had grasped
+and looked fixedly away from Olga’s red-brown
+eyes.</p>
+
+<p>Alas! in that critical moment, what did
+he see approaching from the village? The
+flat, broad-brimmed hat and flowing black
+skirts of a priest, descending the street and
+turning in at the field!</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</span></p>
+
+<p>There was then not a moment to be lost!
+Forgetting Olga and the heavy stools,
+Natale turned and fled, away&mdash;anywhere&mdash;out
+of sight of the jailor advancing.
+Everything flashed out of his mind except
+the impulse to escape, to hide himself from
+those searching eyes under the felt hat brim.
+His flying feet skimmed across the field, and
+when they had borne him out of sight down
+the nearest slope, Natale flung himself
+on the ground under a thicket of thorny
+blackberry bushes.</p>
+
+<p>He lay there for what must have been a
+long time, for, after a while, a sudden
+shower of rain swept down the valley and
+for a few minutes enveloped everything
+in a gray mist. Even after it had passed,
+Natale delayed returning to the wagon
+until the priest should have quite gone,
+in despair of capturing his prisoner. When
+at last he did venture forth, and crept
+to the upper verge of the slope, his first
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</span>glance was across the field for the brown
+wagon.</p>
+
+<p>It was not there!</p>
+
+<p>He set out in a headlong run for the place
+where it had stood. There was nothing
+left&mdash;absolutely nothing. Only a priest
+sat quietly waiting in a gap in the wall.</p>
+
+<p>Natale, with eyes only for the deserted
+spot, came stumbling upon the man, without
+so much as seeing that he was there,
+and then the priest rose, and taking the
+boy’s hand, spoke with the utmost quietness.</p>
+
+<p>“Come home with me now, Natalino,”
+was what he said, and Natale heard as one
+hears dream voices.</p>
+
+<p>Poor child! If he had only listened, he
+might have heard the dull screeching of the
+brakes as the wagon crawled carefully down
+the hill toward the arched bridge, and it
+would have been an easy matter to snatch
+his hand from the limp grasp of the priest
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</span>and go hurrying down the short cuts in
+pursuit. But his head seemed so full of
+a hundred roaring noises that he could not
+hear, and his heart beat so fast that he
+could not speak, and so up the hill he went
+at the priest’s side.</p>
+
+<p>Nor did he see the quiet smile upon
+Luigi’s shaven lips, as they passed the green
+gate of the garden where Betty stood peering
+through. She would not have spoken to the
+boy just then for all the world, and as for
+Madame Cioche, she could not have done
+so if she had wished. She gazed down from
+her latticed window, her bright eyes dimmed
+as they fell upon the little caged bird of the
+fields fluttering by.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</span></p>
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_VII">CHAPTER VII<br />
+<span class="smaller">THE CAGED BIRD OF THE FIELDS</span></h2></div>
+
+<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap"><span class="dropcap">T</span>here</span> is a short, crooked street in
+Cutigliano, which leads back of the
+church and out upon the promenade
+of San Vito. This street is confined on
+either hand by stone houses and stone walls
+of gardens, and paved with large square
+stones. Here and there a gateway gives a
+peep at lapping hills across the river. The
+massive church tower rises directly from a
+narrow turn in this street, and when the
+bells ring down from the arches in the top
+of this tower, the stony street reverberates
+with a deafening clamor.</p>
+
+<p>By the time the priest and Natale reached
+the foot of the church tower, the boy was
+weeping bitterly but quietly. His one free
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</span>arm hid as much of his face as possible,
+and his feet in the clumsy new shoes stumbled
+so helplessly that Luigi had some
+trouble in preventing his falling.</p>
+
+<p>As they had passed through the town,
+where everybody sat at their doors or
+lounged in the <i>piazza</i>, all had recognized
+the little acrobat, as Natale realized only
+too well. Many accosted him in wonder,
+and some would even have stopped him to
+inquire into his misfortune in being left
+behind by his family. But the young
+priest motioned such away with authority,
+silencing with a gesture of his long finger the
+too curious. Others had already learned
+how it had come about that Natale was to
+spend a year with Sora Grazia, and her son
+the priest, and these contented themselves
+with shrugs and smiles for the boy’s companion,
+as who should say: “We wish you
+well of your bargain, Signor priest.”</p>
+
+<p>The great hands of the church clock
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</span>pointed to ten minutes of four, as the bell
+boomed the hour of six. No one, however,
+ever thought of consulting the huge figures
+painted on the stone face of the tower
+clock, for those long iron hands had not
+stirred for many a day.</p>
+
+<p>The deep sound of the bell struck so
+suddenly upon Natale’s ears that he started,
+and dropping his arm from before his eyes,
+gazed dully ahead. It was not often that
+he had strayed farther than this corner of the
+old church, and he had never followed the
+San Vito promenade to the end. Most of
+the town was left behind now; whither
+could this man be taking him?</p>
+
+<p>A row of houses with numbers in blue
+figures on one side of the lintels extended
+back of the church, but before none of
+these did Luigi pause. Next came a low,
+broken wall, and then a house, detached
+from its neighbors and with a long, sloping
+roof, covered with slabs of slate. This
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</span>house had no door opening on the street,
+and in the blank front wall there was only
+a very small window at one corner close
+under the eaves. Over a door in the end of
+the house nearest the church there was a
+small crucifix in carved stone set into the
+wall, but this door was seemingly closed
+and unused.</p>
+
+<p>The priest led Natale a few steps farther,
+to the other end of the house, and then they
+left the street and entered a long balcony
+leading to a wide-open door.</p>
+
+<p class="p2b">A middle-aged woman sat just inside this
+doorway at the foot of a flight of stairs
+leading up into the room under the roof.
+She wore a kerchief of red and black cotton
+over her head and tied in a knot under her
+chin, and her eyes were bent upon a coarse
+piece of mending occupying her work-worn
+hands.</p>
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 350px;">
+<a id="illo2"><img src="images/i_094.jpg" width="350" alt="The priest led Natale to the other end of the house."
+title=""  /></a></div></div>
+
+<p class="caption">The priest led Natale to the other end of the house.<br />
+<span class="center"><i>Page <a href="#Page_94">94.</a></i></span></p>
+
+<p class="p2">At Luigi’s heavy step on the stone flooring
+of the balcony, she lifted her face to his and
+something like a smile softened the expression
+of her stern features. Her black brows
+unbent and she made way for her son to
+enter by twisting her stool slightly and
+shifting her feet. Luigi passed by her and
+took up his stand in the gathering gloom of
+the little passage, his eyes fixed warily upon
+Natale. The little boy had released his
+hand from the priest’s outside the door,
+and now stood leaning against the railing
+of the balcony, staring frowningly at the
+woman.</p>
+
+<p>“You are content to have it over with,
+Gigi?” the mother asked, glancing from
+man to boy and back again.</p>
+
+<p>Luigi nodded his head.</p>
+
+<p>“Give him something to eat and put him
+to bed,” he counseled in a low tone, “and
+do not argue with him to-night. To-morrow
+the sun will shine and he will begin
+to forget.”</p>
+
+<p>Natale’s sharp ears caught every word,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</span>stolid as he looked. “Forget?” What did
+they think he would forget? Not Olga’s
+last words, certainly: “I would run after
+the wagon, if I were you.”</p>
+
+<p>But, <i>why was he not running now</i>? No
+door, as yet, kept him prisoner. There was
+the empty street. Below ran the long,
+long white road. The night was coming
+down, and he was not afraid of the dark.
+Once out of sight, around one of the loops
+of the road, it would take but a moment to
+slip off the heavy shoes with their soles half
+an inch thick, and then on and on in the
+cool darkness he might run on light bare
+feet&mdash;“after the wagon.”</p>
+
+<p>He thrilled with the thought as it flashed
+through his mind, but a flash of the same
+thought thrilled Sora Grazia at the same
+time, for just then she leaned forward and
+laying her hand on Natale’s arm, she drew
+him to her side.</p>
+
+<p>“Once I had a curly-haired little boy of
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</span>my own,” she said with a serious smile,
+“but after a while, he grew to be a man, and
+now he has brought to me another little
+boy. Natalino, I hope you will be as good
+a boy as my Gigi ever was.”</p>
+
+<p>Natale gazed earnestly into the woman’s
+face.</p>
+
+<p>“I am not at all good, signora,” he said
+unsteadily, and he could not help the stirring
+of hope in his heart, with this confession,
+but Sora Grazia only smiled again and
+tapped his cheek, and said that perhaps the
+good Luigi would teach him to be good.</p>
+
+<p>And there was no more opportunity left
+Natale for running away, for he was presently
+led into the kitchen where he had to
+sit and watch Sora Grazia prepare the
+macaroni for supper. He was hungry
+enough to enjoy a plateful of this but the
+slip of boiled beef served him on a clean
+plate afterward could not be choked down.
+He had overheard some one in the tent&mdash;could<span class="pagenum" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</span>
+it have been only that very day?&mdash;say
+that he was to have meat every day in
+his new home, and his sister, Arduina, had
+added that she wished <i>she</i> were sure of
+getting a morsel three times a week. Had
+not a doctor in Sicily said that she must
+have all delicate and nourishing food? And
+what were dry bread and sour wine as substitutes?
+No, Natale could not eat the
+meat that night. Happily the plate of
+macaroni had been generous, and what in
+all the land of sunny Italy is so filling as a
+plate of macaroni?</p>
+
+<p>The valley looked dismally dark that
+night, as Natale crept from his little trestle
+bed and crouched on the brick floor at the
+window, after he was supposed to be asleep.
+He was to share the priest’s attic chamber,
+and a few moments before Sora Grazia had
+carried away the candle. He peered out
+between the flower pots on the window
+ledge and again wondered in his childish
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</span>way why anybody in the big world outside
+should have troubled to make him miserable.</p>
+
+<p>He was very sure that he had done
+nothing to harm the foreign lady with the
+spectacles. Once he had laughed when
+she had sneezed many times very loudly,
+in crossing the field near him, but he was
+sure no one had heard him, for he was lying
+on the ground and had buried his face in the
+grass. The pretty signorina with her had
+laughed too, and said something in their
+strange language which the lady had answered
+by another loud sneeze. Besides this,
+there was absolutely nothing he could have
+done to provoke any of the people in the
+garden. Yet, here he was being punished!</p>
+
+<p>The thought of Sora Grazia oppressed
+him, her serious face and her high hopes of
+his goodness. The house, too, was quieter
+than any place he had ever known,&mdash;he
+who had been used to few roofs save those
+of the caravan and tent. There were no
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</span>children about, and there was no sound
+inside of crying, or laughing, or singing, or
+whistling. It was almost as bad as having
+to live in a solemn church when the candles
+are all out and the crowds are gone, and
+one feels, in the dimness and silence, as if
+something were coming up stealthily behind
+one to scare one’s wits away. It is all very
+well to rest for a minute in a cool church,
+out of the glare of the sunlight, when one
+may run out again at will, free as a wild bird
+or butterfly. But to have to stay, night
+and day, for a whole year in such a place!
+Natale shuddered, for this was just the way
+in which the awful quiet of the little stone
+house of the priest affected him.</p>
+
+<p>When Luigi came up to bed, hours later,
+he lifted the sleeping boy from the bricks
+at the window and covered him up snugly
+in bed.</p>
+
+<p>“My mother thinks we can do it,” he
+muttered to himself, as he threw off his
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</span>black gown. “I shall do my part, but I am
+not sure they have done a wise thing.”
+Then he sighed a little. Perhaps he was
+wishing that he could be a little boy again,
+with the wide, wide world before him, and
+no one to interfere with his choice of a career,&mdash;free
+to be acrobat or priest, but always
+to have his own choice.</p>
+
+<p>With the passing of the first night all idea
+of running away seemed to have left Natale’s
+mind, and Sora Grazia was at first delighted
+to find her charge as submissive as
+a lamb to all her arrangements. After the
+first day or two, however, it became not
+quite so comfortable to see the little boy
+sit immovable for hours at a time, on the
+floor of the balcony, gazing down into the
+valley where the river ran merrily over the
+rocks. She would even have preferred to
+rebuke the child for something a little more
+outrageous than his listless torpor. She
+herself had to eat the meat prepared for
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</span>Natale, if she would not see it wasted, for
+Natale could not touch it, nor would Luigi,
+her usually tractable son.</p>
+
+<p>The young priest was no less puzzled over
+Natale’s conduct than his mother was.
+The schoolmaster reported to him that the
+boy held his little paper-covered spelling-book
+before his eyes with the utmost diligence,
+and really seemed to try to remember
+the letters as they were pointed out to him
+with patient repetition, but that he might
+as well have been gazing off into the valley
+instead, for all the good the pages did him,
+and Luigi believed it.</p>
+
+<p>The other boys tried to lure him into their
+games and to practice his funny <i>capitomboli</i>
+but he would only sit quietly by, on the
+stone steps of the church, watching them
+till playtime was over, when he must sit up
+on the bench in the schoolroom again and
+hold his book before his eyes.</p>
+
+<p>“He cannot keep up his sulking forever,”
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</span>Sora Grazia said on the sixth day of Natale’s
+stay with her. Luigi was standing near her
+in the balcony, brushing the dust from the
+skirts of his long gown, which he shook
+vigorously with his strong hands, as his
+mother continued, “I confess that I am
+surprised he has taken things so quietly.”</p>
+
+<p>“A little too quietly!” muttered Luigi
+into the folds of his gown.</p>
+
+<p>“But now, one would like to see him
+brighten up a little instead of glooming
+over his food and everything else,” Sora
+Grazia went on. “He is not the same child
+he was a week ago, making his ridiculous
+<i>capitomboli</i> over the circus carpet. I wonder
+if he could turn a somersault now,
+Luigi.” The woman lifted her head from
+her work to look over at Natale, who sat
+on the low street wall with his feet dangling
+into the road.</p>
+
+<p>“I gave him leave to go and play with
+the boys down in the field, this afternoon,”
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</span>said Luigi, shaking his gown almost
+viciously. “He said he did not wish to go
+where his tent had been, and that he never
+expected to turn a somersault again.”</p>
+
+<p>“Impertinent!” exclaimed Sora Grazia.
+“We’ll let him alone a while longer, and
+he’ll come all right. A child cannot sulk
+forever, as I said before.”</p>
+
+<p>“But one can die of starvation and homesickness,
+perhaps,” quoth Luigi, stepping
+past his mother and springing up the stairs,
+his gown upon his arm.</p>
+
+<p>Grazia’s retort was stayed upon her lips
+by what she now saw passing in the street.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</span></p>
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_VIII">CHAPTER VIII<br />
+<span class="smaller">THE CAGE DOOR OPENED</span></h2></div>
+
+<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap"><span class="dropcap">N</span>atale</span>, too, was looking up, but
+only dully, as a party of ladies and
+gentlemen sauntered toward him
+laughing and talking gayly as they came.
+Many such groups had passed him already,
+taking afternoon strolls toward the beautiful
+promenade of San Vito leading around the
+mountain side. But this particular group
+paused, when a spectacled old lady did, and
+all gathered about Natale, except the white-haired
+gentleman standing a little aloof
+and tapping the paving stones with his
+stick.</p>
+
+<p>“Why haven’t you been to see us, Natale
+Marzuchetti?” Miss Lorini asked cheerfully<span class="pagenum" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</span>
+in Italian. “Mrs. Bishop was sure
+you would come.”</p>
+
+<p>“He does not look like the same child!”
+whispered Betty to her aunt, who now
+pushed forward.</p>
+
+<p>“Ask him if he is a <i>smart</i> boy in school,
+and if he is not <i>glad</i> to be dressed so decently
+and to be learning something <i>useful</i>,”
+Mrs. Bishop said hurriedly to the
+Italian lady, all of which was repeated to
+Natale in his own language as was requested.
+But Natale only shook his head
+slowly and wistfully.</p>
+
+<p>“You used to talk fast enough!” Mrs.
+Bishop cried impatiently. “Look,” she
+went on, pointing to the next house, a little
+farther on, “don’t you see that white stone
+in the wall? The words on it tell about a
+man who was born there, two hundred and
+fifty years ago, who was so good and useful
+that the people here put his name up there
+that he might never be forgotten. What’s
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</span>to hinder there being a stone put up on this
+house, to tell about little Natale who was
+only a poor circus boy, but who came to
+live here when he was eight years old and
+became a very useful and good man? Tell
+him, Miss Lorini, just what I say!” And
+Mrs. Bishop pointed from the memorial
+tablet in one house to the blank front wall
+of the other, while Luigi, peering out of his
+window between the flower pots, dodged
+behind a tall geranium, and hoped the sharp
+eyes of the old lady were not searching for
+him.</p>
+
+<p>Natale listened gravely to Miss Lorini’s
+communication, his eyes passing carelessly
+from the memorial tablet to the wall of an
+opposite house.</p>
+
+<p>There was a rude painting on this wall of
+a Madonna holding a baby in her arms, and
+it was protected from the weather by a
+shallow arch of masonry. As Natale looked
+at the picture, he was reminded in some
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</span>mysterious way of Nonna, who was never
+without a child in her arms, unless she were
+bending over a fountain washing the children’s
+clothes. A new look sprang into
+his eyes.</p>
+
+<p>“Our Antonio had <i>his</i> name printed in
+Egypt and in Turkey and in Greece!” he
+answered proudly, for the first time opening
+his lips. “I would rather be like that than
+have my name cut here on the priest’s
+house!”</p>
+
+<p>“Good for the little chap,” cried the
+gentleman softly. He had understood what
+the shrill little voice said.</p>
+
+<p>“Printed on what, child? What was
+‘our Antonio’s’ name printed on, in all
+those places?” Miss Lorini asked.</p>
+
+<p>“On paper, of course,” answered the child
+simply. “And there were pictures of him
+too, all red and yellow and blue, performing
+on the bars. Everybody in the streets
+was looking at his name and the pictures.”
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</span>The little fellow’s face was glowing as he
+spoke of his friend, and Miss Lorini had not
+the heart to translate his words to Mrs.
+Bishop, who could hardly have passed them
+by calmly.</p>
+
+<p>“But you are content here?” Betty
+managed to ask in intelligible Italian.</p>
+
+<p>The shadow fell again over Natale’s face,
+and his figure visibly drooped. He did
+not pretend to answer her question.</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, Aunty, let him go back to his
+people,” Betty pleaded, seeing the change.
+“Anybody can see that he is miserable.
+He is too little to be made to suffer.”</p>
+
+<p>“He is too little to suffer long,” Mrs.
+Bishop replied calmly, with but one thought
+in her mind, of course.</p>
+
+<p>“Poor little Egyptian!” sighed the gentleman.
+“He was born in Egypt, was he not,
+Miss Betty?”</p>
+
+<p>“At Port Said, yes, and Pietro in Tunis
+they say.”</p>
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</span></p>
+<p>“Well, be a good boy, Natale,” said Mrs.
+Bishop, patting his head, in its new cap.
+“Then you will be happy. In a few days,
+I shall send for you to come to see me, and
+we will drink tea in the garden. Good-by!
+<i>Addio!</i>”</p>
+
+<p>Natale touched his hat, as he had long
+ago been taught to do, and the pedestrians
+moved away, all but the gentleman who
+had called him a “little Egyptian.”</p>
+
+<p>He stood for a moment at Natale’s side,
+with his back turned to the house and his
+departing friends, and in a trice a handful
+of copper coins was transferred from his
+pocket to Natale’s hands. Mr. Grantly
+had just had a paper note changed into small
+coins, at the fruit shop, and he was glad to
+relieve his pocket of some of its weight.</p>
+
+<p>“I hope his guardians will let him keep
+the money,” was his thought as he turned
+away from Natale’s brilliant smile of thanks.
+The boy’s training had made him none too
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</span>proud to accept the money of a stranger,
+and he lost no time in stowing it away in
+his jacket pocket, while Mr. Grantly hurried
+after the echoing steps of his party.</p>
+
+<p>Luigi at the window above had seen the
+money given to Natale, but he asked no
+questions of the boy, who, after kicking his
+heels against the wall for some time longer,
+was presently called to his supper.</p>
+
+<p>There was a flush on Natale’s cheeks and
+a brightness in his eyes which even Sora
+Grazia noticed, and as the evening was cool,
+she thought it wise to forbid his sitting
+out on the balcony or the wall, as was his
+wont, until bedtime. He looked feverish,
+she said, and in her own mind she planned
+a cup of hot camomile tea as a remedy at
+bedtime. Natale’s disappointment at this
+command to keep indoors showed so plainly
+upon his childish features that Sora Grazia
+was provoked, and for the first time since the
+boy had been with her she used harsh tones.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</span></p>
+
+<p>“There! you may as well go to bed at
+once!” she cried, as he was leaving the
+kitchen, without a word it is true, but with
+the light all gone from his face. “I can
+never please you, whatever I do, and you
+are here only to waste food and sulk. Go
+to bed, Natale!”</p>
+
+<p>Luigi had gone off directly after eating his
+supper, about some matter of business with
+one of his superiors at the church, so he was
+not there to take Natale’s part.</p>
+
+<p>It is hard enough to be sent to bed on an
+ordinary night and at one’s regular time, as
+any child will agree, but to be forbidden the
+early hours of a moonlit evening outdoors,
+especially when one’s little head is teeming
+with wild, delicious ideas of flight&mdash;away
+from daily baths, from the cramping walls
+of a house, and out into the freshness and
+freedom of the night, which has no terror
+for the dwellers in tents, was well-nigh
+unbearable.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</span></p>
+
+<p>Ah! how little Sora Grazia knew of the
+anguish she was causing!</p>
+
+<p>But Natale obediently stumbled slowly
+upstairs in the dark to the bedroom, and
+when there, crouched in his usual place on
+the floor behind the flower pots without an
+audible murmur.</p>
+
+<p>The little acrobat had made no plans at
+all, but with the touch of the money given
+him by the kind old gentleman on San Vito,
+an impulse to seek his freedom had occurred
+to his mind, and in the half-hour while he
+continued on the wall, furtively handling
+the coins in his pocket, he had wished,&mdash;only
+wished, however,&mdash;that he might
+have the courage to steal out into the moonlight,
+after eating, while Sora Grazia should
+be about her dish-washing, and Luigi poring
+over one of his little black books, perhaps, by
+the light of the candle in the kitchen. He
+had often thought of Olga’s words, “I would
+run after the wagon, if I were you,” but he
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</span>had been too closely watched during the
+first day or two to admit of his carrying out
+so bold a plan, and since then, for the rest of
+the long, dreary week since the caravan had
+gone, he had not had the spirit to undertake
+such a measure. The whole world seemed
+to intervene between himself and the beloved
+company who had gone, and he felt
+sure that he would be seen by some mistaken
+person and brought back, even before he
+could reach the river, if he should attempt
+to follow.</p>
+
+<p>Until to-night no thought of leaving under
+the protection of the friendly darkness had
+come to him, and he had only been able to
+see himself flying down the sunny road in
+full view of all the village, to be promptly
+turned back again by some carriage driver
+of the place, or some schoolboy bigger than
+himself and therefore stronger. Besides,
+he had had no money, and Natale had
+traveled enough to know that a few cents
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</span>in one’s pocket make one’s road easier and
+less long. So the days had passed, and
+Natale was fast drifting into a state of listless
+torpor which must have ended in illness,
+had not Mr. Grantly changed a five-franc
+note at the fruit shop that sunny afternoon
+and taken a stroll along San Vito where
+Natale sat “sulking” on the wall!</p>
+
+<p>Presently, as the little child continued to
+gaze longingly out into the moonlight, a ray
+of further hope illumined his mind. As
+Luigi had gone to the church now, it would
+be late before he would return. Sora
+Grazia always sat dozing on her stool in the
+doorway until time for barring the door and
+going to bed. Why should he not slip past
+her and away into the shadows of the street,
+before Luigi should return? His heart
+leaped at the thought, and he rose noiselessly
+to his feet and glanced around the
+darkening room. His small cot stood
+smooth and white against the wall. Another<span class="pagenum" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</span>
+thought struck him, and he quailed
+with a sense of utter discouragement.
+When Luigi should come in,&mdash;and he
+might be very early, one never knew,&mdash;the
+runaway would be missed straightway from
+the empty little bed, and easily overtaken
+if he should have taken the regular road
+down the hill.</p>
+
+<p>It is true there were paths innumerable
+down the terraces from the back of almost
+any house in the street, most of them
+probably leading down to the river far
+below, but Natale had been no explorer of
+the neighborhood during his week of captivity,
+and was ignorant of the precipitate
+windings and the final ending of even the
+most practicable of these. No, he must go
+by the road, and he must wait until Luigi
+should return, and get to bed and to sleep.</p>
+
+<p>Natale knew that the priest slept soundly,
+for, one night he had had the misfortune to
+knock over upon the floor a pot containing
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</span>a carnation plant, and the crash had not
+awakened Luigi. The boy had waked and
+had gone to the window to peer out into the
+night, fancying that he heard the hoarse
+creaking of the caravan brake as the clumsy
+vehicle crawled down the hill, and in craning
+his head between the pots, his elbow had
+pushed over one of them. Fortunately,
+neither pot nor plant had broken, and he
+had spent a good deal of time in packing the
+loosened earth about the carnation’s roots
+and replacing the pot among its fellows.
+The next morning, Sora Grazia had bidden
+him be more careful about carrying mud
+upstairs on his shoes, only to be cleaned up
+by her afterward, and he supposed he must
+have left some of the earth upon the floor,
+in the dim light.</p>
+
+<p>At any rate, Luigi slept soundly, and if
+he, himself, could only manage to keep
+awake until all was safe, he knew that he
+would have no difficulty in unbarring the
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</span>door. He had accomplished it unaided
+only that morning, with Sora Grazia standing
+by and saying that it was the first thing
+of use he had set his hands to do since coming
+there to live. She had spoken good-naturedly
+though, and Natale had nothing
+against her. No, not even now did he
+remember her late harsh words, for he was
+too sweet-natured to harbor malice. He had
+only suffered, and now there was a prospect
+of escaping more suffering of the same kind.</p>
+
+<p>So after sitting on his bed with a wild
+turmoil of thoughts engaging his busy little
+brain, he began rapidly to undress. Luigi
+must not find him up! But, after taking
+off the strong new suit of clothes which
+Mrs. Bishop had had made for him, he
+rummaged under his mattress where his
+old things had been stored by Sora Grazia
+and quickly got into the worn trousers, the
+faded blouse and leggings, tucking the old
+shoes under his pillow. He had set the new
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</span>shoes and stockings in orderly fashion on the
+floor and folded up the new clothes and laid
+them at the foot of the little cot. How
+fortunate that his old shoes had not been
+thrown away, for he could hardly have
+traveled barefoot over the flinty stones of
+the road and the river. Natale chose to
+wear the old easy shoes, for the new ones
+had always hurt him, and he would not have
+been able to steal unheard out of the house
+with those heavy, creaking soles tramping
+over the bricks. If he had known of the
+long way ahead of the old worn shoes, perhaps
+he would have planned to carry the
+despised footgear in his hands. But forethought
+had little place in the mind of so
+young a runaway, and he was guided in his
+change of clothes only by his own desires for
+comfort. The old clothes were as familiar as
+old friends, and therefore he preferred them.</p>
+
+<p>Then, after making his preparations, not
+forgetting to change the money from the
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</span>pocket of the new jacket to that of his old
+trousers, he laid himself down on the cot,
+and drew up the light covering snugly about
+his shoulders, devoutly hoping that he
+would not fall soundly asleep.</p>
+
+<p>If Natale had only known it, Sora Grazia,
+believing Natale safe for the night, had
+slipped off for a gossip with a friend living
+just back of the church, simply drawing the
+door to behind her and leaving the coast
+clear for flight. And it would not have been
+difficult for the boy to leave a semblance of
+himself tucked under the bed covering, in
+the shape of the roll of discarded clothes and
+shoes! But little Natale was not possessed
+of a very designing brain, and after all, Luigi
+<i>might</i> have come in untimely, and spoiled
+it all!</p>
+
+<p>In a few moments, the would-be runaway
+was fast asleep, while the moon sailed across
+the valley from the eastern toward the
+western sky.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</span></p>
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_IX">CHAPTER IX<br />
+<span class="smaller">THE FLIGHT OF THE BIRD</span></h2></div>
+
+<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap"><span class="dropcap">W</span>hen</span> Natale next opened his
+eyes he became very wide
+awake indeed, in an instant.
+In fact, he did not know that he had been
+asleep at all, until the moonlight, slanting
+in, showed Luigi’s long body stretched upon
+the iron bed close by.</p>
+
+<p>What could have waked Natale? For a
+moment he lay still without recollection of
+the momentous plans made at his early bedtime.
+Then he recalled a sensation of icy
+cold water about his feet, and he remembered
+that he had dreamed of a sudden
+plunge into the river while trying to find the
+stepping-stones. It must have been the
+chill of the dream-water that had awakened
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</span>him! He sat up and found that he was
+still dressed and in his old clothes.</p>
+
+<p>Ah! it was easy to remember all now,
+and after a breathless glance over his
+shoulder at Luigi, who was comfortably
+snoring, Natale slipped out of bed. Catching
+up his old hat and his shoes he stole
+softly over the brick floor and down the
+stone stairs as quietly as any mouse would
+have done.</p>
+
+<p>Sora Grazia slept downstairs, but the
+door of her room was mercifully closed, and
+Natale knew that she often locked it at
+night. He turned his back upon it, therefore,
+with confidence, as he felt in the darkness
+for the balcony door. He exerted all
+his strength to raise the heavy bar of iron
+which guarded the door. Then he was very
+careful to keep his hold on the bar, as it
+swung downward, lest it should rouse the
+house with its usual clanging fall. The huge
+key was in the lock, and Natale succeeded
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</span>in turning it with both hands, although this
+was much more difficult than raising the bar
+above the lock. It creaked dully as it
+turned, and Natale’s heart leaped into his
+throat, and a dozen noises buzzed in his
+ears.</p>
+
+<p>Breathless, he stood with his hand on the
+latch, afraid to move lest the door behind
+him should open, and everything come to an
+end. But nothing happened, so he swung
+open the door, and without stopping to
+close it behind him, he again caught up his
+shoes, which he had had to set down, and
+ran along the balcony and out into the
+street, his feet pattering softly on the
+stones.</p>
+
+<p>In his haste he did not stop to think of the
+direction he should take. His only impulse
+was to get out into the night somewhere,
+away from the houses and street.
+So he ran swiftly along in the shadow cast
+by wall and house, in just the opposite
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</span>direction from that which would have led
+him past the church tower and through the
+village, out upon the downward road.
+Presently he crouched in a shadow to draw
+on his shoes, then fled onward again.</p>
+
+<p>Once away, he lost his bearings utterly and
+hurried on without turning, past the small
+house with the Madonna painted on the
+wall, past the large house where the white
+tablet to “Pietro Pacioni” gleamed in the
+moonlight, and then downward, by a
+roughly paved path leading to the Campo
+Santo. Perhaps he would have kept on
+aimlessly along San Vito,&mdash;the fashionable
+promenade leading always higher along the
+mountain side till it ended in an open
+plateau high up above the valley,&mdash;if he
+had not heard steps approaching. Whether
+these steps came from behind or from ahead
+he did not stop to discover. The downward
+path offered safety, and a small pink villa
+threw a dark shadow across its entrance, so
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</span>Natale lost not an instant in scudding down
+the friendly by-way.</p>
+
+<p>On he trotted, past the shrine where the
+tiny Della Robbia Madonna sits under her
+arch, the moonlight touching the shining
+blue of her hood, the yellow of her robe and
+the pink of the baby on her knees with a
+radiance that was almost startling on the
+edge of the shadow. Now the path grew
+level, and the stones were left behind, and
+no more noise of footsteps disturbed the
+quiet.</p>
+
+<p>A few rods more, and Natale stood in
+front of the small mortuary chapel outside
+the cemetery. The iron gates set in the
+wall of the cemetery were locked, as Natale
+found on gently shaking them. He had
+paused to peep through the slender grating
+into the inclosure where the moonlight
+touched the white tomb of the foreign
+gentleman buried close under the wall, and
+showed so plainly the numbers on the low
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</span>stakes marking the graves of the nameless
+poor. The shadows of the cypress trees lay
+like long black fingers outstretched upon the
+wilds of weedy undergrowth, and the wind
+stirred dismally on the exposed hillside.</p>
+
+<p>One day, Natale and Olga had wandered
+together as far as these iron gates. He
+remembered it now, and with the recollection
+he sprang away, eager to continue his
+journey,&mdash;then stood still, uncertain as to
+his path.</p>
+
+<p>The way which had brought him downward
+came to an abrupt end with the little
+chapel, outside the gates. It would not do
+to lose himself among the chestnut woods in
+search of a path! Yet, how could he plunge
+down the pathless slopes among the great
+trees, with nothing to guide him but the
+murmur of the river far below? Still less
+was he willing to return to the road above
+and turn about to take his way through the
+village and so on out upon the road. He
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</span>was almost sure that if he could only see to
+find his way, some downward path from
+where he stood would bring him to a river
+crossing, perhaps a long, long way below the
+arched bridge, and therefore much farther
+on his journey.</p>
+
+<p>Bewildered and tired, he was almost
+ready to give up his flight, and to creep into
+the dark portico of the little chapel, and
+back into the shade beneath the picture of
+the Saint with the skull in his hand, and
+there end this strange night, which already
+seemed to him longer than any night he had
+ever known. But he roused himself to one
+more effort, and crept around to the back
+wall of the chapel. There, to his joyful
+surprise, he came upon a semblance of a
+path!</p>
+
+<p>All indecision was gone now, and he fairly
+slid down the rocky and precipitous way,
+which was more gully than footway, being
+in fact a watercourse for the torrents leaping
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</span>down the mountain side, after some storm
+of rain, as well as a short cut to the river for
+roughly shod peasant feet.</p>
+
+<p>More than once Natale stumbled, and
+once he fell headlong, bruising his hands and
+knees, but he did not mind, for the rushing
+of the little river down among the rocks was
+becoming very loud in his ears.</p>
+
+<p>When at last he came out of the woods,
+and stood on the edge of the waste of
+rounded stones loosely paving the river bed,
+he looked back a moment to where the
+village must be, high above, a huddle of gray
+wall and roof, with the square church tower
+in its midst. All seemed as silent in the
+sleeping town as in the home of the sleeping
+dead on its outskirts. Then, just as Natale
+again turned his back upon the mountain
+side, where perched Cutigliano like a bit of
+gray lichen growing on some mossy bowlder,
+the beautiful, bright, friendly moon slipped
+quite over the mountain in the west, and
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</span>darkness fell upon the valley, where deep
+down in its darkest shadow Natale was
+ready to cross the river. The light of the
+moon still touched the chestnut woods
+higher up the slopes, but every moment the
+shadow would be creeping higher and
+higher, until there would be no more moonlight
+on this side the mountain, and only the
+stars would come peeping out at Natale.</p>
+
+<p>After slipping off his shoes and leggings,
+the boy began picking his way carefully over
+the large dry stones which were worn
+smooth and round by slow wasting in the
+wet seasons, when the river flooded its
+narrow course and spread to the grassy
+banks. The stones rolled under even his
+light footsteps, but Natale kept his balance
+in crossing the smaller stones, and clambered
+patiently over or around the largest ones,
+and presently arrived at the edge of the
+black, rushing water. The brawling Lima
+makes a great ado hereabouts, as it tumbles
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</span>over the rocks, for its bed slopes decidedly
+all the way to Lucca and beyond, and there
+is no opportunity for it to moderate its
+pace, or calm its chafings against the rocks.</p>
+
+<p>With the first touch of the icy water upon
+his bared feet, Natale recalled his dream.
+How long ago it had been since he had lain
+safely in his bed under the slanting roof of
+Luigi’s house! Again and again he tried
+to plant his foot firmly in the midst of the
+swirling water, which was perhaps as much
+as twenty feet wide at that point, but
+always it was deeper and colder than he had
+expected, and the stones more slippery and
+unsteady. Then he began wandering up and
+down the bank, in quest of the stepping-stones,
+which here and there certainly
+crossed the river both above and below the
+arched bridge. Unsuccessful in this, Natale
+finally exerted himself to make a reckless
+dash into the current, where he found himself
+the next instant up to his waist in the
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</span>black water and clinging desperately by
+one free hand to a wet rock, with the instinct
+of preserving himself from being
+carried off his feet. Then miserably he felt
+his way back to the dry rocks on the edge
+of the stream, and dropping down upon
+their harsh bosom, he began to cry bitterly.</p>
+
+<p>He had so hoped there would be a crossing
+place! If he could only find it! His
+feet were sore with bruises now, and he felt
+as if he could not walk another step. He
+grew cold as he crouched there, sobbing with
+disappointment, for though the sun shines
+hot during the daytime on the chestnut
+trees and the vines of the Apennines, the
+nights, even of summer, are cool, and now
+a chill wind came sweeping down the valley
+from the fir-crowned summits of Abetone.</p>
+
+<p>Presently the little wanderer roused himself
+and stood on his feet. Nothing could
+tempt him to try to find his way back to the
+house of the priest, not even aching feet or
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</span>shivering limbs, but he began to think there
+might be a more sheltered place near by&mdash;this
+little boy of the road, who had taken
+many a noontide nap curled up at the foot of
+some wayside tree. Perhaps the earliest light
+of dawn would show him the stepping-stones
+and the road, of which there was no hint
+now in the blackness of darkness across the
+river. Painfully he crept back toward the
+bank, where presently he curled himself into
+a knot at the foot of a huge, distorted old
+chestnut tree, a short distance up the slope.
+The grass was soft and springy about the
+roots of the old tree, and a huge boulder near
+by shut off the wind from Natale’s shivering
+legs. So, with a sigh of content, and for
+the first time tasting the sweets of his new
+freedom, the little acrobat closed his eyes
+upon the stars winking down at him from
+above the stirring leaves, and fell asleep for
+the second time that night.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</span></p>
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_X">CHAPTER X<br />
+<span class="no-indent">ON THE WING</span></h2></div>
+
+<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap"><span class="dropcap">L</span>ong</span> before Natale waked, the day had
+dawned, but the sun had not long
+looked down into the valley before
+he turned stiffly on his grassy couch and
+rubbed his eyes. Then, however, he lost not
+an instant in taking up his journey where it
+had left off the night before.</p>
+
+<p>How easy it was in the light of the sunbeams
+of the early morning to spring over
+the dry stones of the bank, and with a swift
+glance up and down select a safe place to
+cross the water which had seemed so dangerous
+and cruel in the dark.</p>
+
+<p>The daylight changed everything, of
+course, and it was but a few moments after
+waking before he was across the stream and
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</span>scrambling up to the low wall bounding the
+road on the river side. From the inner
+edge of the road the mountains rose precipitately.</p>
+
+<p>As Natale clambered over the wall the
+church bells of Cutigliano burst into a
+wrangle of sound, which must have echoed
+from one end of the village to the other.
+Though the distance softened the metallic
+tones, the little boy was startled by them
+into a scamper away down the sunlit road
+as if the mischievous village boys whose
+office it was to ring the bells were in headlong
+chase after him. The day must have
+been the <i>festa</i> of some saint, and for a long
+time Natale heard the bells’ voices, sweetened
+more and more as his bare feet trudged
+onward and the distance fell between him
+and them. But he soon gave up his running
+because his legs were stiff and his feet sore,
+and as yet no one appeared coming along
+the road behind him, in pursuit.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</span></p>
+
+<p>There had been no doubt in his own mind
+of the direction he should take after once
+gaining the road. He knew that Giovanni
+and Antonio with the house-wagon had been
+bound for the Bagni di Lucca, and also he
+knew that the road to the Bagni led downward
+with the stream, and not up toward
+the cold region of Abetone, the “Great Fir
+Tree.”</p>
+
+<p>So all he had to do was to follow the road,
+broad and white, by the way they had come
+three weeks before, without need, even, of
+asking his way of the peasants he should
+meet. He had turned the shoulder of a great
+green mountain-spur which entirely shut
+off the view of Cutigliano before he would
+stop for an instant in his lame tramping.
+Once assured that the town was out of sight
+behind him, he sat down breathlessly on
+one of the heaps of loose stones such as flank
+every mountain road in Italy. Then he
+deliberately took each foot in turn in his
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</span>small hands and gravely and pitifully
+examined its bruises. There was nothing
+to be done, then, but plant them in the road
+again and continue his way.</p>
+
+<p>For an hour or more he trudged painfully
+on, but the stiffness in his legs left him after
+a while, and he began to be only hungry.
+He wished he had thought of hiding in his
+pocket, the night before, a crust of the dark,
+coarse bread he loved, and which had always
+been plentiful at Sora Grazia’s. But
+the coppers jingled comfortably there instead,
+and Natale contented himself to
+wait for breakfast till he should pass some
+bread shop along the road.</p>
+
+<p>The morning air was sweet with the freshness
+of early day, and the delicious odor of
+the wild thyme’s tiny blossoms. Tall harebells
+nodded to him from the thyme and
+heather bank shoulder-high above the road,
+and sparkled with the sunshine and dew
+upon their purple flowerets. The river,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</span>which in the darkness had seemed to mock
+him with its roaring, now only murmured
+softly as it slipped over the stones in the
+sunlight.</p>
+
+<p>By and by, Natale began to meet people
+in the road, men with donkeys bearing huge
+basketfuls of wet grass and wild flowers
+shorn from the steep terraces above for the
+cow or donkey at home, and women tramping
+in their thick-soled shoes to Cutigliano
+with baskets of fresh fruit or eggs or cheeses
+for the summer hotels balanced on their
+heads. From all of these Natale kept his face
+steadily averted, lest they should bear back
+to the town tidings of his going. Usually,
+after passing a group of these wayfarers, the
+boy broke into a quick run in order to
+lengthen the distance between them and
+himself, but these spurts of speed availed
+him little, for he had always to stop and rest
+afterward, and so lost many more minutes
+than he had gained of the golden day.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</span></p>
+
+<p>The road had already become a curving
+white glare before Natale came in sight of a
+long stone house having many windows and
+doors, and standing on the inner edge of the
+road. He came upon it suddenly, on turning
+a sharp curve, and then he saw that
+another house faced it on the opposite side
+of the road, and that an inviting shade lay
+between. The back of one of the houses
+looked directly upon the steep slope of the
+mountain behind, while the rear wall of its
+opposite neighbor had its foundation in the
+rocky banks of the tumbling river. In the
+shade between, barefoot peasant children
+played noisily. Near by, a stream of spring
+water, clear and cold, trickled from a
+wooden trough into a rough stone basin.</p>
+
+<p>And here at last were rest and food and
+drink for the runaway,&mdash;only no one must
+learn that he was a runaway!</p>
+
+<p>A fat and black-eyed housewife with arms
+akimbo stood in one of the doors, and as
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</span>Natale came up to her on limping feet, she
+eyed him with interest from the stone of the
+doorstep.</p>
+
+<p>“Will you give me a little piece of bread,
+signora? See, I have money,” said Natale,
+showing her a handful of Mr. Grantly’s
+copper coins in his open palm.</p>
+
+<p>“A bit of bread you shall have, to be sure,
+and your <i>soldi</i> you shall keep, little one,”
+the good-natured creature promptly answered,
+and while the children left their
+play and gathered about Natale, with
+friendly eyes, their mother disappeared into
+the very small and dusky shop behind.</p>
+
+<p>“There, sit down and eat,” she said,
+returning with a hunk of bread and a
+generous lump of cheese on a coarse plate
+in her hand.</p>
+
+<p>As Natale received the plate and moved
+rather lamely toward the dripping fountain
+in the shade, the children ran ahead, and
+one filled a rusty tin cup with the cold
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</span>water and had it ready for Natale by the
+time he reached the mossy brink of the
+fountain.</p>
+
+<p>These little ones of the road, wild and rude
+enough in their play, were well used to offering
+the “cup of cold water” to the passing
+wayfarer, and Natale’s thirsty throat gulped
+the draught gratefully.</p>
+
+<p>There was something about the child
+which arrested the attention of the woman
+more than the ordinary passer-by often did,
+and she also stood watching Natale breakfast
+hungrily.</p>
+
+<p>He was shy and downcast, fearing difficult
+questions, and as soon as the last
+crumb of bread and cheese had disappeared
+he got to his feet, setting the empty plate
+on the margin of the fountain.</p>
+
+<p>“Thank you, signora, and good-by,” he
+said, and was off.</p>
+
+<p>“No, but wait!” she cried, laying her
+hand on his shrinking shoulder. “You
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</span>have eaten my bread; now answer my
+questions. What is your name, <i>picino</i>,<a id="FNanchor_7" href="#Footnote_7" class="fnanchor">[7]</a>
+and where are you going?”</p>
+
+<p>“Down the road,” was the shyly spoken
+answer to the last question, with a quiet
+waiving of the first. “Please let me go,
+signora. It is already late, and I must
+hasten.”</p>
+
+<p>“Well, go!” she exclaimed then, “and a
+good journey to you!” But she stood
+watching him trudge briskly away from her
+until another curve in the zigzag road hid
+him from her sight.</p>
+
+<p>“Some stranger’s child!” she muttered to
+herself, going back to the doorstep. “I
+have never seen him pass here before, and
+few there be who pass by without the
+knowledge of Chiara. Well, I am glad he
+has his <i>soldi</i> safe in his pocket. May the
+saints protect and feed my own children
+when they go a-wandering! You, Beppo!
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</span>keep your head out of the dust of the
+road!”</p>
+
+<p>“Mamá, mamá, Beppino is making <i>capitomboli</i>,
+such as the boy who was here just now
+made in the circus at Cutigliano, on the day
+we went with our father to the big tent! Do
+you not remember?” cried an admiring small
+sister of Beppo. “See, our Beppo does them
+even better than the other boy, mamá!”</p>
+
+<p>The woman gave a little start of recollection,
+and then dismissed the idea which
+had occurred to her, as impossible&mdash;fortunately,
+perhaps, for Natale.</p>
+
+<p class="p2b">“Silly girl! The circus people went down
+the road a week ago to the Bagni, do <i>you</i> not
+remember? How should the boy be seven
+days behind? No more <i>capitomboli</i>, I say,
+Beppo <i>mio</i>, in all this dust!”</p>
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 350px;">
+<a id="illo3"><img src="images/i_142.jpg" width="350" alt="“Capitomboli, such as the boy who was here just now made in the
+circus at Cutigliano.”"
+title=""  /></a></div></div>
+
+<p class="caption">“Capitomboli, such as the boy who was here just now made in the
+circus at Cutigliano.”<br />
+<span class="center"><i>Page <a href="#Page_142">142.</a></i></span></p>
+
+<p class="p2">In a carriage, with two good horses and a
+fine cracking whip behind them, one may
+drive from Cutigliano down to the Baths of
+Lucca in the first half of a summer’s day.
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</span>On two tired slim little legs, one would need
+much more time to accomplish the journey.
+Also when one has been for six days imprisoned
+within stone walls, one does not
+hurry&mdash;if fairly out of danger&mdash;along
+beauteous and fresh-smelling paths of freedom.</p>
+
+<p>Every hour or so after leaving the woman
+and children at the fountain, Natale stopped
+for a rest along the way. Sometimes he sat
+down on a heap of mending stones by the
+wayside, in company with some stone-breaker
+hammering away in the shade of
+his sun screen, a rude lattice of chestnut
+boughs propped behind the heap of stones.</p>
+
+<p>The monotonous clink of the hammer
+breaking the sharp-edged stones was usually
+stayed as the lonely worker turned to chat
+with the large-eyed child hovering near.
+Only once or twice was Natale’s cheerful
+“<i>Buon’ giorno!</i>”<a id="FNanchor_8" href="#Footnote_8" class="fnanchor">[8]</a> returned by an unwelcoming<span class="pagenum" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</span>
+growl or by sour silence. In such cases,
+the dawdling feet made all haste to pass and
+seek a resting-place in the shade of some
+breeze-rustled chestnut tree quite out of
+sight of the cross stone-breaker.</p>
+
+<p>The second night was passed as the first
+had been, out of doors, after a supper of hot
+rice paid for at an <i>osteria</i>,<a id="FNanchor_9" href="#Footnote_9" class="fnanchor">[9]</a> a short way
+back along the road. Natale might have
+slept, as well, at the little inn, but he was
+too unused to roofs to dream of proposing
+it, and the absent-minded old landlord had
+not seemed to be thinking of anything but
+puffing away at his pipe, as Natale slipped
+past him and out of the dingy passage-way,
+after paying for his food.</p>
+
+<p>A long-bodied two-wheeled cart stood
+outside the inn door, its shafts’ ends resting
+on the ground, its rear high in air, and
+Natale, with an instinct for sleeping above
+wheels, had decided to return to the cart
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</span>for a night’s lodging place when the world
+should be dark again. But sleep overtook
+him as he lay waiting at the foot
+of a tree to which he had scrambled from
+the road below, and when he roused,
+dawn was staining the pale sky with
+rose color.</p>
+
+<p>The next day promised to pass as the
+first had done,&mdash;with slipping shyly past
+occasional houses of entertainment along
+the way, with lingerings to stare into the
+mysterious depths of some noisy mill in
+league with the tumbling river, and with
+long, monotonous trampings, between times,
+along the smooth road, bordered always by
+the mountains and the river. As the road
+neared the valley, it crossed dashing streams
+hurrying to join their waters to the broader
+water of the river, and so solid was the stone
+masonry of the arches that one would never
+have known that he was crossing a bridge
+but for the sparkle and the laughter of the
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</span>foaming water as it dashed under the road
+and out again.</p>
+
+<p>Many times Natale, himself a small dark
+speck on the endless white road, looked up
+the long mountain slopes, green in the sunlight,
+purple in the shadow, and glimpsed
+high above him on the giddy heights the
+climbing roofs of some hoary old mountain
+town, away out of hearing of the busy
+river, out of reach of traveling circus wagons,
+and which,</p>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+<div class="poetry">
+  <div class="stanza">
+    <div class="verse indent0">“Like an eagle’s nest hangs on the crest</div>
+    <div class="verse indent0">Of purple Apennine.”</div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p>It was past noon of the second day when
+Natale entered a village on a level with the
+highway. Here the road suddenly changed
+into a stone-paved street, running between
+high houses and echoing with the tramp of
+wooden-soled shoes and the patter of donkeys’
+hoofs.</p>
+
+<p>He stopped at the door of a sour-smelling
+wine shop where sat a man on a stool outside<span class="pagenum" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</span>
+the door. To him the little boy put
+his question as to whether this town might
+perhaps be very near to the Bagni di Lucca.
+This man wore a red fez on his bushy, black
+head, and down his long, black beard trickled
+drops from the wine cup at his lips. The
+fellow did not stop his drinking long enough
+to reply in so many words to the question,
+but a decided shaking of his head and the
+pointing of a long, dirty finger onward sufficiently
+enlightened Natale, and he kept
+slowly on his way.</p>
+
+<p>In passing a small baker’s shop, he
+stopped and bought a great ring of sweetish
+bread, and then slipping his arm through
+this, he went more cheerily onward. There
+were still many <i>soldi</i> left in his pocket, and
+surely this beautiful ring of bread would last
+until the Bagni di Lucca should come in
+sight, with, of course, the dear yellow tent
+set in its midst!</p>
+
+<p>One of the last houses he passed as he left
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</span>the town was entered through a garden by
+a huge wooden door opening upon the
+cobblestones of the street. This door
+stood ajar, and Natale stayed his steps for
+a moment to gaze through the aperture
+down a charming vista of trellised vines
+supported on crumbling white columns of
+masonry. Green and gold lights played
+over the rough paving-stones of the cloister-like
+colonnade through the latticework
+above. Halfway down this corridor, two
+or three girls romped and sang together,
+their scarlet kerchiefs and the rich blues of
+their skirts making dashes of vivid color in
+the shade where they lounged. Pale jewels
+of grapes, already growing pink and amethystine,
+crowded the vines with promise of
+luscious sweetness when their full time
+should come.</p>
+
+<p>The girls peered back at the travel-worn
+lad peering in at them, but when the largest
+of them called mockingly to him, “Enter,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</span>signore!” Natale ran away down the street
+and again out upon the road. The girls
+had made him think of Arduina and Olga
+and little Maria, and away down at the end
+of the corridor he had caught a glimpse of
+a gray-haired woman sitting on a flight of
+broken stone steps, with an infant on her
+lap. His heart swelled with homesickness.
+If only he might see Nonna once again!
+How long was the monotonous road to
+Bagni di Lucca!</p>
+
+<p>The day, however, was not to close without
+an exciting and important event.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</span></p>
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XI">CHAPTER XI<br />
+<span class="smaller">FLUTTERING A LITTLE FARTHER</span></h2></div>
+
+<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap"><span class="dropcap">N</span>atale</span> sat down in his leisurely
+fashion on the low wall bounding
+the road just beyond the town and
+began daintily nibbling around the crisp,
+sugared edges of his bread ring. It was
+mid-afternoon, and while his jaws worked
+steadily, his wide bright eyes watched with
+interest two bicyclists toiling up the hill and
+trundling their wheels alongside. As they
+passed him by without a glance, their faces
+red and perspiring, and their shoes whitened
+with the light dust, the boy’s eyes still followed
+them and lighted upon a queer figure
+coming from the town he had just quitted.
+It was the red-capped, swarthy-faced man
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</span>of the wine-shop door, and now his shoulders
+were bent under a pack slung on his back,
+and his legs were bowed as he limped along,
+and he wore an old overcoat much too long,
+which had seen better days upon another’s
+shoulders.</p>
+
+<p>The wheelmen paid no attention to this
+fellow, as he stopped on meeting them and
+perhaps offered them a sight of his wares
+hidden in the pack, so the peddler presently
+came up with Natale, grumbling sourly.</p>
+
+<p>“These foreigners without manners!” he
+growled, planting himself in front of the
+little boy’s swinging legs. “Ah! you are
+the boy who goes to the Bagni. Come, I
+also go thither. We shall be companions
+merry enough!”</p>
+
+<p>Natale had no fancy for joining company
+with this man who frowned with his black
+brows and grinned, in turn, with big white
+teeth gleaming in his hairy face, but neither
+had he the courage to demur. Therefore,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</span>he slipped down unwillingly from his perch
+and trotted along at the peddler’s side.</p>
+
+<p>Fortunately, the man asked no questions
+and spoke little, and before evening, his
+steady tramp had led Natale over more
+miles than the whole previous day had
+carried him. Little cared this strange,
+silent fellow for leaning over walls to gaze
+at the foaming water singing over the rocks,
+or for idly resting on a bridge to watch the
+white cloud-ships crossing the azure sea
+overhead, as the white sails of the orange
+boats ply the blue waves between Sicily
+and the Italian coast, and to dream of
+future glory as an acrobat of renown!</p>
+
+<p>The sun had again sunk behind the
+rounded summits in the west, when the
+peddler at last stood still and grinned down
+upon the panting child.</p>
+
+<p>“One easily sees that you are no traveler,”
+he said in his hoarse, unpleasant voice.
+“Now we will sit down here by the roadside
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</span>and make our beds for the night. Did you
+mention supper? The bracelet you wear
+on your arm will suffice for us both, if we
+divide it according to the size of our
+stomachs. <i>Ecco!</i>” And Natale’s precious
+ring of sweetened bread was rudely snatched
+from his arm.</p>
+
+<p>Naturally, Natale was most indignant at
+being treated in this manner by so perfect
+a stranger, and he did not hesitate to remonstrate.</p>
+
+<p>“But the bread is mine, signore! I
+bought it with my own <i>soldi</i> in the town,”
+he cried, clutching at the beautiful ring of
+bread, already being broken in two by the
+peddler’s dirty fingers.</p>
+
+<p>“<i>Soldi!</i>” echoed the man; “and where
+are your precious <i>soldi</i>?”</p>
+
+<p>“At the shop where I bought the bread,
+of course,” was the shrewd reply, and not
+a coin remaining in Natale’s pocket jostled
+against its neighbor now. They kept as
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</span>quiet as if they knew that long, eager fingers
+were ready to pounce upon them.</p>
+
+<p>Then a change came over the peddler’s
+manner, and he showed his unpleasant-looking
+teeth in a broad smile. Perhaps
+he was planning a look into those little
+pockets by and by, who knows?</p>
+
+<p>“What a clever boy you are!” he cried.
+“Well, as you are also such a hungry little
+beast, take back your bread, and for a
+relish I shall give you a smell of my own
+supper. See!”</p>
+
+<p>So speaking, he drew a roll of sausage
+from a pocket of his long coat. The sausage
+was wrapped in a soiled handkerchief, and
+there was a hunk of black bread with it.
+A knife with a curious curved handle and
+long, shining blade was next produced, and
+the peddler went to work, alternately whacking
+off bits of the highly seasoned meat
+and the hard bread, and devouring them
+with crunching teeth and smacking lips.</p>
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</span></p>
+<p>Natale gnawed industriously at his own
+bread without even thinking of offering to
+barter a portion of it for a taste of the savory
+sausage. There was a kind of fascination
+in watching the ugly fellow eat, and the
+wondering brown eyes were fixed upon the
+peddler’s surly face.</p>
+
+<p>It was now the close of a warm afternoon.
+A light haze wrapped the more distant
+mountains in misty blue, a chirring of
+insects stirred the silence about the travelers,
+and now and then a carriage or cart whisked
+downward, or toiled upward, along the road,
+accompanied by the jingle of harness bells
+and the whooping cries of the drivers. A
+fog of white dust rose behind every passing
+vehicle, and the chestnut leaves overhead,
+long unwashed by rain, hung grimy and
+listless in the heavy air.</p>
+
+<p>As the peddler supped, large drops of
+sweat gathered on his long, red nose and
+dripped down his black beard, while his
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</span>face grew flushed and more scowling than
+ever. Presently, with an angry movement
+which startled Natale half out of his wits,
+he dropped the sausage and knife to the
+ground and tore off his coat.</p>
+
+<p>“Poor men have no choice!” he muttered.
+“Bare shoulders in winter, the cast-off
+winter coat of an Englishman in summer!”</p>
+
+<p>The soiled and tattered old coat was
+tossed aside, falling uncomfortably close to
+Natale’s feet, but he did not dare to push it
+away with disdainful touch. The peddler’s
+meal now came to an end, the remains of the
+sausage were gathered up with the cruel-looking
+knife and laid aside with the handkerchief,
+after which the peddler, with a
+satisfied grunt, sprawled himself on his
+side&mdash;to sleep, as Natale devoutly hoped.</p>
+
+<p>But not quite yet was the man ready for
+sleep. Reaching for his pack, with a lazy
+movement from where he lay, he unstrapped
+it and drew from among the coarse
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</span>laces and horn buttons inside a flat bottle,
+which he uncorked and turned up to his
+lips. As the liquor gurgled down his throat
+and its strong odor tainted the air, Natale
+let his eyes fall to the uncomely garment
+lying within touch of his fingers.</p>
+
+<p>Then the boy’s heart leaped into his
+throat, and it seemed as if he would suffocate
+where he sat. He dared not move, and
+bravely he looked away from the thing
+which lay within such easy reach of his longing
+hands, half-in, half-out of the fellow’s
+old coat pocket.</p>
+
+<p>If only the peddling thief would go off
+into a drunken sleep!</p>
+
+<p>For there, close by, lay Giovanni’s old
+pocketbook of stamped Spanish leather,
+stained and battered, as Natale had always
+known it!</p>
+
+<p>Who could tell whether any money still
+remained in it? There was nothing to do
+but wait till the man should go to sleep, and
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</span>then, stealthily drawing the pocketbook
+away from the overcoat, speed down the
+road to a safe distance and find out all
+about it.</p>
+
+<p>He had not long to wait before the peddler
+returned the bottle to the pack, and then,
+disposing himself on the ground, sank into
+an open-mouthed slumber.</p>
+
+<p>Only when quite sure that the sleep was
+real did Natale steal away on noiseless feet,
+prize in hand, across the shallow ditch bordering
+the road, and onward to the shelter
+of a ruined shed quite out of sight of their
+resting-place. Putting the shed between
+him and the road, Natale unstrapped the
+pocketbook with trembling eagerness.</p>
+
+<p>There lay the notes into which Giovanni
+had from time to time changed the cumbersome
+copper soldi of their earnings! There
+were the dingy blue five-franc notes, with
+many one and two-franc notes of a most
+uncompromising dirt color!</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</span></p>
+
+<p>The boy dared not take time to count
+them all. The fierce ogre asleep under the
+tree might rouse at any moment and find the
+pocketbook gone. Away, away, he must
+fly, on and on toward the Bagni di Lucca,
+even though evening was at hand, and a
+gray blanket of cloud threatened to hide
+the coming stars. So the little feet twinkled
+away through the dust, Natale’s heart now
+heavy with the dread of what was behind,
+now light with the joy of what might be
+ahead. As the warm dusk fell, it seemed
+safe to walk again, although every sound
+from behind made Natale’s heart seem to
+leap into his throat. Indeed, it seemed
+pretty much to stay in his throat, until, by
+and by, he came upon some one who was
+to give him most welcome news.</p>
+
+<p>He had traveled half a mile farther, and
+still it was not yet dark when he sighted a
+cluster of houses ahead and heard cheerful
+human voices. Coming up to the first
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</span>house, he found a pretty, plump young
+mother on her doorstep, cuddling a nursling
+on her breast. From across the road and
+about the house came busy sounds of sheep
+and cows being housed for the night in their
+thatched pens, and nobody seemed at
+leisure except the laughing woman with the
+crowing baby in her arms.</p>
+
+<p>On plying the woman with his usual
+question, Natale learned that the end of
+his pilgrimage was indeed “just down the
+road a little distance”, although, on such
+short legs as his, the woman added thoughtfully,
+it might take two hours more of brisk
+walking to reach even the big circus tent,
+standing on the outskirts of the Bagni all
+the past week.</p>
+
+<p>Ah! and was the circus still there?</p>
+
+<p>Of that the woman could not speak
+certainly, as some passer-by had mentioned
+only the day before that but one or two
+more performances were to be given before
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</span>the <i>circo</i> moved on to Lucca. She herself
+had wished to go to see the wonderful
+Antonio Bisbini, also the little Olga who
+had no more fear of a great horse’s hoofs
+than she herself of her baby’s brown toes.
+But how was a woman to leave her house
+and the tired men folks, to tramp down
+the hill and up again at night, with a
+heavy baby in her arms? Was the little
+boy hoping to reach the tent in time for the
+night’s exhibition?</p>
+
+<p>Natale’s heart had thrilled at the mention
+of Antonio’s magic name, and his spine
+straightened and his head was lifted with
+the pride of conscious relationship with the
+hero of the circus. He gave but a thought
+now to Olga’s usurpation of his place in the
+ring. For was he not returning to his own
+again, with the stolen pocketbook in the
+breast of his blouse? What a welcome
+there would be for him now!</p>
+
+<p>“Well, good night, <i>bimbo</i>, if you will go,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</span>and may you enjoy seeing the riding in the
+tent!” the woman called to him, looking
+wistfully after the little figure plodding
+away, after a polite return of her farewell.</p>
+
+<p>Natale’s heart was carefree now, as he
+limped lamely onward to the tune of the
+“Dead March,” humming the air as he
+went.</p>
+
+<p>The road had been growing more level
+for some hours as it entered the valley, and
+the river flowed more still and deep. The
+hush of night gathered under the trees, and
+the birds and insects went to rest or noiselessly
+crept from their haunts about vine
+and root, intent upon the business of the
+hour.</p>
+
+<p>As signs of the famous Baths of Lucca
+began to appear at certain curves in the
+road, Natale became possessed of but
+one idea. Down the river he began to see
+the lights of the town, and he even thought
+he heard the notes of band music, which,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</span>in truth, were wafted to his ears from the
+terrace of the Casino. His head was full
+of plans of stealing into the tent, and for at
+least this last night at Bagni di Lucca, playing
+his own part in the dying-horse act.
+He would not take precious moments now
+for practicing a somersault or wheel, as he
+went along, but it was easy to rehearse the
+dialogue over the dying brute&mdash;if only his
+tired, tired legs could keep the road, and his
+aching eyes find the old yellow tent set up
+somewhere among the trees.</p>
+
+<p>Presently, the gleaming eyes of bicycles
+began to whiz by, and a squarely built,
+many-windowed villa or two rose flush with
+the road. A little farther now, and the tent
+would surely appear, with perhaps Cara in
+her red dress at the doorway, and the band
+playing outside in the light of the big lamp!</p>
+
+<p>Laughing stragglers now sauntered here
+and there, none noticing the child making
+his dizzy way among them toward a flare
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</span>of light on one side where the trees fell
+apart. One would have hardly believed it
+possible that there was room for even the
+tent of the Circo Equestre of Antonio
+Bisbini and Giovanni Marzuchetti in the
+space between the long storehouse of corn
+and the terraced hillside behind. Yet, not
+only was the tent there, spread to its full
+circle and height, but the brown wagon also
+was visible, drawn within its shadow, and
+now the staring brown eyes of the little
+wanderer had found them both.</p>
+
+<p>Yes, there was the dear old tent, with its
+white patches upon the dull yellow, showing
+against the vine-clad hillsides of the Bagni.
+Also, there was the smoky lamp fastened to
+a post, where two ways met and parted.
+There was the usual crowd gathered outside
+about the entrance where Cara in her
+red dress and gauzy veil watched over the
+money bowl, in wait for some possible late-arriving
+spectator. The big reflecting lantern<span class="pagenum" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</span>
+on the table showed the wistful features
+of the outsiders as they crowded about the
+tent.</p>
+
+<p>As Natale crept around the tent, he saw
+the bare, brown legs of some trespassing
+youngster following squirming head and
+shoulders inside, under the curtain by way
+of the ground. In former times, the little
+acrobat would have been the first to raise
+an alarm and assist with alacrity in the
+ignominious expulsion of the intruder who
+wanted to see the show, and yet keep his
+<i>soldi</i> in his pocket, if such were there. But
+the sight of the enterprising offender made
+little impression on Natale’s mind now, as
+he stepped past the struggling legs, for, the
+hour being much later than he thought, the
+band inside just then struck up the familiar
+schottisch, and Natale knew that Il Duca
+was even now treading the ring in a dignified
+dance, led by Giovanni himself. His heart
+gave a suffocating throb, and his cheeks
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</span>burned. Then he shivered with cold, and
+his weary legs faltered before the daring
+deed about to be perpetrated.</p>
+
+<p>There was plenty of time, even yet, and
+he would do it even if Giovanni should strike
+him to the ground with his cracking whip,
+which had never yet, however, been raised
+against him with more than threatening
+intent.</p>
+
+<p>He stopped to listen a moment longer
+to the music before entering. Yes, there it
+was, the schottisch, accompanied by the
+beat of the clever hoofs. Then, as he
+knew the moment was at hand for Il Duca
+to drop dying in the ring, Natale crept
+swiftly in among the players gathered as
+usual in the small tent behind. Olga was
+there and Arduina, in their fanciful costumes,
+and Elvira, his mother, waiting for
+their “cues.”</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</span></p>
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XII">CHAPTER XII<br />
+<span class="smaller">AT LAST</span></h2></div>
+
+<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap"><span class="dropcap">T</span>he</span> small, pale apparition of Natale,
+suddenly projected into their midst,
+so startled them all that even Olga
+forgot to listen for the thud of Il Duca’s
+heavy body on the ground and the sound of
+his groans. They stared open-mouthed for
+an instant, and then the apparition vanished
+as suddenly as it had appeared.</p>
+
+<p>But the strains of the “Dead March”
+now recalled little Olga to herself, and she
+darted from behind the curtain and out into
+the light of the oil lamp, only to hear a
+familiar boyish voice instead of her own
+answering shrilly Giovanni’s question,
+“What are you crying about, child?”</p>
+
+<p>“Because our horse is dead!”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</span></p>
+
+<p>“But are you sure he is quite dead?”
+And Giovanni’s voice faltered with sudden
+fear, as he gazed at Natale’s small, dusty
+figure kneeling at the horse’s head, with
+Oh! such a world of pleading in his dark
+eyes and folded hands.</p>
+
+<p>“Quite dead!” wailed Natale.</p>
+
+<p>“Get up and feel his pulse, boy. If
+there is any pulse he is <i>not</i> dead!” Giovanni
+spoke fiercely, but there was no frown upon
+his face.</p>
+
+<p>And so the farce went on as usual, to the
+end, while Olga, with pouting lips, slipped
+behind the curtain again and joined the
+others who were, every one, peeping in to
+see little Natale do his beloved dying-horse
+act.</p>
+
+<p>The little girl had come to enjoy her bit
+of acting with Giovanni and Il Duca, for
+kneeling with folded hands and sobbing
+breath was a pretty attitude, always loudly
+applauded, and she no longer feared that
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</span>Il Duca would lift his faithful hoof against
+her. But now, here was Natale back again,
+and his shrill little voice going over the silly
+replies to the clown in his own, old way.
+Well, it would be rather nice, after all, to
+have Natale again, and she would not fuss
+about it as there were so few things he could
+really do, while she was learning new feats
+already, and would soon be riding Tesoro
+bareback around the ring.</p>
+
+<p>A perfect storm of applause succeeded the
+end of the dialogue, when Il Duca scrambled
+to his feet, and the tent was filled with cries
+for a repetition of the scene. But Giovanni
+turned swiftly and lifted Natale to
+the horse’s back, only in time to prevent the
+child’s falling to the ground, as if stunned
+by the noise of the shouting. Out of the
+ring and through the smaller tent to the
+open air beyond Il Duca pranced proudly,
+with Giovanni at his bridle, holding Natale
+in his place with his free hand.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</span></p>
+
+<p>Outside, they laid the child down on the
+warm ground in the dim light, and Arduina
+brought a cupful of water and bathed his
+face, while Olga stood by, and Antonio and
+Elvira went back to help Giovanni with his
+table-leaping inside.</p>
+
+<p>“He is not dead, is he, Arduina?” Olga
+asked in a frightened voice. “Feel his pulse
+as we do Il Duca’s!”</p>
+
+<p>“Hurry and call Nonna!” the older girl
+urged nervously. “We shall have to go in,
+the very next thing after this, and Nonna
+will know what to do.”</p>
+
+<p>So when Natale next opened his eyes, the
+light of a sputtering candle showed him the
+gray head of dear Nonna bent over him.
+He lay on a small mattress in a corner, and
+the smoke-stained ceiling of the house-wagon
+shut out the sky.</p>
+
+<p>“<i>Ecco!</i> he opens his eyes, my <i>bimbo</i>! my
+Natalino! <i>Carino</i>,<a id="FNanchor_10" href="#Footnote_10" class="fnanchor">[10]</a> what does it all mean?
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</span>Tell Nonna how you have come back to the
+<i>circo</i>!”</p>
+<p>But at first Natale only lifted one hand
+to stroke the dear, wrinkled face of Nonna,
+in smiling content. After a little, he laid
+his hand on the breast of his blouse and
+begged to be allowed to go to Giovanni.</p>
+
+<p>“He will not scold me for coming back
+when he sees what I have brought with
+me,” he urged.</p>
+
+<p>But Nonna reminded him that the tent
+was still crowded with spectators,&mdash;did
+he not hear the music close by, and the
+laughter of the people, as the clown and
+Antonio and Arduina did the funny pantomime?</p>
+
+<p>Natale lay back listening, with a happy
+smile on his lips, while Nonna went to blow
+up the coals of a small fire on the ground
+outside, and to hurry the broth that Natale
+might have nourishment. She could not
+prevail upon the boy to confide to her
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</span>what he was so anxious to tell his stepfather,
+and she left him alone, too glad to
+have him returned to them, to grumble over
+his reticence.</p>
+
+<p>Of all the children, Natale most sweetly
+recalled her own son’s childhood, and
+Antonio’s boyish affection for her, his
+cheeriness and obedience, had seemed to
+live again in Natale, although he was
+Elvira’s son, and no grandson, at all, of her
+own.</p>
+
+<p>The little ones, Tito, Maria, Gigi and the
+rest, were asleep in their corners, and Nonna
+had been sitting at rest in the wagon door
+when Olga had rushed up with the news that
+Natale had arrived and lay dying, perhaps,
+on the ground outside the tent. It was
+Nonna’s strong arms that had borne him
+away to the house-wagon, and Nonna’s
+vigorous rubbings and applications of cold
+water that had brought him out of the
+half-swoon of exhaustion. So Nonna was
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</span>content with her work, and would not press
+Natalino’s secret from him.</p>
+
+<p>By the time the performance was over,
+and the merry-makers had streamed out
+whistling, chatting and laughing together,
+and had gone their ways homeward, Natale,
+fed and rested, was sitting up bright-eyed
+and eager to announce his news.</p>
+
+<p>It was stuffy and hot in the wagon, and
+Giovanni went to fetch the boy outside, the
+moment the tent had emptied and the
+players were at leisure. Olga had not even
+taken time to change the yellow satin
+blouse and pink tights for her usual faded
+cotton frock. As for Antonio, he had only
+slipped his feet into a pair of loose slippers,
+so the great acrobat stood before Natale in
+all the glory of his spangled black velvet
+and shapely, pink-clad limbs.</p>
+
+<p>As the night was dark, one of the lamps
+was brought from the tent, and a wild,
+gypsy-like scene its rays revealed under the
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</span>trees about the steps of the house-wagon.
+Elvira, in an access of motherly tenderness,
+gathered Natale to her red satin
+bosom, and called him by all the musical
+pet names belonging to the boys and girls
+of Italy, while the musicians peeped over
+the shoulders of the actors and wondered
+how little Natale had ever found his way on
+foot all the way from Cutigliano to the
+Bagni.</p>
+
+<p>“The tramping will have limbered up his
+legs!” one whispered to another.</p>
+
+<p>“Stiffened them, rather!” was the reply,
+and then everybody stopped talking and
+only gazed the harder as Natale put his
+hand within the breast of his blouse and
+drew out the old leather pocketbook.</p>
+
+<p>“There, Giovanni!” he said simply,
+reaching the book toward his stepfather.
+“The ugly, black peddler with the red cap
+like our Leo’s stole the money, and while he
+slept on his back, by the road, I stole it from
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</span>him, and then&mdash;Oh, how fast I ran and
+ran that he might not catch me and kill me
+with his long, sharp knife!”</p>
+
+<p>Giovanni, speechless with astonishment
+and joy, solemnly received and kissed and
+opened the pocketbook, and then spread
+out the notes, one by one, on his knee, while
+the rest crowded around, counting them
+aloud.</p>
+
+<p>What if all should not be there? Natale’s
+eyes shone feverishly as he leaned forward
+from his mother’s knee, his gaze alternately
+upon the clown’s face, and the long, lithe
+fingers handling the money.</p>
+
+<p>Five, ten, fifteen, twenty, twenty-five,
+thirty, thirty-five, forty, forty-five, fifty,
+fifty-five, sixty, sixty-five, seventy, seventy-five,
+eighty, eighty-two, eighty-four, eighty-six,
+eighty-eight, ninety, ninety-one, ninety-two,
+ninety-three, ninety-four, ninety-five,
+ninety-six, ninety-seven, ninety-eight,
+ninety-nine, <i>one hundred</i>!</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</span></p>
+
+<p>Natale’s head dropped back against the
+red satin shoulder of his mother, and his
+large eyes gazed wistfully into Giovanni’s
+face.</p>
+
+<p>Would they let him stay now that he had
+come all the weary way “after the wagon”,
+bringing them the lost money? Their welcome
+had been encouraging; would they let
+him remain, or must he be sent back to
+Cutigliano, to the priest, to Sora Grazia,
+to school, to imprisonment in a house without
+wheels, and without Nonna?</p>
+
+<p>It was Antonio Bisbini who brought up
+the question finally and in a manner settled
+it with his slow-spoken words. Everybody
+had wondered and rejoiced over the safe
+return of the pocketbook, with the money
+untouched, and Natale had had to tell all
+about the peddler, and the risks he had run
+of rousing the fellow from sleep in making
+his escape with the pocketbook.</p>
+
+<p>“He was the man who teased me to buy
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</span>the beautiful diamond brooch on the day of
+San Lorenzo!” cried pretty Arduina, who
+well remembered the peddler’s flattering
+attentions to her in his hope of finding a
+purchaser for his paltry glass jewelry.</p>
+
+<p>“And the same who so frightened our
+Tito outside the church,” Nonna chimed
+in indignantly. “And he all the time pretended
+to be so pious and anxious to see the
+saints’ relics in the church! No wonder
+Tito cried at the snapping of those dirty,
+thievish fingers in his little face. The
+saints only know how he found the money
+in Giovanni’s coat-pocket hung in the
+tent!”</p>
+
+<p>“Mamá <i>mia</i>, do you remember how stiff
+my legs were when I played at leaping with
+the boys at school in Florence?” Antonio,
+the finished acrobat, asked thoughtfully,
+breaking a long straw with his fingers and
+looking at nobody. His blond head reached
+almost to the lowest boughs of the chestnut
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</span>tree under which he stood, and the lamplight
+flared over his fair face and glittering
+costume.</p>
+
+<p>Natale sat up to hear the words of this
+oracle, and even slipped off the satin lap of
+Elvira to the ground, in order to be nearer
+Antonio.</p>
+
+<p>“I remember that you were a studious
+boy,” Nonna murmured in reply, with a
+note of the old bitterness in her voice.</p>
+
+<p>“Natale has done a good work in returning
+the money to us, Giovanni,” the acrobat
+continued. “Why send him back to the
+foreigners? He was unhappy, or he would
+never have come all this distance alone&mdash;mere
+baby that he is.”</p>
+
+<p>“And the Englishwoman’s money?”
+Giovanni asked in a businesslike tone.</p>
+
+<p>“What has been used, replace from the
+pocketbook. It is not much, as we have
+taken in so good a sum, here at the Bagni.
+Leo can ride back with it to Cutigliano
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</span>to-morrow morning, and return in time for
+our last night here.”</p>
+
+<p>“<i>Ebbene!</i>” said Giovanni, and this meaning
+“All right, with a very good will,” so it
+was decided, and then everybody hurried
+to get into comfortable old clothes and to
+eat supper.</p>
+
+<p>Leo was sent to the nearest wine shop for
+a bottle of good red wine that the troop
+might drink to the joy of Natale’s return
+and the recovery of the money; also to the
+just discomfiture of all thieving peddlers.</p>
+
+<p>Long before the evening came to an end,
+a tired but most happy little boy had crept
+into the shadow and fallen asleep, with his
+head pillowed against Nonna’s knee.</p>
+
+<p>“I am glad thou art come back to us,
+Natalino,” she whispered in the softest
+Italian above the tangled brown curls,
+while the rest sang and made merry, “and
+if thy little legs will only grow as straight
+and as strong as my Antonio’s, and thy
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</span>heart remain as faithful to old Nonna, the
+saints forgive me if I care very much whether
+thou be acrobat or priest!”</p>
+
+<hr class="tb" />
+
+<p>For some reason known best to himself,
+but readily guessed by the clown and the
+rest of the older members of the circus, the
+swarthy peddler was not seen in Bagni di
+Lucca for many a day after. But Natale
+did not lose his dread of encountering the
+fierce eyes and the cruel knife until long
+after the circus troop had taken to the road
+again.</p>
+
+<p>Nothing in the world could have induced
+Mrs. Bishop, the English lady at Cutigliano,
+to touch the money returned with, what
+was to her, most astonishing promptness
+and honesty through Leo, one of the musicians.</p>
+
+<p>In the first place, the notes were very dirty,
+much more so, she was sure, than when she
+had paid them to the clown a little more
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</span>than a week before. Secondly, she would
+not reclaim money which had been once
+devoted to the cause of civilization and
+of education. If the “little ingrate” despised
+his opportunities and had finally
+returned to his “wallowing in the mire”,
+let the money which would have bought
+him for decency and for usefulness go with
+him. Thirdly&mdash;but this was not acknowledged
+even to Betty&mdash;the old lady’s heart
+had been touched by the tale Luigi the
+priest had come to tell her on the morning
+after the flight of the birdling. So her
+heart was not quite so hard as her words
+sounded, and she was in truth rather rejoiced,
+as well as very much relieved in
+mind, when Leo had arrived to tell of runaway
+Natale’s return to the troop in
+safety. Therefore, generously, Mrs. Bishop
+would not receive the money because it
+seemed to her no longer her own; surely
+Giovanni and Elvira and Nonna had kept
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</span>their part of the bargain in giving up the
+child, while Natale had not even been
+consulted in their plan.</p>
+
+<p>The roll of notes was therefore returned
+by Leo to Giovanni, with the foreign lady’s
+instructions that the money was to be spent
+in providing meat for broth for the children
+so long as it should last. There would still
+be plenty of cold water always, free as air,
+for daily baths along the roads of Italy, and
+Mrs. Bishop hoped that Sora Grazia’s
+ministrations in that line would not soon
+be forgotten by Natale, who for one short
+week had been a scrubbed little lad. (It is
+safe to say that they were not!)</p>
+
+<p>Along with the money, Mrs. Bishop sent
+a school primer to Natale, with the admonition
+that he would at least try to learn
+to read while jogging up and down the
+earth and upsetting his stomach in all
+heathenish sports.</p>
+
+<p>But Madame Cioche and Betty rejoiced
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</span>in open triumph over Natale’s freedom, to
+say nothing of the priest Luigi and the
+wise old gentleman who had in fact unwittingly
+opened the cage door for flight.</p>
+
+<p>Sora Grazia was a trifle glum for a day or
+two at finding her pains thrown away upon
+the sulky little protégé of the foreign lady,
+but as the month’s pay for his board and
+lodging had been in advance, and the
+nearly new clothes and shoes and cap were
+now thrown into the bargain by Mrs.
+Bishop, to repay her for her extra trouble,
+she too soon became content and even
+pleased with the ending of the rich lady’s
+scheme.</p>
+
+<p>So the bare front wall of the priest’s
+house in Cutigliano among the mountains
+has, as yet, no prospect of being adorned
+by a memorial tablet to a waif of all outdoors
+who was willing to be a great man in
+books and goodness.</p>
+
+<p>And Natale?</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</span></p>
+
+<p>Well, Natale is learning, better and better,
+how to turn his <i>capitomboli</i> over the dusty
+circus carpet, and he still feels Il Duca’s
+pulse with sorrowful apprehension to the
+tune of the “Dead March in Saul”&mdash;by
+night among the oil lamps.</p>
+
+<p>By day, he trudges along hot white roads,
+under the marvelous blue of Italy’s sky,
+with Niero and Bianco for company. Or,
+he lies on the ground at Nonna’s side under
+some spreading tree in the camping-out
+times, sometimes spelling out words in a
+dog-eared primer, oftener gazing past the
+tree tops at the cloud-ships sailing overhead,
+while Nonna tells of Antonio’s wonderful
+childhood.</p>
+
+<p>By and by, when Natale grows too large
+to do the dying-horse act, and little Tito,
+or Gigi takes his place, he will be dashing
+with the horses around the ring. And then,
+in the still further and sweeter by and by,
+when Antonio’s agile legs will perhaps have
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</span>begun to stiffen again, and the straight back
+to bend forward a little as he walks, who
+but Natale will be the shining star of the
+Circo Equestre, like another bespangled,
+pink-clad Antonio, with crisp brown curls
+and laughing eyes, and the nimblest,
+straightest legs in all Italy?</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
+
+<div class="adblock"><div class="chapter">
+<p class="center no-indent"><span class="smaller"><i>The story of a little patriotic Cuban girl</i></span></p></div>
+
+<div class="box"><p class="ph2">LITTLE CUBA LIBRE</p></div>
+
+<p class="center no-indent"><i>By</i> JANIE PRICHARD DUGGAN</p>
+
+<p class="center no-indent">Illustrated. 282 pages. 12mo. $1.35 <i>net.</i></p>
+
+<p>In all the big city of Havana there was no more patriotic
+little girl than Amada Trueno, daughter of one of the city
+gardeners. With all her heart she hated the Spaniards who
+ruled her beloved island of Cuba. “Little Cuba Libre” they
+called her when she stamped her foot and called the Spaniards
+enemies and tyrants. When she went to her cousin’s house
+in the country, although she played on friendly terms with
+the children of a Spanish planter, still her hatred of the oppressors
+slumbered. How the Cubans finally revolted, and
+how little Amada herself took part in that revolution, even
+to the extent of bearing arms, is told in this charming story.
+“Little Cuba Libre” contains faithful pictures of Cuban life
+and Cuban people, and while written especially for young
+readers, its fine qualities should also appeal to older ones.
+Besides being an interesting story of Cuban girlhood it is a
+depiction of the very spirit of patriotism.</p>
+
+<hr class="tiny" />
+
+<p class="center no-indent">LITTLE, BROWN &amp; CO., <span class="smcap">Publishers</span></p>
+
+<p class="center no-indent"><span class="smcap">34 Beacon Street, Boston</span></p></div>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
+
+<div class="adblock"><div class="chapter">
+<p class="center no-indent"><span class="smaller"><i>Real stories of three famous elephants</i></span></p></div>
+
+<div class="box2"><p class="ph2">THE ADVENTURES OF<br />
+MOLLIE, WADDY and TONY</p></div>
+
+<p class="center no-indent"><i>By</i> PAUL WAITT</p>
+
+<p class="center no-indent">Illustrated in color by Clara E. Atwood.</p>
+
+<p class="center no-indent">75 cents net.</p>
+
+<hr class="tiny" />
+
+<p>Mollie, Waddy and Tony are three of the most wonderful
+elephants in the world. Born in India, they have traveled
+all over Europe and our own America, showing their clever
+tricks to thousands of boys and girls. They were bought by
+the children of Boston and are now kept in the Franklin
+Park Zoo, where they will remain the rest of their lives.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Waitt writes of their adventures when they were
+traveling, and tells of some tricks they played which their
+keeper never taught them. Little Tony is the roguish one,
+and he is always getting into mischief. That clever little
+trunk of his pokes into all sorts of places where it doesn’t belong,
+and sometimes it takes Mollie, Waddy and Johann, the
+keeper, to make him behave as a proper little elephant should.</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+
+<p>“This is the most bewitching elephant story we ever read.
+It is the story of their travels through many countries. It is
+as good a story for boys and girls as any boys and girls will
+ever want to read.”&mdash;<i>Journal of Education</i>, Boston.</p>
+
+<p>“The story of ‘The Adventure of Mollie, Waddy, and
+Tony’ is one of the nicest that little people who like animals
+can read.”&mdash;<i>New York Times.</i></p></div>
+
+<hr class="tiny" />
+
+<p class="center no-indent">LITTLE, BROWN &amp; CO., <span class="smcap">Publishers</span></p>
+
+<p class="center no-indent"><span class="smcap">34 Beacon Street, Boston</span></p></div>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
+
+<div class="footblock"><div class="chapter">
+<p class="ph2 nobreak"><span class="smcap">Footnotes:</span></p>
+</div>
+
+<p><a id="Footnote_1" href="#FNanchor_1" class="footnote label">[1]</a> Pronounced Nah-tah´le.</p>
+
+<p><a id="Footnote_2" href="#FNanchor_2" class="footnote label">[2]</a> Mush of corn meal.</p>
+
+<p><a id="Footnote_3" href="#FNanchor_3" class="footnote label">[3]</a> “The little boy! The little boy!”</p>
+
+<p><a id="Footnote_4" href="#FNanchor_4" class="footnote label">[4]</a> Foreigners.</p>
+
+<p><a id="Footnote_5" href="#FNanchor_5" class="footnote label">[5]</a> Young prince.</p>
+
+<p><a id="Footnote_6" href="#FNanchor_6" class="footnote label">[6]</a> Somersaults.</p>
+
+<p><a id="Footnote_7" href="#FNanchor_7" class="footnote label">[7]</a> Little boy.</p>
+
+<p><a id="Footnote_8" href="#FNanchor_8" class="footnote label">[8]</a> Good morning.</p>
+
+<p><a id="Footnote_9" href="#FNanchor_9" class="footnote label">[9]</a> Inn.</p>
+
+<p><a id="Footnote_10" href="#FNanchor_10" class="footnote label">[10]</a> Darling.</p></div>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
+
+<div class="transnote"><div class="chapter">
+<p class="ph2 nobreak"><span class="smcap">Transcriber’s Notes:</span></p></div>
+
+<p>On page 4, Tesore has been changed to Tesoro.</p>
+
+<p>On page 71, up-stairs has been changed to upstairs.</p>
+
+<p>Illustrations have been moved to avoid interrupting the flow of
+paragraphs.</p>
+
+<p>All other spelling, hyphenation, and non-English dialogue have been
+retained.</p></div>
+
+<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 69064 ***</div>
+</body>
+</html>
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+The Project Gutenberg eBook of The little acrobat: a story of Italy,
+by Janie Prichard Duggan
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and
+most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
+whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms
+of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at
+www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you
+will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before
+using this eBook.
+
+Title: The little acrobat: a story of Italy
+
+Author: Janie Prichard Duggan
+
+Illustrator: Nana French Bickford
+
+Release Date: September 30, 2022 [eBook #69064]
+
+Language: English
+
+Produced by: D A Alexander and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team
+             at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images
+             generously made available by the Library of Congress)
+
+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LITTLE ACROBAT: A STORY
+OF ITALY ***
+
+
+
+
+
+THE LITTLE ACROBAT
+
+[Illustration: The pale apparition of Natale startled them all.
+_Frontispiece._
+
+_See page 167._]
+
+
+
+
+  THE
+
+  LITTLE ACROBAT
+
+  A STORY OF ITALY
+
+
+  BY
+
+  JANIE PRICHARD DUGGAN
+
+
+  _WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY_
+
+  NANA FRENCH BICKFORD
+
+  BOSTON
+
+  LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY
+  1919
+
+
+
+
+  _Copyright, 1919_,
+
+  BY LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY.
+
+  _All rights reserved_
+
+  Published, September, 1919
+
+  Norwood Press
+  Set up and electrotyped by J. S. Cushing Co., Norwood, Mass., U.S.A.
+  Presswork by S. J. Parkhill & Co., Boston, Mass., U.S.A.
+
+
+
+
+  DEDICATED
+  TO MEMORIES OF
+  TWO LITTLE “ANGELICALS” OF ROME
+  SPOTTISWOODE AND SUSIE
+  BY
+  “CUDDIE”
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+
+  CHAPTER                               PAGE
+
+     I ALONG THE WHITE ROAD                1
+
+    II NONNA                              12
+
+   III IN THE RING                        26
+
+    IV THE FESTIVAL OF SAN LORENZO        39
+
+     V A GIFT FOR THE CIRCUS              55
+
+    VI SEPARATION                         73
+
+   VII THE CAGED BIRD OF THE FIELDS       91
+
+  VIII THE CAGE DOOR OPENED              105
+
+    IX THE FLIGHT OF THE BIRD            121
+
+     X ON THE WING                       133
+
+    XI FLUTTERING A LITTLE FARTHER       150
+
+   XII AT LAST                           167
+
+
+
+
+LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
+
+
+  The pale apparition of Natale startled
+  them all               _Frontispiece_
+
+  Mrs. Bishop looked down upon the tent
+  from the garden terrace       PAGE 45
+
+  The priest led Natale to the other end of
+  the house                     “    94
+
+  “_Capitomboli_, such as the boy who was
+  here just now made in the circus at
+  Cutigliano”                   “   142
+
+
+
+
+THE LITTLE ACROBAT
+
+_A STORY OF ITALY_
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I
+
+ALONG THE WHITE ROAD
+
+
+THE July sunshine lay hot and golden over the fields of wheat on the
+Italian hillsides, and the deep shade of the chestnut woods along the
+road was more inviting than the white glare beyond. The sun stood
+directly overhead, and along the middle of that white, dusty road there
+was not an inch of shadow.
+
+A small brown house on wheels crept slowly along this sunny way,
+drawn by a queer, ill-matched team of three--a plump white horse with
+long, silky mane and tail, a large spotted horse with fierce eyes and
+nostrils, and a lean, little brown pony, with strangely twisted neck.
+
+Up and up, always a little higher up, the horses toiled with the
+house-wagon, as the road rose into the mountains. From the interior
+of the wagon came the sound of voices, mingled now and then with a
+complaining note, or an exclamation of pain. The travelers were very
+tired, and poor Pietro’s fever was rising with every turn of the wheels.
+
+Several men and a sturdy girl of fifteen walked beside the horses in
+the powdery white dust. Behind the big wagon lagged a boy of eight or
+nine years. This was Natale,[1] a slight little fellow, with dusty lean
+legs and dragging feet. His light brown hair curled damply about his
+sun-browned forehead, and he wore an old, misshapen hat set far back on
+his pretty head. His loosely fitting clothes were dingy with dust but
+Natale did not mind, for, presently, they would come to Cutigliano,
+the old, old town on the mountain side, and there they would camp out
+on the soft, green grass. And Natale knew from much experience that
+nothing could clean the dust from travel-stained clothes so well as
+rolling down the grassy slopes of the chestnut woods, with Niero and
+Bianco as companions.
+
+[Footnote 1: Pronounced Nah-tah´le.]
+
+Of course the sun was hot; was it not always hot at noon of a summer’s
+day in the Apennines? But Niero did not complain, and why should Natale?
+
+Bianco had tired of trotting along at Natale’s side, and at the last
+stopping-place, when Pietro had had a drink of water from the wayside
+fountain, the tired little black dog had begged to be allowed to ride,
+and had been willingly taken inside the wagon.
+
+Natale never asked to ride in the wagon, unless he were very tired and
+sleepy. They were rather crowded in there even without him, for Pietro
+took up a great deal of room, now that he had to lie down all the time.
+Besides, the other children, good travelers as they usually were,
+sometimes grew quarrelsome and made the mothers and the grandmother
+angry. Natale did not like quarreling and loud voices, so he always
+preferred his resting times to be given him on the back of one of the
+horses. But now Tesoro and Il Duca were tired also, and they were so
+near Cutigliano, it did not matter if Natale did lag behind a little,
+always with big Niero for company.
+
+Niero was a large, lean, white dog with a closely sheared body. About
+his neck, however, he wore a fluffy collar of long white hair, and
+bracelets of the same adorned his four paws, while his long tail ended
+in a tuft, having very much the appearance of a dishmop. Why this
+white dog should have been named Niero, meaning black, the clown who
+had also named the little black dog Bianco, white, could have best
+explained.
+
+By and by, long after the gray church tower had come in sight and the
+red-tiled roofs of the town showed bunched together against the green
+of the wooded hillside, the travelers reached the arched stone bridge
+across the river at the foot of the mountain. Here the wagon made a
+halt before beginning the last steep climb to the town. Above, they
+could see the stone wall which was the boundary of the road winding by
+loops, one above the other, up the mountain side, but the town had now
+disappeared from view, so sheer was the rise of the chestnut woods.
+
+This halt gave Natale time to come up with the wagon, and then he sat
+down with a tired sigh on a heap of mending-stones by the roadside, in
+front of the wagon door. His legs ached with weariness, but this was
+no time to think of riding, as even the women and all the children but
+Pietro must alight now, to relieve the horses in the last pull up hill.
+Natale watched them descend from the wagon one by one, by the steps one
+of the musicians placed at the door.
+
+First came Nonna, the grandmother of Rudolfo and Tito and the five
+other children of the blond acrobat, Antonio Bisbini. She was not
+Natale’s Nonna, of course, yet everybody called her Nonna, and why
+should not he, who had no grandmother of his own?
+
+Nonna carried Tito in her arms and led Rudolfo by the hand. Then
+came Tito’s mother, the three-months’-old infant, Gigi, in her arms,
+followed by Olga, who held little Maria by the hand. Next, Natale’s own
+mamá stepped down, glad to stretch her active limbs by walking, after
+nursing Pietro for so many tedious hours. Then the rest of Bisbini’s
+children scrambled out, aided by the music-man’s helping hands.
+
+On they went again then, the clown, who was Natale’s stepfather,
+walking at the horses’ heads, and cracking his long whip, and
+chirruping to them while the other men strode behind the wagon, pushing
+upon it with all their might at the steep places in the road.
+
+The women and children, meanwhile, left the road to climb the short
+cuts upward, leading directly from terrace to terrace,--mere paths
+paved with rough stones, here and there loosened and displaced by
+rushing rain-torrents of the past. The little ones bore the heat and
+the roughness of the way without murmuring, being allowed to straggle
+along as they pleased, now stopping to gather a red poppy from the
+edge of the wheat, now dropping on the ground to search for a briar
+afflicting some tired foot. Natale was not the last in the procession
+now, for he was anxious to get to the top and see what the tall wheat
+and the green slopes were hiding from his eyes.
+
+At last they reached the wide turn in the road where the wagon must
+finally stop, at the edge of the town field. The wagon also came
+toiling upward, and now the good horses might rest. So these were
+unhitched from the wagon, and while one or two of the men led them
+up the steep, paved street into the village to find food and shelter
+for them, the others attended to the house-wagon, drawn close against
+the low stone wall inclosing the field, placing great stones against
+the wheels to steady it in its place. Now was Natale’s hour and the
+dogs’, and they understood this as well as he! Over the low wall they
+scampered and down on the soft, hot grass they lay, rolling over and
+over down the gentle slope of the field until, suddenly, Natale found
+himself landing directly upon his feet, with a whirring in his head,
+and the sound of distressed barking in his ears.
+
+The dogs had had the wit to stop on the very edge of a sharp descent
+which Natale had not noticed, and now they stood on the bank,
+half-a-dozen feet above him, their forefeet firmly planted on the brink
+of the grassy precipice, and their tufty tails high in the air, begging
+with all their might to know whether their dear little comrade were
+hurt. Natale was not hurt, but the jar of the descent gave him a queer
+feeling under the waistband of his trousers, and he sat down directly
+where he stood, on the lower terrace, turning his back upon the dogs.
+
+A fringe of bushes threw a narrow band of shade about him from above,
+and he made up his mind to stay there till something should be made
+ready for dinner. He hoped he would not be wanted to fetch anything
+from the village,--he was always fetching something for somebody. He
+had heard his mother calling to her husband to bring a little meal for
+the polenta,[2] when he should finish stabling the horses, and he knew
+there was wine left in the flask in the wagon.
+
+[Footnote 2: Mush of corn meal.]
+
+From where Natale sat he could look directly down upon the roof of a
+house far down by the stone bridge and could faintly hear the rushing
+of the little river Lima over the rocks. Presently he eased himself
+out on the grass at full length, with his arms crossed beneath his
+head. As he dropped off to sleep, he was thinking how well it was that
+there could be no performance in the tent that evening. He was sure
+that Arduina would laugh more than ever at his stiff little feats on
+the circus carpet if he should have to turn somersaults after the long
+tramp.
+
+Then Natale slept, with the great green mountains closing around him,
+and Bianco the black dog and Niero the white keeping watch above his
+head from where they had stretched themselves on the edge of the
+terrace in the sun.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II
+
+NONNA
+
+
+NATALE, as will have been discovered by this time, was an Italian
+circus boy, a cheerful, happy little soul, who loved his “profession”,
+and whose ambition reached to the giddy height of some day rivaling
+even Antonio Bisbini in his wonderful trapeze performances. He loved
+everything connected with the life he led,--the long slow journeyings
+through his beautiful Italy, the camping out at night along the quiet
+roads, the open-air loungings in some village through the sunny days,
+until the evening should come and the oil lamps be lighted in the tent,
+and the people come crowding in to see Arduina dance the tight rope,
+and little Olga do her wonderful turns and twists on the carpet, and
+to applaud Antonio and the clown and the horses, and--yes, and himself
+too, little Natale, stiff as his short thin legs always were and
+hopeless, as Arduina declared, in his bows and scrapes.
+
+Besides the three musicians, there were two families in the strolling
+company. Giovanni Marzuchetti was the clown, also the stepfather of
+Paulo, Arduina, Pietro, Natale and little Maria, and husband of Elvira,
+the black-haired mother of the five children. This man had no children
+of his own but was kind in his rough, clownish way to Natale and the
+rest.
+
+It is not difficult to understand why Giovanni should have married
+Elvira and her family, when it was known that the woman brought to her
+husband a small fortune in the shape of her own wonderful skill as
+a rider of horses, and the little ones as possible acrobats of the
+future. They had been married for two years now, and if Giovanni had
+counted largely upon his ready-made family for speedy reënforcements
+in the “ring”, he must have become a little discouraged even by this
+time. It is true that Paulo and Arduina were well trained in the art of
+circus acting; but poor Pietro, the middle-sized one, who was twelve
+years old, was always ailing and feeble. Sleeping out of doors in the
+marshy regions had developed in his system a chronic fever which could
+not be thrown off, even with the aid of Nonna’s assiduous doctoring,
+and lately the weakness had settled in one leg and foot, threatening
+permanent lameness.
+
+Natale, who came next, was agile enough when running about on his slim
+brown legs, but his funny stiff-legged somersaults and awkward antics
+in the ring were matters of jesting among the whole troop. Poor little
+Natale, who did so wish to be like Antonio Bisbini!
+
+Lastly there was Maria, who was a mere baby and as yet only just
+learning to stand upright on her stepfather’s head.
+
+But Antonio Bisbini, the father of the other family, was the star of
+the little troop of strolling players. Tall and lean and muscular, he
+stood six feet two in his sandals. His blond hair and skin and strong,
+clear-cut features gave him the look of some stern young Viking from
+the cold forests of the North, yet this youthful-looking, ruddy athlete
+was already the father of seven young children.
+
+No one in the company, not even the clown, could hold a candle to
+Antonio in looks or in graceful skill. Natale was sure that the noblest
+and most beautiful figure in all Italy was that of Antonio Bisbini
+as he would step forth from behind the tent-curtain, ready to thrill
+the spectators about the ring. The flesh-colored tights clothing his
+limbs showed to perfection their symmetry and grace, relieved by the
+brilliantly spangled hip garment of black velvet and fringe, while the
+proud glance of his gray eyes and the light tread of his feet never
+failed to impress the beholder.
+
+Antonio’s oldest, little red-haired Olga, tumbled and danced with all
+a healthy child’s love of activity and applause, and Oh! how Natale
+envied her the perfect “wheels” she turned, one after the other with
+dizzying swiftness across the dusty strip of carpet in the ring. But
+the rest of Antonio’s seven were as yet too small to be useful as
+tumblers or dancers, and Nonna’s hands were always full, while their
+mother did her daring dances in the air.
+
+The three musicians, then, and Nonna completed this strolling band of
+twenty, with the two horses, the dogs and the twisted-necked pony. Poor
+Caffero had grievously hurt his pretty neck one day when very young,
+while tied in his stall and leaping to reach his food from a manger
+set cruelly high. Since then he had trotted painfully through three
+years of going up and down the earth, with his brown head and long neck
+twisted far around to one side without the power of righting them.
+Caffero would have made a pretty part of the show had not this accident
+befallen him. As it was, he was good for little but helping to guide
+the house-wagon along the weary roads. Yet every one loved Caffero.
+
+On the day of the arrival at Cutigliano the two horses Tesoro and Il
+Duca were left in their stalls in the village stables during the whole
+afternoon, while Caffero was brought down the steep village street
+and allowed to graze in the public field. Nonna herself had gone up
+for him with Tito in her arms, after the midday meal of polenta, or
+thick mush of yellow meal, had been eaten. As the trio passed through
+the narrow street of the village, many heads turned to wonder at the
+strangers--the gray-haired woman, the bright-eyed child in her arms,
+and poor Caffero, who always seemed pulling against the leading rope
+and trying to twist his head after something left behind.
+
+It was while Nonna, a little later, was tying Caffero’s rope to a
+tree in the field that she spied the two dogs asleep in the sun near
+the edge of the terrace. As Tito recognized them at the same time,
+and called them in his baby voice, the grandmother added her summons,
+and was rather astonished at their failure to obey. They bounded to
+their feet, it is true, but instead of scampering to meet her, they
+stood still, quivering with nervous excitement and waving their tails
+in much perplexity. Then as Tito began to fret and belabor the air
+with his fists, Nonna started swiftly toward the dogs with something
+threatening in her gait.
+
+But where were they, those lazy brutes, which a moment before had
+defied her and then had promptly disappeared? A few more hasty steps
+brought Nonna near enough to the edge of the descent to see both Niero
+and Bianco crouching over Natale on the lower terrace. The boy had been
+awakened by the sudden onset of his faithful friends, and lay looking
+lazily upward as Nonna and Tito peered over at him.
+
+“Natalino!” the old woman exclaimed, and, at the word, Natale scrambled
+to his feet.
+
+“I am ready! Where am I to go?” he asked hurriedly, preparing to creep
+up the bank. But Nonna only laughed and reached down a helping hand to
+the child, as he clutched at the long grass for support.
+
+“Come and eat your polenta,” she said, when Natale stood at her side,
+the dogs panting close by. “I suppose they have saved you a bite. Why
+did you run away? Though, as for that, you were not missed in all this
+hurly-burly of arriving. Now, Niero, stand on your hind legs and beg.
+See, Tito is fretting for you to do it--”
+
+“But we haven’t a bone or a crust of bread for him, Nonna,” Natale
+pleaded. “See how sadly his eyes look at you. Giovanni always gives him
+a bone.”
+
+“There! take to your legs then, poor thing!” Nonna cried in a friendly
+way to the hungry dog. “Perhaps to-morrow there will be a bone. Who
+knows?”
+
+Natale ran off toward the wagon, followed by the patient animals, who
+perhaps were well assured that he was going to share with them his own
+scanty heap of polenta.
+
+The brown house on wheels leaned slightly inward against the stone wall
+for security, as the hill’s incline was steep at this point. The door
+opened directly upon the top of the wall, which formed a broad and
+convenient doorstep, reached from the ground by a short ladder. About
+the wagon and in the field close by everybody was busy.
+
+The great canvas of the tent had been unpacked from the top of the
+wagon, and the two women sat on the ground patching the holes and
+thin places worn in it by long use. Some of the men were making trips
+back and forth from wagon and field, carrying sections of board for
+inclosing the ring. These were to be set up in their places by and by,
+when Antonio should have finished marking off the circle on the grass,
+with the hole in the center for the tent pole. There was nothing, as
+yet, for the children to do but loll in the shadow of the wagon, asleep
+or awake, and chatter among themselves.
+
+As Natale and the dogs drew near, Elvira, the boy’s mother, looked up
+from her stitching and clapped her hand to her forehead on seeing them.
+
+“Natale! I had forgotten the child. Little pest, where have you been,
+away from us all, and your dinner? One would think you had friends in
+the town and had been taking your polenta in grander houses than ours
+here.”
+
+Natale replied to these mocking words with only a rather naughty shrug
+of the shoulders, and went to sit down on the lowest step of the short
+ladder against the wall.
+
+“Give him his polenta, Arduina,” Nonna called shrilly from a little way
+behind. “He was asleep, Elvira, all tired out with walking to-day as
+much as any man among us. I keep my eyes open. Don’t scold the boy.”
+
+“One would think my Natale your own grandson, Nonna,” Elvira replied,
+laughing good-naturedly.
+
+“All boys are as her own sons or grandsons,” Nonna’s daughter-in-law
+interposed carelessly, as the old woman passed on with Tito, perhaps to
+see that Arduina gave Natale his proper share of mush.
+
+In Nonna’s big warm heart there was indeed room for the sons and
+grandsons of those who were too sparing of motherly love and care for
+their own. The gray-haired woman had long ago accepted this wandering
+life for the sake of continuing near to her only son, Antonio, the
+acrobat, and Antonio’s children. When her boy at the age of twenty-two
+had given up everything that his mother thought of worth in the
+world--home, a decent, quiet life in it, books, school, a career as a
+priest--in order to marry Cara, a rosy, lithe-limbed rope-dancer out of
+Egypt, he had found that his mother was not going to be given up along
+with these. By and by, when the babies began to come every year or two,
+Nonna came to be appreciated even by the fantastic daughter-in-law
+given her by Antonio, while in the hearts of all the little ones Nonna
+was--well, Nonna,--and therefore everything good and patient and sweet.
+
+It was Nonna who cared for the ailing Pietro, who rubbed Natale’s stiff
+ankles and elbows with an ointment of her own invention to limber
+them up, who thought to tuck Olga’s long red hair out of the way when
+practice time came and the curling locks would have teased the little
+face and shoulders turned upside down and hindside before. It was Nonna
+who nursed the babies and put them to bed while the mothers rode the
+horses in the tent, and Nonna who led the poor pony about to “fresh
+fields and pastures new”, and Nonna who instructed giddy-brained
+Arduina in the simple mysteries of concocting savory stews out of next
+to nothing, and how to make corn meal for ten do service as polenta for
+twice as many. The little troop could not have done without Nonna, no,
+indeed!
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III
+
+IN THE RING
+
+
+IT took all of that first day and most of the next to get everything
+into shape for an exhibition on the second night after the arrival of
+the circus troop at Cutigliano.
+
+The turf had been removed from the ring, or round space inclosed by the
+low panels of wood, and the tent pole erected, by the time the canvas
+was mended and the side curtains were ready to be hung.
+
+The sun was just about to slip over the mountain rim in the west when
+everything was done, and it only remained to draw the stout ropes and
+hoist the canvas into position. Natale was generally on hand when this
+was done, listening for the creaking of the pulley at the top of the
+pole, as the dull yellow canvas slowly rose into position, till, all
+at once, it spread like a queer, pointed mushroom over the green grass
+of the field.
+
+It was a fortunate thing that there was no wind that first evening,
+for if there had been even a stiff breeze there would have been no
+performance. A very little wind caught under the canvas spread on that
+exposed hillside before it was securely roped into place might have
+carried it all away to be stranded in the tops of the chestnut trees
+below, and a new canvas for such a _circo_ as that would have cost
+certainly three hundred francs.
+
+When at last the tent was raised, Giovanni hung above the entrance a
+broad strip of blue canvas with clowns’ and horses’ heads painted upon
+it, and the sign in large letters: “Circo Equestre”, which is Italian
+for “Circus with Horses.”
+
+Lastly, figured curtains of pale green calico were hung around the
+little vestibule, so that outsiders who had not paid the entrance fee
+might not peep inside and see what was going on, without payment.
+
+Now all was ready, and it was still early, although almost dark in the
+field. Among the mountains, where one lives perhaps at the foot or even
+half-way up the slopes, night falls early, because the sinking sun is
+hidden from sight over the mountain tops long before it really drops
+into the sea behind them.
+
+Yet it was not quite time to light the lamps inside the tent, as the
+performance was not to begin until half-past eight o’clock. Cutigliano
+was full of Italians, and a few English and Americans who had left
+the hot cities behind, with their churches and picture galleries and
+ruins, and had come to the pleasant hotels of the ancient mountain town
+to enjoy the fine air and the beautiful chestnut woods during the hot
+summer months. These visitors would not be through with their dinners
+at the hotels before eight o’clock, while the servants and plain
+village folk would find a late hour convenient for coming down the hill
+to the yellow tent.
+
+At seven o’clock, however, the three men, with the big brass horn, the
+cornet and the drum, climbed the stony street into the town and made
+lively music in the little stone-paved _piazzas_, or open squares,
+where the children played in the sunset light.
+
+By this time everybody in Cutigliano had learned what had been going
+on down in the field for the past two days, and many even of the rich
+strangers had made up their minds to go to see the show, partly out of
+curiosity, partly out of kindly purpose to help the strolling players.
+It had been announced that six _soldi_, or cents, would admit to the
+side of the ring where there would be benches and a chair or two for
+seats, while three cents offered room on the other side with a few
+boards and the green grass as accommodation. Visitors were invited to
+bring chairs for their sittings, if possible.
+
+The music sounded very brave and loud as it returned down the very
+steepest street of all, which ran between high walls past Madame
+Cioche’s English _pension_ or boarding-house and ended in the field.
+As this was a dark and even dangerous descent at night for the unwary,
+Antonio had driven a nail into a tree at the foot of the street, and
+had hung there a smutty tin lamp, with the light flaring and the smoke
+pouring from two long spouts.
+
+Nonna had beguiled most of the children away from the tent by this
+time, and was putting the youngest to bed in the wagon, while the
+others rolled over the grass behind the tent.
+
+Natale was as busy as a bee in the small tent which opened out of the
+large one. This was the dressing room, and the different costumes of
+the actors lay in heaps on the boxes scattered about.
+
+As half-past eight o’clock approached, the boy became as excited as if
+this were to be his first appearance in public, and he kept lifting up
+the flap of curtain dividing the two tents to see how fast the seats
+were filling. The band had brought back a horde of village children in
+its train, and though few of these were possessed of the three cents
+charged for children, they served to keep up an appearance of bustle
+and enterprise outside, where the band now played the National Hymn of
+Italy gaily in the light of the big lamp at the entrance.
+
+Cara, the mother of Olga and the rest of the seven, stood in the
+vestibule and took in the great copper cents which by and by began to
+pile up in the bowl on the table. She was a very striking person to
+look at, with her coal-black hair frizzed bushily on each side of her
+head, with her flashing black eyes and her heavy brows, her red, red
+lips and cheeks, and her scarlet and black gown. No one dared to slip
+in behind the rustling skirts or portly form of anybody without paying,
+for her piercing eyes seemed everywhere. Once or twice, when the crowds
+about the doors seemed to hesitate and to wonder whether, after all,
+it were worth while to expend six or even three cents for what was to
+be seen behind the curtain, the pretty little figure of her Olga was
+seen to flit, as if by accident, across the vestibule, the full light
+streaming over her little full blouse of yellow satin, and her pink
+feet tripping as if on air.
+
+The anxious half-hour of expectation ended in the sight of a full
+circle surrounding the ring, and then the band came inside and all the
+performers slipped into the smaller tent and hurried on their costumes.
+
+The band played on; Arduina danced a measured dance on the tight
+rope which was stretched near the ground; the clown made his funny
+jokes; Antonio performed his clever feats on the bars; Elvira rode the
+galloping horses with Cara dancing in and out and everywhere, while
+Giovanni cracked the whip and Paulo held the bar for Il Duca to leap.
+The pantomime then brought shouts of laughter and loud hand-clappings
+from the spectators; and afterward the tumbling began.
+
+There was nothing that Olga loved so much, and she showed it in every
+line of her chubby, yet nimble little figure as she came prancing into
+the ring, and then went heels over head, over and over again, without
+stopping to breathe, as far as the strip of dusty carpet stretched.
+Then back again she tumbled, only stopping to toss a stray wisp of hair
+from her flushed face.
+
+Next Arduina came tripping in, and over and over she went too, not so
+gracefully and daintily as Olga had done, for Arduina was getting a
+little too large for that kind of thing,--a great girl of fifteen years.
+
+The clown followed Arduina, dressed in his clumsy suit of black
+and white, and what a farce his tumbling was, to be sure; only the
+spectators must have known that he failed in order to make them laugh
+at his awkwardness, and make merry they did.
+
+Somehow Natale never quite enjoyed the laughter which often accompanied
+his own performances, and now his time had come.
+
+“_Ecco!_ Natalino!” called his stepfather, the clown, rushing behind
+the curtain all breathless and covered with dust. “Over and over and
+over you go, youngster, without stopping to sneeze between!”
+
+Natale was such a little fellow, so much smaller than Olga even, that
+many of the faces outside the ring softened at sight of him, as he
+darted out into the light of the lamps and then halted to make his
+funny little salute. He was dressed in imitation of the clown, in long
+black trousers and a tailed black coat, with a pointed white waistcoat
+reaching below his waist. With an earnest seriousness very different
+from Olga’s smiling grace, Natale turned his first somersault, paused
+on his back, turned another jerkily, while the little boys watching
+him hooted, and a ripple of laughter ran around the ring. Back again
+he came, however, his thin black legs sprawling in air, and his pale
+little face flushing with the exertion. On his feet again, he clapped
+one hand to the back of his neck, bobbed his head to the spectators,
+and trotted off behind the friendly curtain, satisfied that he had,
+at least, done as well as usual, and pleased with the loud clapping
+attending his exit. Indeed, there was a clapping and a calling out of
+something with laughing voices.
+
+“_Il picino! Il picino!_”[3]
+
+[Footnote 3: “The little boy! The little boy!”]
+
+“You will have to go back, Natalino,” laughed the clown. “Salute them
+and stand on your head, boy, but don’t lose it on the way.”
+
+The music played loudly, and Natale stepped gravely back again, made
+his odd little bow, and fell over on his hands as the first step toward
+standing on his head. Poor, stiff little legs! It took more than one
+effort to throw them into an upright position above his head, but
+finally he really did accomplish it, and stood thus several seconds
+while the shouting and laughing went on.
+
+When Natale had disappeared a second time behind the curtain, there
+were a few grave faces among the laughing ones looking on. An English
+lady whispered to her companion and sighed.
+
+“The poor little fellow is evidently afraid to disobey that dreadful
+clown,” she said. “Did you see how he trembled as the man stood over
+him, when he tried to stand on his head? Something ought to be done to
+put a stop to this, Betty.”
+
+“The child looks weak, as if he were not very well fed,” Betty
+answered, “but I do not think he looks unhappy. And the clown was
+certainly smiling, and seemed to be standing by as if to help the
+little boy accomplish his wonderful feat, I thought. Don’t distress
+yourself, Aunty. He is just learning, it may be, and they bring him in
+to contrast him with that little beauty who turned the ‘wheels.’ Send
+the boy some good bread and meat to-morrow, and that will be better for
+him than our empty sympathy.”
+
+But “Aunty” was not satisfied, as we shall see.
+
+The last act of the evening again brought Natale to the fore. The big
+spotted horse, Il Duca, was again brought into the ring, and after he
+had cantered gaily around inside the ring many times, to the music of
+a schottisch, striking terror to the ladies occupying the front seats,
+with their knees pressed against the low barrier, the clown suddenly
+called a halt and caught the bridle of the panting steed. Gently the
+solemn strains of the “Dead March” sounded through the tent, and Il
+Duca fell slowly and painfully upon his knees, and then rolled over
+upon the ground, apparently dying. The light dust of the ring stirred
+under the beast’s laboring nostrils, and deep groans issued from his
+throat, while Giovanni stood mournfully by and the music played on.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV
+
+THE FESTIVAL OF SAN LORENZO
+
+
+SUDDENLY the small black figure of Natale appeared, kneeling at the
+horse’s side, although no one had seen him slip in. With his hands
+clasped in distress, he lifted his voice in such a disconsolate wail
+that even Betty started and wondered if the horse could be really dying.
+
+The solemn march was still sounding in the tent, and before speaking
+the clown gave the spectators full time to take in the tragic tableau.
+Then he exclaimed briskly:
+
+“What are you crying about, boy?”
+
+“Because our horse is dead.”
+
+“Do you think he is quite dead, Natale?”
+
+“Oh, quite,” wailed the child.
+
+“Get up and feel his pulse, boy. If there is any pulse he is not dead.”
+
+Natale went nearer and took one of the great hoofs of the horse
+fearlessly into his little hands, and felt for the “pulse.”
+
+“Well, what do you find?” asked the clown impatiently.
+
+“There isn’t any pulse,” the little fellow wailed again, laying down
+the big black hoof with the utmost tenderness.
+
+“Too bad,” quoth the clown, taking his seat deliberately on the
+prostrate horse, which lay as motionless as if certainly dead. Then,
+all in a moment, Natale’s manner changed, and he skipped around in
+front of Giovanni, remarking glibly that the gentleman had found a
+beautiful sofa to sit upon.
+
+“And I shall have a kiss to prove that the beast is not dead,”
+exclaimed the clown, chirruping a little and smacking his lips. And the
+great brown head of the horse lifted itself from the dust, the graceful
+neck turned, and Il Duca actually kissed his master, then scrambled
+hastily to his feet as if glad for that job to be over, while Giovanni
+hurried him out of the ring.
+
+“Such silly jokes!” commented Mrs. Bishop, otherwise Aunty, as the
+performance ended, and the rollicking crowd poured out of the tent.
+“Think of my having spent two whole hours listening to them, and all
+on pins too, for fear that poor, ill-used child should be forced to do
+some other unchristian thing.”
+
+“But, Aunty, what did you expect when you came?” Betty asked
+impatiently. “Surely the little show was not bad, and there was
+actually nothing but what was quite decent in every way.”
+
+“I call it ‘bad’ to beat and starve children into turning themselves
+into monkeys.”
+
+“If people would not go to see the ‘monkeys’ it would be stopped,” was
+Betty’s retort.
+
+“Well, I am sure I only went to oblige Mrs. Choky,” Aunty said in an
+injured tone. “She said she thought we ought to encourage the poor
+people on their first night. But it will be my last night there, as I
+shall very soon inform her. ‘Encourage’ them to martyrize that poor
+child, indeed!”
+
+From the first performance in Cutigliano, therefore, Natale’s trouble
+began, although he did not know it. Contented and tired he lay down
+in his corner of the brown house on wheels and went to sleep, while
+the men let down the big yellow canvas of the large tent and furled it
+about the pole. But first, he ate his supper of macaroni with the rest
+of the actors, gathered in the small tent behind. Midnight suppers were
+the rule on the nights when there were performances, as it would have
+been at the risk of upsetting their stomachs in more ways than one to
+eat food beforehand.
+
+Later, the stars kept quiet watch above the little encampment, where
+even Pietro slept well, with the open house door admitting the fresh
+air of the mountains.
+
+For ten days the yellow “mushroom” spread over the grass of the field,
+although very much in the way of the fine city gentlemen, playing
+at ball with bats like tambourines. The noisy music at night and
+the cheering in the tent may have kept the invalids in the nearest
+boarding-houses awake and nervous, and the people at large may have
+grown tired of the performances which they soon learned by heart,
+but no one felt inclined to hustle the poor people away, and no one
+grumbled except Mrs. Bishop.
+
+There was something pathetic about the clown in his everyday dress,
+his gayety and paint all gone and the deep lines of his face showing
+too plainly in the garish light of day, as he pottered about the tent,
+adjusting ropes, and keeping off the village boys who would throw
+stones upon the old canvas, or play hide and seek among the curtains.
+It gave one a queer feeling, also, to fancy the drooping figure of
+Pietro, with his pure little face like alabaster, a member of the
+“wicked circus troop.”
+
+This child was perhaps twelve years old, and he had the face of an
+angel. He had begun to lose his daily feverishness after a week in the
+mountains, and was soon able to limp, and later to run feebly about the
+field with the village boys.
+
+[Illustration: Mrs. Bishop looked down upon the tent from the garden
+terrace. _Page 45._]
+
+But Natale, spidery little Natale, interested every one more even than
+did Pietro. Yet he looked only an everyday lad during the long summer
+days, when he trotted up and down, to and from the town, carrying now
+a bowl of this, now a flask of that, but always carrying something. To
+most people he seemed as happy as the days were long, just as ready
+for a chat with a strange foreigner who might address him in broken
+Italian as with old Sora Teresa who sold fruit and vegetables in the
+piazza, and who sometimes presented him with a ripe red tomato, or a
+slice of melon all green and pink.
+
+But Mrs. Bishop looked down upon the tent from the garden terrace of
+Madame Cioche’s boarding-house every day, and slowly formed a plan for
+making Natale’s life happier. Poor little Natale!
+
+The terrace garden above the field was shaded with plane trees and the
+mountain ash, and the grass was soft and richly green. Each afternoon
+some of the boarders would gather at the palings on the edge of this
+garden and watch the gentlemen playing ball below, and the village boys
+imitating Olga and Natale at turning somersaults and wheels.
+
+One afternoon, while the boarders were drinking tea under the ash
+trees, with the berries overhead turning red, and the sun streaming
+across the croquet ground, there came a knock at the side door of the
+boarding-house. Madame Cioche herself opened the door, and there stood
+Natale, smiling up into her face, with the old blue hat set far back on
+his dark curls. The lady noticed that the boy’s face was very clean.
+
+“Happy day to you,” he said brightly, using the peasant form of
+address, “and my mamá says will you please send her a cup of tea? She
+is feeling ill to-day.”
+
+Of course Madame Cioche would send the tea, fetching it herself from
+the dining room and handing it to the boy. But she kept Natale a moment
+to ask how it was that his mamá could possibly like tea.
+
+“Oh, but she has it every day when we are in Egypt,” was the reply.
+“And to-day her head aches. Thank you, Signora.” And Natale went off
+down the hill carrying the big cup as carefully as his bowls and flasks
+were always carried.
+
+Mrs. Bishop overheard the word “Egypt” and sighed.
+
+The next day was Sunday and an important festival, being the day of
+San Lorenzo. A great harvest of _soldi_ was expected, as peasants from
+all the mountain villages would come trooping in that day, to go to
+high mass in the church under the old mountain firs, and to take part
+in the procession of the “saints” in the afternoon. So there was, of
+course, to be a performance in the tent that day, but in the afternoon
+this time, just after the procession, instead of in the evening, when
+everybody would be tired or toiling homeward along the dark mountain
+ways. As there was nothing for him to do about the tent, however, until
+five o’clock should boom from the stone tower of the church, Natale
+made good use of his legs during the whole day, for there was much to
+see.
+
+Betty Bishop had tossed a penny into his hands down over the garden
+palings that very Sunday morning. Perhaps she was thinking of some
+little child at home in England who would be clamoring for a penny
+to carry to Sunday school, but Natale had no thought of dropping his
+precious two _soldi_ into the priest’s collecting bag in the church.
+
+The _piazza_ was too fascinating a place to be passed by, when one held
+a penny of his own fast in his fist. With the dogs on each side of him,
+therefore, Natale spent most of the day above in the town, going from
+booth to booth, and in fancy spending his money over and over again.
+There were sweets of various kinds offered for sale on the little
+tables along the steep, narrow streets, and booths of everything from
+coarse stuffs and ready-made clothing to breastpins of gay mosaic work
+and filigree rings.
+
+Everywhere Natale was jostled by the peasants who all through the
+morning had flocked to the town, dressed in their best clothes and
+wearing holiday looks on their faces. The women and girls wore gay
+kerchiefs on their heads, with brilliant borderings and flowing ends,
+while even the men wore bits of vivid color in the shape of gorgeous
+neck scarfs spread over their white shirt fronts. Mingled with these
+walked the lords and ladies of a higher class dressed according to the
+fashion plates of Paris, and seeming to enjoy the hot sunshine and the
+gay restiveness of the multitude as much as the plainer folk. All day
+the frolic and prayers and the music of the town band and the church
+organ went on in the little town, till mid-afternoon, when there fell a
+hush over all and a great expectation.
+
+Natale had not a very good place from which to see the procession pass,
+for he stood between a very stout peasant woman and a visiting priest
+in his full black gown. Still, he managed to peer from under their
+elbows without attracting their attention, and he was content, holding
+securely in one hand, meanwhile, the balloon whistle which he had
+finally purchased with his penny. The pretty red bubble of rubber had
+not yet burst, and Natale was happy in its possession. The handful of
+crisp wafers flavored with anise seed, which he had almost bought--so
+very foolish he had been--would have been eaten long ere this, and it
+would be as if he had never had a penny of his own tossed over the
+fence to him by a smiling young lady, but now he still had the whistle!
+
+On they came, the straggling company of men and boys, dressed in white
+gowns and cowls, and bearing huge lighted candles in their hands.
+Natale thought he would like to have been one of the two boys bearing
+the immense candlesticks of brass; yet, after all, the candlesticks
+must be very heavy, and they were propped very uncomfortably on the
+little boys’ stomachs, and very red and perspiring were the little
+boys’ faces.
+
+Natale thought the men’s feet ugly and clumsy, showing below the white
+gowns, and their harsh, chanting voices made him shiver. But he could
+not follow the awkward marching steps of the peasants with laughing
+looks as some of the onlookers were doing, for here, behind the banners
+and crucifixes, came two very curious-looking objects.
+
+“_Ecco!_ the dead saints!” he exclaimed softly to himself. “How heavy
+they must be in the glass boxes on the men’s shoulders. Yet our Antonio
+Bisbini would never bend so under a small box as those men do. Ah!
+but the little girls are pretty, so pretty in their white veils, and
+scattering flowers before the saints.”
+
+The crowd closed in upon the end of the procession now, and Natale
+could see no more, as he was nearly overturned where he stood. After
+a breathless moment or two, he found himself left in peace and quiet
+under the great old fir trees in front of the church, with the crowd
+all gone and Nicro and Bianco with them.
+
+Nonna had told him to be sure and see the saints, if possible, so he
+went into the dark old church and sat down on a low chair to wait for
+the procession to return. He knew that San Lorenzo and Sant’ Aurelio
+would surely be brought back to spend the night in the church, perhaps
+in front of the candle-lighted altar, and he wished to please Nonna. It
+was dark and quiet in his corner under the organ gallery, and it was a
+very easy and natural thing for a tired little boy to fall asleep in
+that quiet place.
+
+When the procession returned after half an hour, it was without the
+blare of trumpets and the crash of organ music, though for a long
+while shuffling feet passed in and out. This continued until everybody
+had looked at the two saints robed in costly garments and reposing now
+at full length on their satin cushions within their caskets of glass
+set before the altar. Many touched the rich cloths draping the caskets
+with reverent fingers, and pressed kisses on the cold glass before
+passing out into the radiant sunset light.
+
+When Natale waked, the church doors were still open, but only one light
+swung before the high altar, and there was no trace anywhere of dead
+saint or living soul. He groped his way among the disarranged chairs
+and benches quite to the altar rail, but even the empty biers had been
+borne away to some inner recess of the church, so, with a dread that
+he had overslept awaking in his mind, Natale found his way out of the
+church again.
+
+The purple bloom of evening was creeping up the mountain sides, and a
+star glowed in the sky. Just above the mountain line in the west the
+crescent moon hovered, as if uncertain over which side to sink. The
+dread in Natale’s mind had nothing to do with saints or dark churches.
+On awaking, his first sensation had been a fear that he might have
+missed the afternoon performance in the beloved tent, and now, standing
+outside the church in the dusk, he knew that he had missed it!
+
+With a sob in his throat he turned his face from the telltale sky,
+and fled through the village down to the field. When he reached the
+wagon,--for he would not go to the tent, quiet now and unlighted,--the
+first words he heard came from Olga:
+
+“Have you not heard, Natalino? Giovanni has lost a hundred francs!
+Somebody stole them when he changed his coat in the little tent. Yes, I
+know you were not there! We wondered where you could be!”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V
+
+A GIFT FOR THE CIRCUS
+
+
+NATALE held his breath with horror. One hundred francs lost! And he
+not at hand to hear of it, to help look for the money, among the very
+first? He could not ask Olga how it had happened, because his heart was
+almost too disappointed and sore for words. He sat down on the wall,
+with his back toward the tent, and waited for her to tell all about the
+loss, although he was not at all certain that she would condescend to
+do so. In fact, she said not a word more, but stood in front of Natale,
+wondering not a little at his unusual quiet.
+
+“You are sulky!” she exclaimed finally, “and Giovanni is very angry
+with you. So am I, for I had to feel Il Duca’s pulse, and I did not
+like it at all. Suppose he had kicked me, seeing that it was not you.”
+
+“Il Duca was dead!” Natale retorted, with a twinkle in his eye, if only
+Olga could have seen it. “He would not know you from me!”
+
+“Dead!” cried Olga. “I believe you truly do think that, when you set up
+your crying, Natale; really I did not do it half so well as you,” she
+confessed honestly.
+
+“But you ‘wheel’ much better than I do,” Natale conceded with ready
+generosity in return.
+
+“Il Duca did not shut his eyes at all,” Olga went on, nodding assent
+to Natale’s remark, “and I am sure he _winked_ at me, Natale, just to
+frighten me. It did not take _me_ long to feel his pulse! But where
+were you, Natalino, all the time? Nonna said she was afraid some of the
+peasants had stolen you and carried you off, when Niero and Bianco
+came home without you.”
+
+“As if they would have let anybody steal me! Olga, I went to sleep in
+the church, waiting for the saints to come back, and when I waked it
+was dark, almost as dark as this!”
+
+“Oho! then you must have been in the church when Arduina and I went
+in to look at the saints. Arduina said--but you must not dare to tell
+anybody--she said that she did not believe there were any bones under
+the saints’ fine velvet robes because San Lorenzo had a hand of pink
+wax, and the rest of him looked rather stuffed. But do not tell Nonna,
+Natale!”
+
+“Arduina is very wicked,” said Natale, but he laughed with Olga, and
+then felt much better, and as if he could ask about the losing of the
+money.
+
+They were in a little nook to themselves, behind the wagon, and no one
+heeded them.
+
+“_Ecco!_ it was this way,” Olga began, charmed to be the first to
+recount the misfortune to Natale, who was usually behind none in his
+knowledge of the affairs of the company. “Just when Giovanni was going
+in to do the clown in the first dance on the rope, the Signor Barbera,
+the stable man, came behind the big tent with his bill for keeping the
+horses, and Giovanni took the big pocketbook out of the pocket of his
+coat--”
+
+“Yes, I know which pocket,” Natale interposed. “I saw him put the money
+there this morning.”
+
+“Well, the signor could not make the change, so he told Giovanni it was
+all right, and any time would do, and then Antonio rang the bell for
+Giovanni, and he just put the pocketbook back in his coat and hung the
+coat on the nail in the little tent, and hurried on the black coat, and
+went into the ring.”
+
+“Yes, and then?” asked Natale breathlessly.
+
+“When he came back, he saw his coat on the ground, and he knew he had
+hung it up. ‘How comes my coat on the ground?’ he said, very loud
+indeed, and your mamá told him he must have put it there himself. But
+he did not hear her, because he was shaking the coat and feeling in the
+pocket,--but there was nothing there!
+
+“We made a great fuss about it,” Olga ended, shrugging her shoulders
+and throwing up her hands, “but what was the use?”
+
+Natale was silent with dismay. A hundred francs meant so much. It was
+all that they had made during the ten days’ stay at Cutigliano, and now
+it was gone, in a moment.
+
+“The stable man?” he questioned in a distressed tone of voice, and very
+low.
+
+“No, Giovanni said it could not have been the signor. He is a rich man
+and honest, everybody says.”
+
+So subdued were they all over the trouble of the afternoon that
+not even Elvira thought it worth while to scold the quiet boy who
+presently slipped in among the little crowd of players in the tent,
+deep in fruitless discussion over their grievous loss. They had had a
+crowded tent that afternoon, and the receipts had been so good that
+this evening would have been one of rejoicing if only the money for
+the labors of the ten other days and nights had been again safe in
+Giovanni’s pocket. There was not the slightest clew to the thief, as
+no stranger had been known to enter the tent, and Giovanni had even
+interviewed the Signor Barbera from outside the doorway. It had been
+necessary to be on the lookout for possible thieving, as the field was
+crowded all the afternoon with strange peasants, attracted by the band
+music and the big yellow tent, and by peddlers with their wares. One
+very decent-looking peddler had begged pretty, vain Arduina to look at
+his beautiful jewelry and ribbons, but she had refused him entrance
+very reluctantly, and Giovanni himself had noticed how patiently and
+decorously the man had turned away. He had worn a red fez cap over his
+long black hair, and his bushy black beard had reached nearly to his
+waist.
+
+“I saw him!” Emilio, one of the musicians exclaimed, “and his legs
+were as crooked as Pietro’s, only they bent out at the knee instead of
+in!” There was a laugh at this sally, but Pietro frowned and muttered
+something about Emilio’s having little right to criticize the legs of
+others.
+
+“I met such a man as I came out of the church in the crowd,” said
+Nonna, hastening to speak that a dispute might be avoided. “He walked
+very well notwithstanding his poor, bent legs, and he asked me if he
+were too late to get a glimpse of the blessed relics. A politer man I
+never saw, though Tito was afraid of him, and began to cry when the man
+snapped his fingers at him.”
+
+Poor Natale felt so left out in the cold with this talk that he could
+not bear it long, and was just about to creep away, down to his corner
+in the wagon, when a strange hand lifted a corner of the tent flap, and
+a strange voice inquired for “_Il piccolo Natale_.”
+
+“Some ladies up at the house there have a little present for you all,”
+the black-coated Italian butler of the boarding-house announced,
+peering in upon the group gathered about the sputtering lamp inside,
+“but they wish to send it down by the boy, Natale.”
+
+Then Natale was himself again, and without demur or bashfulness
+presented himself to the servant.
+
+“It is well you turned up in time, Natalino,” said the clown, giving
+him a little shove toward the dignified butler waiting just outside.
+“Perhaps Olga would not have done, in this case. Off with you to the
+_forestieri_[4] above!”
+
+[Footnote 4: Foreigners.]
+
+Many a boy would have been abashed at finding himself the center of
+such a group as awaited Natale in the hallway of the house in the
+garden. But Natale was too well accustomed to an array of faces fixed
+upon him to make the least show of bashfulness. The lady of the house,
+whose pleasant face he knew very well, laid her hand on his shoulder
+and asked him kindly in Italian if anything had been heard of the money
+lost that afternoon, and her soft, dark eyes looked sympathetically
+into his own.
+
+“No, signora, and my papá says we shall never see a _soldo_ of it
+again,” was Natale’s prompt answer.
+
+“Ask him if they have any idea of the person who stole it,” Betty
+Bishop suggested in English, and Madame Cioche did so. Natale’s answer
+to this was more expressive than polite perhaps, for without words
+he simply raised his shoulders as high as possible, pressing his
+elbows against his sides, and spreading his hands wide to indicate the
+complete ignorance of his people as to the coward who had taken their
+hard-earned money. And the drawn-down corners of his mouth so changed
+the expression of his face that one would hardly have known him.
+
+“Who would have believed the child could make himself so ugly,” Mrs.
+Bishop exclaimed. “Have you no tongue, boy, to answer properly?”
+
+But as English words were far less intelligible to Natale than
+Caffero’s whinny, or Niero’s bark, he only looked up into Madame
+Cioche’s face and smiled.
+
+“There! it is a bonny little face after all,” said that lady, “and now
+shall we give him the money and send him away?”
+
+“No, let me speak to him first,” demanded Mrs. Bishop, “and you, Mrs.
+Choky, must interpret. Ask him if he likes to be a wicked little circus
+boy.”
+
+“Aunty!” gasped Betty.
+
+“Never mind, I have a reason for my question, Betty. Hush, what does he
+say?”
+
+“Do you like to play in the circus, dear?” asked Mrs. Cioche’s kind
+voice, in Italian.
+
+Natale’s eyes shone.
+
+“Ah, yes, signora! And when I am a man, I shall be another Antonio
+Bisbini.”
+
+“He says he likes it very much, Mrs. Bishop,” was the interpretation.
+
+“Already corrupted, poor boy, and so young!” the old lady sighed, while
+Betty laughed outright.
+
+“Ask him if he would not like better to have some nice clothes, and go
+to school, and grow up to be a decent man some day, Mrs. Choky.” That
+lady hesitated a little before putting this question into Italian.
+
+“What does she say to me?” Natale asked, his brown eyes twinkling as he
+looked from one to the other, his teeth showing white between his red
+lips. Natale’s was a wide, good-natured mouth, very prone to laugh upon
+small provocation.
+
+“She wants to know if you would not like to go to school, and learn to
+read and write,” said Madame Cioche.
+
+“And leave the _circo_?” Natale asked with a gasp.
+
+“Yes, you could not go to school unless you should stop in one place,
+you know.”
+
+“And not travel about with the horses and wagon any more, and leave
+Nonna?”
+
+“Of course, Natale. But she is only asking you about it, _carino_, so
+do not look so troubled.”
+
+Natale laughed then, and happily.
+
+“She wanted to find out how much I love the _circo_!” he exclaimed.
+“Please tell her, signora. You know, how we all love the _circo_!”
+
+“I think I do, Natale. He does not want to go to school, Mrs. Bishop,”
+turning to the eager old lady, “because he loves his life with the
+circus and his own people too much.”
+
+“And he does not wish to leave his grandmother,” chimed in Betty who
+had very cleverly picked up a good deal of Italian during a winter and
+summer in Italy, and all grandmothers are Nonnas in that land.
+
+Mrs. Bishop was silent for a moment, her gaze taking in every detail
+of Natale’s little figure standing sturdily before her, dusty shoes,
+and rough peasant leggings, velveteen trousers, faded blue blouse, and
+rumpled curls, with the old hat held in one sun-burned hand. His face
+was not so clean as usual now, and there were tired circles about his
+eyes. It had been a long, exciting summer’s day.
+
+“Children--especially boys--do not know what is best for themselves,”
+she said presently, bending her brows, but not in the least frightening
+Natale, “and I am not going to give up my plan, for this baby’s
+nonsense. Why, he cannot be over eight years old, at the most.”
+
+“Here, Natale,” said Madame Cioche, judging that the interview might
+well be concluded, and handing the boy a small packet. “Take this to
+your papá, and tell him that the ladies and gentlemen in my house have
+heard of the loss of the money, and are sending him thirty-five francs
+as a little present. Can you carry it safely?”
+
+Again Natale’s sweet smile broke over his face, but he only nodded
+happily in reply, tucking the money away in the bosom of his blouse.
+
+“Ask him how long they are going to stay,” Mrs. Bishop called after
+Madame Cioche, who was going to the gate with Natale.
+
+“He says that the _sindaco_--the mayor--has offered them the use of the
+field for another week,” Madame Cioche said, her eyes glowing, as she
+returned to the hall. “I am glad of that, as the poor creatures will
+need all they can make here, now.”
+
+“I call it a sort of punishment, their losing the money when playing on
+Sunday,” Mrs. Bishop said severely, and one or two other English ladies
+nodded their approval of this speech. “And I think the whole business
+wrong and that it ought to be discouraged. I was not at all sure about
+the propriety of giving my francs to your little collection, Mrs.
+Choky.”
+
+“Would it have been more Christian to have let them suffer, perhaps for
+food, and the poor beasts too?” the hostess asked, pausing on her way
+through the hall.
+
+“But surely you think circusing wrong and _un_christian?” the
+disputative old lady exclaimed.
+
+“Aunty, do be quiet,” cried Betty warmly. “I am sure you ought not to
+dispute ‘on Sunday’! Besides,” she added, as everybody laughed, and two
+or three softly applauded, “they make their living that way, and we
+cannot change them into farmers, or preachers. But I think it is always
+wrong not to help honest people who are in trouble.”
+
+“If they _are_ honest,” Mrs. Bishop remonstrated, but under her breath,
+this time, for Madame Cioche’s eyes were sparkling, and she seemed
+waiting to speak.
+
+“Those poor creatures down there deserve nothing but praise,” she said
+stoutly; “they are quiet folks, who teach their children obedience and
+keep themselves remarkably clean and mended. If they make their living
+in a way we do not approve, we cannot change them, as Miss Betty says,
+but we can feed them when they are hungry, and that seems to me not
+‘unchristian’!”
+
+“I am afraid she has a little temper,” said Mrs. Bishop, as their
+hostess went upstairs.
+
+“A temper I like!” exclaimed a gentleman who had before kept silent,
+looking up from his book. “But do you still think of carrying out your
+plan, Mrs. Bishop?”
+
+“If possible, certainly,” was the reply, while Betty, shaking her head,
+walked out into the garden. There, under the stars, she stood looking
+down upon the tent in the field. There was no wind, and the heavens
+were fair, so the canvas had not been furled.
+
+“I should like it myself,” she murmured. “What a fascinating life to
+live! Camping out the year round in Italy, with no troublesome dressing
+four times a day, no tiresome _table-d’hôte_ dinners at night. But
+after all I should not like to be that girl,--Arduina, they call her.
+Of course, Aunty is right about the rope dancing and other ‘circusing’
+on Sunday, only she need not be quite so fussy over what we certainly
+cannot help. Poor Natale! how disturbed he did look when Madame Cioche
+asked him about going to school!”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI
+
+SEPARATION
+
+
+NATALE lay flat on the grass, his face hidden on his arms, and his feet
+rebelliously kicking the ground. The added week granted by the mayor
+had passed, and the circus-wagon was about to move on.
+
+“You are only to try it, child, and if it will not do, you can come
+back to us. One year is not a hundred.”
+
+No reply from Natale.
+
+“You ought to think, sometimes, of how many mouths your stepfather has
+to fill,” another voice began. “Five children, and not one his own.”
+
+“Why did he marry us then?” fiercely muttered Natale, but without
+lifting his head, so perhaps nobody heard.
+
+“You will have new clothes and shoes!”
+
+“And a new hat, Natalino!”
+
+“And you will learn to read much faster than I can teach you ’Lino,
+with all the practicings and the journeyings. Perhaps you will even
+learn to be as clever as my Antonio was, before--” Nonna ended with a
+sigh instead of more words.
+
+The women and girls were in the side tent, busied about dinner, and
+Nonna would not finish her sentence in the presence of Antonio’s wife.
+
+“I would rather be our Antonio than--than the King or the
+_principino_,”[5] Natale cried helplessly. Then he sat up on the worn
+grass, and faced them all, tearful but resolute. “I shall not stay here
+with the priest and go to school, mamá,” he said earnestly. “You shall
+not leave me behind and take Maria and Pietro and the rest.”
+
+[Footnote 5: Young prince.]
+
+“Perhaps we can persuade Giovanni to leave little Bianco with you, if
+the good priest does not object,” Nonna whispered in his ear.
+
+“No, I shall go with you,” returned Natale.
+
+“Ah! what is all this?” came suddenly in Giovanni’s gruff, good-natured
+tones. “What? Natale will not stay? The beautiful little star of the
+ring will not leave us in the darkness?” And the clown entered the tent
+and flung himself down, laughing, beside the little boy.
+
+“Hurry with the polenta, Arduina,” he called to his stepdaughter, who
+had lifted her hot face from the steam of the mush pot to laugh at the
+man’s rough wit. “The biggest hole yet torn in the tent must be mended
+this afternoon, and the canvas is almost dry now in this wind. If it
+had not rained yesterday, and if the wind had not played us such a
+trick on the very eve of our going, we should have made our fortunes
+yesterday. A cattle fair does not offer itself every day, with its
+crowd of country bumpkins who never saw a man in tights. Now, that will
+do, Natale,” turning to the boy, who was sniffing audibly. “Hours ago
+it was all decided, and there is nothing more to be said.”
+
+“Then I am _not_ to stay in this horrid place, Giovanni--papá--”
+
+“‘Giovanni--papá--!’ No more of these tears, Natalino. You are to stay
+in this beautiful place, and after polenta, you are to go up to the
+garden and thank the lady.”
+
+With a loud, rebellious howl, Natale sprang to his feet and rushed
+out into the open air. Nor did he stop until he stood among the briar
+bushes below the garden palings. Clenching his small grimy fists, he
+stood there looking up toward the many-windowed _pension_ and shook
+them vehemently, while his shrill voice cried out passionately:
+
+“I shall not stay here! I shall not go to school! I like my old hat,
+and I want Nonna to teach me to read. I shall never thank you, _never_,
+NEVER, NEVER!”
+
+He had seen no one in the garden, and was only addressing the whole
+houseful of his enemies up there in the big yellow building with the
+staring windows. Why should they interfere with him? Why should any one
+be trying to make him wretched,--the most wretched boy in all Italy?
+
+“Heyday! what’s all this about?” and a white-haired old man, speaking
+from the garden, came close to the palings and looked over at the
+small, threatening figure among the bushes. “I cannot understand your
+gibberish, if you are talking to me. You would better go away now,
+little boy, or some of your people will come and whip you.”
+
+“How suddenly you stopped the noise, Mr. Grantly,” exclaimed Betty,
+coming up to his side. “Who was it? Why, Aunty’s little protégé,
+Natale! How pitiful he looks, walking away as if his feelings were
+hurt. You must have frightened him.”
+
+“Not a bit of it, ma’am. He frightened _me_ with his fierce little
+voice. It came suddenly, just as I was dropping off to sleep in my
+chair. It is a relief to have them moving on this afternoon, with
+their horns and drum. But that boy stays, some one tells me. Is it
+possible that the family agreed to give him up? I have understood that
+the Italians cling to each other as much as even we do in America or
+England. Do they really leave the child?”
+
+“For more money than he could ever bring them by his somersaulting,
+yes,” Betty answered. “Sometimes I think Aunty really does not know
+what to do with her money,” the girl went on confidentially to the
+old gentleman, who was listening with interest. “Now, that boy has no
+desire to be taken away from ‘the evil life he is leading’ in Aunty’s
+estimation, and he does not wish to be sent to school and become ‘a
+decent man.’”
+
+“Ah! tell me the whole plan, now. I heard something of it a few days
+ago.”
+
+“It is very simple--all but getting Natale to agree to being imposed
+upon,” Betty went on a little vexedly. “Aunty has had the stepfather
+and the mother up here several times this past week to be talked to,
+and an old woman who seems to be the grandmother of them all. Miss
+Lorini has done all the interpreting, and also saw the priest about it,
+as Madame Cioche would not. They have agreed to leave Natale here for
+one year; he is to be taken care of by the priest’s mother, and to be
+sent to school and made ‘decent,’ poor little fellow.”
+
+Mr. Grantly laughed, but said nothing, for his heart was still young
+and understanding of boyish hearts, if his head was white, and he felt
+a wise interest in Mrs. Bishop’s philanthropic scheme.
+
+“Aunty is to pay everything, and she says she thinks she knows now why
+all the hotels up at Abetone were full so she could not get a good
+room there for these three weeks. She finds that she was ‘ordained’
+to rescue a boy from his persecutors, as she persists in calling
+the circus men. It is supposed, I believe, that all little boys and
+girls of circuses have been stolen from kind parents, and if not are
+half-killed with cruelty by their own.”
+
+“You speak very warmly, young lady,” Mr. Grantly remarked, a little
+reproof in his tone. “There is no doubt that many such children do
+suffer and are very unhappy.”
+
+“Those certainly do not!” retorted Betty, pointing to a number of the
+circus children frolicking in the field with Niero and Bianco. Olga’s
+red cotton dress was flitting over the grass, and her merry laugh was
+echoed by the other little ones, as Niero finally caught her red skirts
+in the chase.
+
+“Of course the clown objected at first,” Betty continued, “but Aunty
+was more determined than he and soon proved to him that it would be
+worth his while to agree. The old lady, whom they call Nonna, was
+curiously anxious for Natale to have a chance at schooling. I wondered
+at that till I heard about her son.”
+
+“Yes, I know,” Mr. Grantly assented. “Some, however, would think he
+had made a very fair exchange in giving up the future of a priest for
+the easy, out-of-doors life of an acrobat. There is no accounting for
+tastes, though. And is this boy to be made a priest?”
+
+“Only let my Aunty hear you say that!” laughed the girl. “No, indeed,
+but the priest was the only one who would agree to be troubled with
+the child, after Miss Lorini had explained all Aunty’s conditions--how
+Natale was to have a cold bath every morning, meat to eat every day,
+and new shoes as soon as his old ones come into holes. The priest,
+too, has agreed to write a letter to Aunty every month to tell her of
+Natale’s progress--”
+
+“Toward growing into a ‘decent man’?” interposed Mr. Grantly. “Well, I
+hope the plan will work well for all parties. Few Italian peasant lads
+get such a chance.” Then the old gentleman went back to his chair to
+continue his nap.
+
+All that afternoon, until four o’clock, there was an unusual bustle
+going on about the little encampment. The tattered, damp, half-ruined
+canvas was rolled up and packed along with poles and planks and ropes
+on a small cart hired for this occasion, while the cooking utensils
+and the scant furniture of the tents were gathered together for
+conveyance in the house-wagon. It was a cold and dreary day, following
+the night of stormy wind, with the clouds settling close about the
+mountain tops and the wind sweeping down the valley wet with rain. And
+in the heart of Natale there was even less promise of sunshine. He sat
+apart from the others on the damp wall, frowning and sullen.
+
+Half an hour before, he had been almost forcibly dragged up the hill
+to the house in the garden by Giovanni, who had made little jokes to
+hide the sulkiness of the boy’s replies to the questions of the ladies
+gathered there. Madame Cioche had promptly hidden herself when she saw
+the green gate open and the pair coming in, but the clown had walked
+directly through the hall and up to the little table where Mrs. Bishop
+sat taking her tea.
+
+No command of Giovanni nor persuasion of Miss Lorini, who was an
+artist, could induce Natale to say: “Thank you, signora, for your
+kindness.” His revolt had been beforehand hushed into silence by some
+very plain threats of punishment by his mother, but nothing could make
+him say that he was glad to stay in Cutigliano and go to school every
+day.
+
+He stood before them all, miserable as a child could be, his face very
+clean and pale, and a new pair of shoes already upon his feet. They
+pinched his toes woefully, but his heart ached more than his feet.
+
+“You will love the signora very much, some day, when you are a man
+and remember how good she was to the poor little boy who knew nothing
+but how to turn somersaults,” Miss Lorini had said caressingly in her
+softest Italian, studying the piteous face meanwhile with an eye to
+painting it some day, when it should smile again.
+
+“I shall learn to do something besides the _capitomboli_,[6] when I
+am a man,” Natale had said eagerly. “I shall be like our Antonio some
+day.” Perhaps these foreigners would be willing to leave him in peace
+if he could convince them that he _wished_ to be a strolling player all
+his life.
+
+[Footnote 6: Somersaults.]
+
+“He speaks as if he does not exactly understand,” said Miss Lorini,
+looking at Giovanni inquiringly. “Does he not know that he is to give
+up the circus now?”
+
+Giovanni shrugged his shoulders, then shook Natale’s slender shoulder,
+muttering:
+
+“No more of your silly talk, boy!” Then louder, “If you will not thank
+the lady, I do, with all my heart.” And with that he bowed low, then
+pushing Natale before him, went quickly away. He was, in secret, rather
+sorry for the boy, who had never before given any trouble with foolish
+willfulness, and who had moreover such high ambitions! It did seem a
+stupid life to which they were leaving the poor child, but then there
+was to be considered the roll of money already sewed into his own
+belt, with more to accumulate there, if Natale should be left still
+another year with the priest Luigi. If rich _forestieri_ had nothing
+else to do with their money but give it away in this frantic fashion,
+the stepfather was not unwilling to share the bounty, and Elvira, the
+mother, had seemed not to mind.
+
+So now Natale sat alone on the wall, feeling very much out of it all,
+and longing to hear some one say, “Natalino, do fetch me this”, or
+“Carry that”; but no one said anything of the kind. They seemed to feel
+that he was no longer one of them, and his little heart swelled to
+breaking.
+
+He was too young to long harbor ill-will and of too sunny a spirit
+to sulk for many minutes at a time, so presently he slipped off the
+wall and ran to meet Olga, who was struggling over to the traveling
+house-on-wheels, dragging two stools behind her. The very last things
+were being done, and already the horses were standing by, ready to be
+hitched at the last moment.
+
+“Do let me carry the stools, Olga,” Natale pleaded with unwonted
+entreaty in his voice. “Well, one of them, then.”
+
+“I am sorry you are going to stay behind here, Natalino,” the little
+girl panted. “Why do you? I should run after the wagon if I were you!”
+
+Natale had never thought of such a simple thing to do by way of escape!
+He promptly set down the stool he had grasped and looked fixedly away
+from Olga’s red-brown eyes.
+
+Alas! in that critical moment, what did he see approaching from the
+village? The flat, broad-brimmed hat and flowing black skirts of a
+priest, descending the street and turning in at the field!
+
+There was then not a moment to be lost! Forgetting Olga and the heavy
+stools, Natale turned and fled, away--anywhere--out of sight of the
+jailor advancing. Everything flashed out of his mind except the impulse
+to escape, to hide himself from those searching eyes under the felt hat
+brim. His flying feet skimmed across the field, and when they had borne
+him out of sight down the nearest slope, Natale flung himself on the
+ground under a thicket of thorny blackberry bushes.
+
+He lay there for what must have been a long time, for, after a while,
+a sudden shower of rain swept down the valley and for a few minutes
+enveloped everything in a gray mist. Even after it had passed, Natale
+delayed returning to the wagon until the priest should have quite gone,
+in despair of capturing his prisoner. When at last he did venture
+forth, and crept to the upper verge of the slope, his first glance was
+across the field for the brown wagon.
+
+It was not there!
+
+He set out in a headlong run for the place where it had stood. There
+was nothing left--absolutely nothing. Only a priest sat quietly waiting
+in a gap in the wall.
+
+Natale, with eyes only for the deserted spot, came stumbling upon the
+man, without so much as seeing that he was there, and then the priest
+rose, and taking the boy’s hand, spoke with the utmost quietness.
+
+“Come home with me now, Natalino,” was what he said, and Natale heard
+as one hears dream voices.
+
+Poor child! If he had only listened, he might have heard the dull
+screeching of the brakes as the wagon crawled carefully down the hill
+toward the arched bridge, and it would have been an easy matter to
+snatch his hand from the limp grasp of the priest and go hurrying down
+the short cuts in pursuit. But his head seemed so full of a hundred
+roaring noises that he could not hear, and his heart beat so fast that
+he could not speak, and so up the hill he went at the priest’s side.
+
+Nor did he see the quiet smile upon Luigi’s shaven lips, as they passed
+the green gate of the garden where Betty stood peering through. She
+would not have spoken to the boy just then for all the world, and as
+for Madame Cioche, she could not have done so if she had wished. She
+gazed down from her latticed window, her bright eyes dimmed as they
+fell upon the little caged bird of the fields fluttering by.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII
+
+THE CAGED BIRD OF THE FIELDS
+
+
+THERE is a short, crooked street in Cutigliano, which leads back of the
+church and out upon the promenade of San Vito. This street is confined
+on either hand by stone houses and stone walls of gardens, and paved
+with large square stones. Here and there a gateway gives a peep at
+lapping hills across the river. The massive church tower rises directly
+from a narrow turn in this street, and when the bells ring down from
+the arches in the top of this tower, the stony street reverberates with
+a deafening clamor.
+
+By the time the priest and Natale reached the foot of the church tower,
+the boy was weeping bitterly but quietly. His one free arm hid as much
+of his face as possible, and his feet in the clumsy new shoes stumbled
+so helplessly that Luigi had some trouble in preventing his falling.
+
+As they had passed through the town, where everybody sat at their doors
+or lounged in the _piazza_, all had recognized the little acrobat, as
+Natale realized only too well. Many accosted him in wonder, and some
+would even have stopped him to inquire into his misfortune in being
+left behind by his family. But the young priest motioned such away
+with authority, silencing with a gesture of his long finger the too
+curious. Others had already learned how it had come about that Natale
+was to spend a year with Sora Grazia, and her son the priest, and these
+contented themselves with shrugs and smiles for the boy’s companion, as
+who should say: “We wish you well of your bargain, Signor priest.”
+
+The great hands of the church clock pointed to ten minutes of four,
+as the bell boomed the hour of six. No one, however, ever thought of
+consulting the huge figures painted on the stone face of the tower
+clock, for those long iron hands had not stirred for many a day.
+
+The deep sound of the bell struck so suddenly upon Natale’s ears that
+he started, and dropping his arm from before his eyes, gazed dully
+ahead. It was not often that he had strayed farther than this corner of
+the old church, and he had never followed the San Vito promenade to the
+end. Most of the town was left behind now; whither could this man be
+taking him?
+
+A row of houses with numbers in blue figures on one side of the lintels
+extended back of the church, but before none of these did Luigi pause.
+Next came a low, broken wall, and then a house, detached from its
+neighbors and with a long, sloping roof, covered with slabs of slate.
+This house had no door opening on the street, and in the blank front
+wall there was only a very small window at one corner close under the
+eaves. Over a door in the end of the house nearest the church there was
+a small crucifix in carved stone set into the wall, but this door was
+seemingly closed and unused.
+
+The priest led Natale a few steps farther, to the other end of the
+house, and then they left the street and entered a long balcony leading
+to a wide-open door.
+
+A middle-aged woman sat just inside this doorway at the foot of a
+flight of stairs leading up into the room under the roof. She wore
+a kerchief of red and black cotton over her head and tied in a knot
+under her chin, and her eyes were bent upon a coarse piece of mending
+occupying her work-worn hands.
+
+[Illustration: The priest led Natale to the other end of the house.
+
+_Page 94._]
+
+At Luigi’s heavy step on the stone flooring of the balcony, she
+lifted her face to his and something like a smile softened the
+expression of her stern features. Her black brows unbent and she made
+way for her son to enter by twisting her stool slightly and shifting
+her feet. Luigi passed by her and took up his stand in the gathering
+gloom of the little passage, his eyes fixed warily upon Natale. The
+little boy had released his hand from the priest’s outside the door,
+and now stood leaning against the railing of the balcony, staring
+frowningly at the woman.
+
+“You are content to have it over with, Gigi?” the mother asked,
+glancing from man to boy and back again.
+
+Luigi nodded his head.
+
+“Give him something to eat and put him to bed,” he counseled in a low
+tone, “and do not argue with him to-night. To-morrow the sun will shine
+and he will begin to forget.”
+
+Natale’s sharp ears caught every word, stolid as he looked. “Forget?”
+What did they think he would forget? Not Olga’s last words, certainly:
+“I would run after the wagon, if I were you.”
+
+But, _why was he not running now_? No door, as yet, kept him prisoner.
+There was the empty street. Below ran the long, long white road. The
+night was coming down, and he was not afraid of the dark. Once out
+of sight, around one of the loops of the road, it would take but a
+moment to slip off the heavy shoes with their soles half an inch thick,
+and then on and on in the cool darkness he might run on light bare
+feet--“after the wagon.”
+
+He thrilled with the thought as it flashed through his mind, but a
+flash of the same thought thrilled Sora Grazia at the same time, for
+just then she leaned forward and laying her hand on Natale’s arm, she
+drew him to her side.
+
+“Once I had a curly-haired little boy of my own,” she said with a
+serious smile, “but after a while, he grew to be a man, and now he has
+brought to me another little boy. Natalino, I hope you will be as good
+a boy as my Gigi ever was.”
+
+Natale gazed earnestly into the woman’s face.
+
+“I am not at all good, signora,” he said unsteadily, and he could not
+help the stirring of hope in his heart, with this confession, but Sora
+Grazia only smiled again and tapped his cheek, and said that perhaps
+the good Luigi would teach him to be good.
+
+And there was no more opportunity left Natale for running away, for he
+was presently led into the kitchen where he had to sit and watch Sora
+Grazia prepare the macaroni for supper. He was hungry enough to enjoy
+a plateful of this but the slip of boiled beef served him on a clean
+plate afterward could not be choked down. He had overheard some one in
+the tent--could it have been only that very day?--say that he was to
+have meat every day in his new home, and his sister, Arduina, had added
+that she wished _she_ were sure of getting a morsel three times a week.
+Had not a doctor in Sicily said that she must have all delicate and
+nourishing food? And what were dry bread and sour wine as substitutes?
+No, Natale could not eat the meat that night. Happily the plate of
+macaroni had been generous, and what in all the land of sunny Italy is
+so filling as a plate of macaroni?
+
+The valley looked dismally dark that night, as Natale crept from his
+little trestle bed and crouched on the brick floor at the window,
+after he was supposed to be asleep. He was to share the priest’s attic
+chamber, and a few moments before Sora Grazia had carried away the
+candle. He peered out between the flower pots on the window ledge
+and again wondered in his childish way why anybody in the big world
+outside should have troubled to make him miserable.
+
+He was very sure that he had done nothing to harm the foreign lady
+with the spectacles. Once he had laughed when she had sneezed many
+times very loudly, in crossing the field near him, but he was sure no
+one had heard him, for he was lying on the ground and had buried his
+face in the grass. The pretty signorina with her had laughed too, and
+said something in their strange language which the lady had answered
+by another loud sneeze. Besides this, there was absolutely nothing he
+could have done to provoke any of the people in the garden. Yet, here
+he was being punished!
+
+The thought of Sora Grazia oppressed him, her serious face and her
+high hopes of his goodness. The house, too, was quieter than any place
+he had ever known,--he who had been used to few roofs save those of
+the caravan and tent. There were no children about, and there was no
+sound inside of crying, or laughing, or singing, or whistling. It was
+almost as bad as having to live in a solemn church when the candles
+are all out and the crowds are gone, and one feels, in the dimness and
+silence, as if something were coming up stealthily behind one to scare
+one’s wits away. It is all very well to rest for a minute in a cool
+church, out of the glare of the sunlight, when one may run out again at
+will, free as a wild bird or butterfly. But to have to stay, night and
+day, for a whole year in such a place! Natale shuddered, for this was
+just the way in which the awful quiet of the little stone house of the
+priest affected him.
+
+When Luigi came up to bed, hours later, he lifted the sleeping boy from
+the bricks at the window and covered him up snugly in bed.
+
+“My mother thinks we can do it,” he muttered to himself, as he threw
+off his black gown. “I shall do my part, but I am not sure they have
+done a wise thing.” Then he sighed a little. Perhaps he was wishing
+that he could be a little boy again, with the wide, wide world before
+him, and no one to interfere with his choice of a career,--free to be
+acrobat or priest, but always to have his own choice.
+
+With the passing of the first night all idea of running away seemed
+to have left Natale’s mind, and Sora Grazia was at first delighted to
+find her charge as submissive as a lamb to all her arrangements. After
+the first day or two, however, it became not quite so comfortable to
+see the little boy sit immovable for hours at a time, on the floor of
+the balcony, gazing down into the valley where the river ran merrily
+over the rocks. She would even have preferred to rebuke the child
+for something a little more outrageous than his listless torpor. She
+herself had to eat the meat prepared for Natale, if she would not see
+it wasted, for Natale could not touch it, nor would Luigi, her usually
+tractable son.
+
+The young priest was no less puzzled over Natale’s conduct than his
+mother was. The schoolmaster reported to him that the boy held his
+little paper-covered spelling-book before his eyes with the utmost
+diligence, and really seemed to try to remember the letters as they
+were pointed out to him with patient repetition, but that he might as
+well have been gazing off into the valley instead, for all the good the
+pages did him, and Luigi believed it.
+
+The other boys tried to lure him into their games and to practice his
+funny _capitomboli_ but he would only sit quietly by, on the stone
+steps of the church, watching them till playtime was over, when he must
+sit up on the bench in the schoolroom again and hold his book before
+his eyes.
+
+“He cannot keep up his sulking forever,” Sora Grazia said on the
+sixth day of Natale’s stay with her. Luigi was standing near her in
+the balcony, brushing the dust from the skirts of his long gown, which
+he shook vigorously with his strong hands, as his mother continued, “I
+confess that I am surprised he has taken things so quietly.”
+
+“A little too quietly!” muttered Luigi into the folds of his gown.
+
+“But now, one would like to see him brighten up a little instead of
+glooming over his food and everything else,” Sora Grazia went on.
+“He is not the same child he was a week ago, making his ridiculous
+_capitomboli_ over the circus carpet. I wonder if he could turn a
+somersault now, Luigi.” The woman lifted her head from her work to look
+over at Natale, who sat on the low street wall with his feet dangling
+into the road.
+
+“I gave him leave to go and play with the boys down in the field, this
+afternoon,” said Luigi, shaking his gown almost viciously. “He said he
+did not wish to go where his tent had been, and that he never expected
+to turn a somersault again.”
+
+“Impertinent!” exclaimed Sora Grazia. “We’ll let him alone a while
+longer, and he’ll come all right. A child cannot sulk forever, as I
+said before.”
+
+“But one can die of starvation and homesickness, perhaps,” quoth Luigi,
+stepping past his mother and springing up the stairs, his gown upon his
+arm.
+
+Grazia’s retort was stayed upon her lips by what she now saw passing in
+the street.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII
+
+THE CAGE DOOR OPENED
+
+
+NATALE, too, was looking up, but only dully, as a party of ladies and
+gentlemen sauntered toward him laughing and talking gayly as they came.
+Many such groups had passed him already, taking afternoon strolls
+toward the beautiful promenade of San Vito leading around the mountain
+side. But this particular group paused, when a spectacled old lady
+did, and all gathered about Natale, except the white-haired gentleman
+standing a little aloof and tapping the paving stones with his stick.
+
+“Why haven’t you been to see us, Natale Marzuchetti?” Miss Lorini asked
+cheerfully in Italian. “Mrs. Bishop was sure you would come.”
+
+“He does not look like the same child!” whispered Betty to her aunt,
+who now pushed forward.
+
+“Ask him if he is a _smart_ boy in school, and if he is not _glad_ to
+be dressed so decently and to be learning something _useful_,” Mrs.
+Bishop said hurriedly to the Italian lady, all of which was repeated to
+Natale in his own language as was requested. But Natale only shook his
+head slowly and wistfully.
+
+“You used to talk fast enough!” Mrs. Bishop cried impatiently. “Look,”
+she went on, pointing to the next house, a little farther on, “don’t
+you see that white stone in the wall? The words on it tell about a man
+who was born there, two hundred and fifty years ago, who was so good
+and useful that the people here put his name up there that he might
+never be forgotten. What’s to hinder there being a stone put up on
+this house, to tell about little Natale who was only a poor circus boy,
+but who came to live here when he was eight years old and became a very
+useful and good man? Tell him, Miss Lorini, just what I say!” And Mrs.
+Bishop pointed from the memorial tablet in one house to the blank front
+wall of the other, while Luigi, peering out of his window between the
+flower pots, dodged behind a tall geranium, and hoped the sharp eyes of
+the old lady were not searching for him.
+
+Natale listened gravely to Miss Lorini’s communication, his eyes
+passing carelessly from the memorial tablet to the wall of an opposite
+house.
+
+There was a rude painting on this wall of a Madonna holding a baby
+in her arms, and it was protected from the weather by a shallow arch
+of masonry. As Natale looked at the picture, he was reminded in some
+mysterious way of Nonna, who was never without a child in her arms,
+unless she were bending over a fountain washing the children’s clothes.
+A new look sprang into his eyes.
+
+“Our Antonio had _his_ name printed in Egypt and in Turkey and in
+Greece!” he answered proudly, for the first time opening his lips. “I
+would rather be like that than have my name cut here on the priest’s
+house!”
+
+“Good for the little chap,” cried the gentleman softly. He had
+understood what the shrill little voice said.
+
+“Printed on what, child? What was ‘our Antonio’s’ name printed on, in
+all those places?” Miss Lorini asked.
+
+“On paper, of course,” answered the child simply. “And there were
+pictures of him too, all red and yellow and blue, performing on
+the bars. Everybody in the streets was looking at his name and the
+pictures.” The little fellow’s face was glowing as he spoke of his
+friend, and Miss Lorini had not the heart to translate his words to
+Mrs. Bishop, who could hardly have passed them by calmly.
+
+“But you are content here?” Betty managed to ask in intelligible
+Italian.
+
+The shadow fell again over Natale’s face, and his figure visibly
+drooped. He did not pretend to answer her question.
+
+“Oh, Aunty, let him go back to his people,” Betty pleaded, seeing the
+change. “Anybody can see that he is miserable. He is too little to be
+made to suffer.”
+
+“He is too little to suffer long,” Mrs. Bishop replied calmly, with but
+one thought in her mind, of course.
+
+“Poor little Egyptian!” sighed the gentleman. “He was born in Egypt,
+was he not, Miss Betty?”
+
+“At Port Said, yes, and Pietro in Tunis they say.”
+
+“Well, be a good boy, Natale,” said Mrs. Bishop, patting his head, in
+its new cap. “Then you will be happy. In a few days, I shall send for
+you to come to see me, and we will drink tea in the garden. Good-by!
+_Addio!_”
+
+Natale touched his hat, as he had long ago been taught to do, and the
+pedestrians moved away, all but the gentleman who had called him a
+“little Egyptian.”
+
+He stood for a moment at Natale’s side, with his back turned to the
+house and his departing friends, and in a trice a handful of copper
+coins was transferred from his pocket to Natale’s hands. Mr. Grantly
+had just had a paper note changed into small coins, at the fruit shop,
+and he was glad to relieve his pocket of some of its weight.
+
+“I hope his guardians will let him keep the money,” was his thought
+as he turned away from Natale’s brilliant smile of thanks. The boy’s
+training had made him none too proud to accept the money of a
+stranger, and he lost no time in stowing it away in his jacket pocket,
+while Mr. Grantly hurried after the echoing steps of his party.
+
+Luigi at the window above had seen the money given to Natale, but he
+asked no questions of the boy, who, after kicking his heels against the
+wall for some time longer, was presently called to his supper.
+
+There was a flush on Natale’s cheeks and a brightness in his eyes which
+even Sora Grazia noticed, and as the evening was cool, she thought it
+wise to forbid his sitting out on the balcony or the wall, as was his
+wont, until bedtime. He looked feverish, she said, and in her own mind
+she planned a cup of hot camomile tea as a remedy at bedtime. Natale’s
+disappointment at this command to keep indoors showed so plainly upon
+his childish features that Sora Grazia was provoked, and for the first
+time since the boy had been with her she used harsh tones.
+
+“There! you may as well go to bed at once!” she cried, as he was
+leaving the kitchen, without a word it is true, but with the light all
+gone from his face. “I can never please you, whatever I do, and you are
+here only to waste food and sulk. Go to bed, Natale!”
+
+Luigi had gone off directly after eating his supper, about some matter
+of business with one of his superiors at the church, so he was not
+there to take Natale’s part.
+
+It is hard enough to be sent to bed on an ordinary night and at one’s
+regular time, as any child will agree, but to be forbidden the early
+hours of a moonlit evening outdoors, especially when one’s little head
+is teeming with wild, delicious ideas of flight--away from daily baths,
+from the cramping walls of a house, and out into the freshness and
+freedom of the night, which has no terror for the dwellers in tents,
+was well-nigh unbearable.
+
+Ah! how little Sora Grazia knew of the anguish she was causing!
+
+But Natale obediently stumbled slowly upstairs in the dark to the
+bedroom, and when there, crouched in his usual place on the floor
+behind the flower pots without an audible murmur.
+
+The little acrobat had made no plans at all, but with the touch of the
+money given him by the kind old gentleman on San Vito, an impulse to
+seek his freedom had occurred to his mind, and in the half-hour while
+he continued on the wall, furtively handling the coins in his pocket,
+he had wished,--only wished, however,--that he might have the courage
+to steal out into the moonlight, after eating, while Sora Grazia should
+be about her dish-washing, and Luigi poring over one of his little
+black books, perhaps, by the light of the candle in the kitchen. He had
+often thought of Olga’s words, “I would run after the wagon, if I were
+you,” but he had been too closely watched during the first day or two
+to admit of his carrying out so bold a plan, and since then, for the
+rest of the long, dreary week since the caravan had gone, he had not
+had the spirit to undertake such a measure. The whole world seemed to
+intervene between himself and the beloved company who had gone, and he
+felt sure that he would be seen by some mistaken person and brought
+back, even before he could reach the river, if he should attempt to
+follow.
+
+Until to-night no thought of leaving under the protection of the
+friendly darkness had come to him, and he had only been able to see
+himself flying down the sunny road in full view of all the village, to
+be promptly turned back again by some carriage driver of the place, or
+some schoolboy bigger than himself and therefore stronger. Besides, he
+had had no money, and Natale had traveled enough to know that a few
+cents in one’s pocket make one’s road easier and less long. So the
+days had passed, and Natale was fast drifting into a state of listless
+torpor which must have ended in illness, had not Mr. Grantly changed
+a five-franc note at the fruit shop that sunny afternoon and taken a
+stroll along San Vito where Natale sat “sulking” on the wall!
+
+Presently, as the little child continued to gaze longingly out into the
+moonlight, a ray of further hope illumined his mind. As Luigi had gone
+to the church now, it would be late before he would return. Sora Grazia
+always sat dozing on her stool in the doorway until time for barring
+the door and going to bed. Why should he not slip past her and away
+into the shadows of the street, before Luigi should return? His heart
+leaped at the thought, and he rose noiselessly to his feet and glanced
+around the darkening room. His small cot stood smooth and white against
+the wall. Another thought struck him, and he quailed with a sense of
+utter discouragement. When Luigi should come in,--and he might be very
+early, one never knew,--the runaway would be missed straightway from
+the empty little bed, and easily overtaken if he should have taken the
+regular road down the hill.
+
+It is true there were paths innumerable down the terraces from the
+back of almost any house in the street, most of them probably leading
+down to the river far below, but Natale had been no explorer of the
+neighborhood during his week of captivity, and was ignorant of the
+precipitate windings and the final ending of even the most practicable
+of these. No, he must go by the road, and he must wait until Luigi
+should return, and get to bed and to sleep.
+
+Natale knew that the priest slept soundly, for, one night he had
+had the misfortune to knock over upon the floor a pot containing a
+carnation plant, and the crash had not awakened Luigi. The boy had
+waked and had gone to the window to peer out into the night, fancying
+that he heard the hoarse creaking of the caravan brake as the clumsy
+vehicle crawled down the hill, and in craning his head between the
+pots, his elbow had pushed over one of them. Fortunately, neither pot
+nor plant had broken, and he had spent a good deal of time in packing
+the loosened earth about the carnation’s roots and replacing the pot
+among its fellows. The next morning, Sora Grazia had bidden him be more
+careful about carrying mud upstairs on his shoes, only to be cleaned up
+by her afterward, and he supposed he must have left some of the earth
+upon the floor, in the dim light.
+
+At any rate, Luigi slept soundly, and if he, himself, could only
+manage to keep awake until all was safe, he knew that he would have
+no difficulty in unbarring the door. He had accomplished it unaided
+only that morning, with Sora Grazia standing by and saying that it was
+the first thing of use he had set his hands to do since coming there
+to live. She had spoken good-naturedly though, and Natale had nothing
+against her. No, not even now did he remember her late harsh words, for
+he was too sweet-natured to harbor malice. He had only suffered, and
+now there was a prospect of escaping more suffering of the same kind.
+
+So after sitting on his bed with a wild turmoil of thoughts engaging
+his busy little brain, he began rapidly to undress. Luigi must not find
+him up! But, after taking off the strong new suit of clothes which Mrs.
+Bishop had had made for him, he rummaged under his mattress where his
+old things had been stored by Sora Grazia and quickly got into the worn
+trousers, the faded blouse and leggings, tucking the old shoes under
+his pillow. He had set the new shoes and stockings in orderly fashion
+on the floor and folded up the new clothes and laid them at the foot of
+the little cot. How fortunate that his old shoes had not been thrown
+away, for he could hardly have traveled barefoot over the flinty stones
+of the road and the river. Natale chose to wear the old easy shoes,
+for the new ones had always hurt him, and he would not have been able
+to steal unheard out of the house with those heavy, creaking soles
+tramping over the bricks. If he had known of the long way ahead of the
+old worn shoes, perhaps he would have planned to carry the despised
+footgear in his hands. But forethought had little place in the mind of
+so young a runaway, and he was guided in his change of clothes only by
+his own desires for comfort. The old clothes were as familiar as old
+friends, and therefore he preferred them.
+
+Then, after making his preparations, not forgetting to change the money
+from the pocket of the new jacket to that of his old trousers, he laid
+himself down on the cot, and drew up the light covering snugly about
+his shoulders, devoutly hoping that he would not fall soundly asleep.
+
+If Natale had only known it, Sora Grazia, believing Natale safe for the
+night, had slipped off for a gossip with a friend living just back of
+the church, simply drawing the door to behind her and leaving the coast
+clear for flight. And it would not have been difficult for the boy to
+leave a semblance of himself tucked under the bed covering, in the
+shape of the roll of discarded clothes and shoes! But little Natale was
+not possessed of a very designing brain, and after all, Luigi _might_
+have come in untimely, and spoiled it all!
+
+In a few moments, the would-be runaway was fast asleep, while the moon
+sailed across the valley from the eastern toward the western sky.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX
+
+THE FLIGHT OF THE BIRD
+
+
+WHEN Natale next opened his eyes he became very wide awake indeed, in
+an instant. In fact, he did not know that he had been asleep at all,
+until the moonlight, slanting in, showed Luigi’s long body stretched
+upon the iron bed close by.
+
+What could have waked Natale? For a moment he lay still without
+recollection of the momentous plans made at his early bedtime. Then
+he recalled a sensation of icy cold water about his feet, and he
+remembered that he had dreamed of a sudden plunge into the river while
+trying to find the stepping-stones. It must have been the chill of the
+dream-water that had awakened him! He sat up and found that he was
+still dressed and in his old clothes.
+
+Ah! it was easy to remember all now, and after a breathless glance over
+his shoulder at Luigi, who was comfortably snoring, Natale slipped out
+of bed. Catching up his old hat and his shoes he stole softly over the
+brick floor and down the stone stairs as quietly as any mouse would
+have done.
+
+Sora Grazia slept downstairs, but the door of her room was mercifully
+closed, and Natale knew that she often locked it at night. He turned
+his back upon it, therefore, with confidence, as he felt in the
+darkness for the balcony door. He exerted all his strength to raise the
+heavy bar of iron which guarded the door. Then he was very careful to
+keep his hold on the bar, as it swung downward, lest it should rouse
+the house with its usual clanging fall. The huge key was in the lock,
+and Natale succeeded in turning it with both hands, although this was
+much more difficult than raising the bar above the lock. It creaked
+dully as it turned, and Natale’s heart leaped into his throat, and a
+dozen noises buzzed in his ears.
+
+Breathless, he stood with his hand on the latch, afraid to move lest
+the door behind him should open, and everything come to an end. But
+nothing happened, so he swung open the door, and without stopping to
+close it behind him, he again caught up his shoes, which he had had to
+set down, and ran along the balcony and out into the street, his feet
+pattering softly on the stones.
+
+In his haste he did not stop to think of the direction he should take.
+His only impulse was to get out into the night somewhere, away from the
+houses and street. So he ran swiftly along in the shadow cast by wall
+and house, in just the opposite direction from that which would have
+led him past the church tower and through the village, out upon the
+downward road. Presently he crouched in a shadow to draw on his shoes,
+then fled onward again.
+
+Once away, he lost his bearings utterly and hurried on without turning,
+past the small house with the Madonna painted on the wall, past the
+large house where the white tablet to “Pietro Pacioni” gleamed in
+the moonlight, and then downward, by a roughly paved path leading
+to the Campo Santo. Perhaps he would have kept on aimlessly along
+San Vito,--the fashionable promenade leading always higher along the
+mountain side till it ended in an open plateau high up above the
+valley,--if he had not heard steps approaching. Whether these steps
+came from behind or from ahead he did not stop to discover. The
+downward path offered safety, and a small pink villa threw a dark
+shadow across its entrance, so Natale lost not an instant in scudding
+down the friendly by-way.
+
+On he trotted, past the shrine where the tiny Della Robbia Madonna sits
+under her arch, the moonlight touching the shining blue of her hood,
+the yellow of her robe and the pink of the baby on her knees with a
+radiance that was almost startling on the edge of the shadow. Now the
+path grew level, and the stones were left behind, and no more noise of
+footsteps disturbed the quiet.
+
+A few rods more, and Natale stood in front of the small mortuary chapel
+outside the cemetery. The iron gates set in the wall of the cemetery
+were locked, as Natale found on gently shaking them. He had paused to
+peep through the slender grating into the inclosure where the moonlight
+touched the white tomb of the foreign gentleman buried close under the
+wall, and showed so plainly the numbers on the low stakes marking the
+graves of the nameless poor. The shadows of the cypress trees lay like
+long black fingers outstretched upon the wilds of weedy undergrowth,
+and the wind stirred dismally on the exposed hillside.
+
+One day, Natale and Olga had wandered together as far as these iron
+gates. He remembered it now, and with the recollection he sprang away,
+eager to continue his journey,--then stood still, uncertain as to his
+path.
+
+The way which had brought him downward came to an abrupt end with the
+little chapel, outside the gates. It would not do to lose himself among
+the chestnut woods in search of a path! Yet, how could he plunge down
+the pathless slopes among the great trees, with nothing to guide him
+but the murmur of the river far below? Still less was he willing to
+return to the road above and turn about to take his way through the
+village and so on out upon the road. He was almost sure that if he
+could only see to find his way, some downward path from where he stood
+would bring him to a river crossing, perhaps a long, long way below the
+arched bridge, and therefore much farther on his journey.
+
+Bewildered and tired, he was almost ready to give up his flight, and
+to creep into the dark portico of the little chapel, and back into the
+shade beneath the picture of the Saint with the skull in his hand, and
+there end this strange night, which already seemed to him longer than
+any night he had ever known. But he roused himself to one more effort,
+and crept around to the back wall of the chapel. There, to his joyful
+surprise, he came upon a semblance of a path!
+
+All indecision was gone now, and he fairly slid down the rocky and
+precipitous way, which was more gully than footway, being in fact a
+watercourse for the torrents leaping down the mountain side, after
+some storm of rain, as well as a short cut to the river for roughly
+shod peasant feet.
+
+More than once Natale stumbled, and once he fell headlong, bruising his
+hands and knees, but he did not mind, for the rushing of the little
+river down among the rocks was becoming very loud in his ears.
+
+When at last he came out of the woods, and stood on the edge of the
+waste of rounded stones loosely paving the river bed, he looked back
+a moment to where the village must be, high above, a huddle of gray
+wall and roof, with the square church tower in its midst. All seemed as
+silent in the sleeping town as in the home of the sleeping dead on its
+outskirts. Then, just as Natale again turned his back upon the mountain
+side, where perched Cutigliano like a bit of gray lichen growing on
+some mossy bowlder, the beautiful, bright, friendly moon slipped quite
+over the mountain in the west, and darkness fell upon the valley,
+where deep down in its darkest shadow Natale was ready to cross the
+river. The light of the moon still touched the chestnut woods higher
+up the slopes, but every moment the shadow would be creeping higher
+and higher, until there would be no more moonlight on this side the
+mountain, and only the stars would come peeping out at Natale.
+
+After slipping off his shoes and leggings, the boy began picking his
+way carefully over the large dry stones which were worn smooth and
+round by slow wasting in the wet seasons, when the river flooded its
+narrow course and spread to the grassy banks. The stones rolled under
+even his light footsteps, but Natale kept his balance in crossing the
+smaller stones, and clambered patiently over or around the largest
+ones, and presently arrived at the edge of the black, rushing water.
+The brawling Lima makes a great ado hereabouts, as it tumbles over the
+rocks, for its bed slopes decidedly all the way to Lucca and beyond,
+and there is no opportunity for it to moderate its pace, or calm its
+chafings against the rocks.
+
+With the first touch of the icy water upon his bared feet, Natale
+recalled his dream. How long ago it had been since he had lain safely
+in his bed under the slanting roof of Luigi’s house! Again and again
+he tried to plant his foot firmly in the midst of the swirling water,
+which was perhaps as much as twenty feet wide at that point, but
+always it was deeper and colder than he had expected, and the stones
+more slippery and unsteady. Then he began wandering up and down the
+bank, in quest of the stepping-stones, which here and there certainly
+crossed the river both above and below the arched bridge. Unsuccessful
+in this, Natale finally exerted himself to make a reckless dash into
+the current, where he found himself the next instant up to his waist
+in the black water and clinging desperately by one free hand to a wet
+rock, with the instinct of preserving himself from being carried off
+his feet. Then miserably he felt his way back to the dry rocks on the
+edge of the stream, and dropping down upon their harsh bosom, he began
+to cry bitterly.
+
+He had so hoped there would be a crossing place! If he could only find
+it! His feet were sore with bruises now, and he felt as if he could
+not walk another step. He grew cold as he crouched there, sobbing with
+disappointment, for though the sun shines hot during the daytime on
+the chestnut trees and the vines of the Apennines, the nights, even of
+summer, are cool, and now a chill wind came sweeping down the valley
+from the fir-crowned summits of Abetone.
+
+Presently the little wanderer roused himself and stood on his feet.
+Nothing could tempt him to try to find his way back to the house of
+the priest, not even aching feet or shivering limbs, but he began to
+think there might be a more sheltered place near by--this little boy of
+the road, who had taken many a noontide nap curled up at the foot of
+some wayside tree. Perhaps the earliest light of dawn would show him
+the stepping-stones and the road, of which there was no hint now in the
+blackness of darkness across the river. Painfully he crept back toward
+the bank, where presently he curled himself into a knot at the foot of
+a huge, distorted old chestnut tree, a short distance up the slope.
+The grass was soft and springy about the roots of the old tree, and a
+huge boulder near by shut off the wind from Natale’s shivering legs.
+So, with a sigh of content, and for the first time tasting the sweets
+of his new freedom, the little acrobat closed his eyes upon the stars
+winking down at him from above the stirring leaves, and fell asleep for
+the second time that night.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X
+
+ON THE WING
+
+
+LONG before Natale waked, the day had dawned, but the sun had not long
+looked down into the valley before he turned stiffly on his grassy
+couch and rubbed his eyes. Then, however, he lost not an instant in
+taking up his journey where it had left off the night before.
+
+How easy it was in the light of the sunbeams of the early morning to
+spring over the dry stones of the bank, and with a swift glance up
+and down select a safe place to cross the water which had seemed so
+dangerous and cruel in the dark.
+
+The daylight changed everything, of course, and it was but a few
+moments after waking before he was across the stream and scrambling
+up to the low wall bounding the road on the river side. From the inner
+edge of the road the mountains rose precipitately.
+
+As Natale clambered over the wall the church bells of Cutigliano
+burst into a wrangle of sound, which must have echoed from one end of
+the village to the other. Though the distance softened the metallic
+tones, the little boy was startled by them into a scamper away down
+the sunlit road as if the mischievous village boys whose office it was
+to ring the bells were in headlong chase after him. The day must have
+been the _festa_ of some saint, and for a long time Natale heard the
+bells’ voices, sweetened more and more as his bare feet trudged onward
+and the distance fell between him and them. But he soon gave up his
+running because his legs were stiff and his feet sore, and as yet no
+one appeared coming along the road behind him, in pursuit.
+
+There had been no doubt in his own mind of the direction he should take
+after once gaining the road. He knew that Giovanni and Antonio with the
+house-wagon had been bound for the Bagni di Lucca, and also he knew
+that the road to the Bagni led downward with the stream, and not up
+toward the cold region of Abetone, the “Great Fir Tree.”
+
+So all he had to do was to follow the road, broad and white, by the way
+they had come three weeks before, without need, even, of asking his way
+of the peasants he should meet. He had turned the shoulder of a great
+green mountain-spur which entirely shut off the view of Cutigliano
+before he would stop for an instant in his lame tramping. Once assured
+that the town was out of sight behind him, he sat down breathlessly on
+one of the heaps of loose stones such as flank every mountain road in
+Italy. Then he deliberately took each foot in turn in his small hands
+and gravely and pitifully examined its bruises. There was nothing to be
+done, then, but plant them in the road again and continue his way.
+
+For an hour or more he trudged painfully on, but the stiffness in his
+legs left him after a while, and he began to be only hungry. He wished
+he had thought of hiding in his pocket, the night before, a crust of
+the dark, coarse bread he loved, and which had always been plentiful at
+Sora Grazia’s. But the coppers jingled comfortably there instead, and
+Natale contented himself to wait for breakfast till he should pass some
+bread shop along the road.
+
+The morning air was sweet with the freshness of early day, and the
+delicious odor of the wild thyme’s tiny blossoms. Tall harebells nodded
+to him from the thyme and heather bank shoulder-high above the road,
+and sparkled with the sunshine and dew upon their purple flowerets. The
+river, which in the darkness had seemed to mock him with its roaring,
+now only murmured softly as it slipped over the stones in the sunlight.
+
+By and by, Natale began to meet people in the road, men with donkeys
+bearing huge basketfuls of wet grass and wild flowers shorn from the
+steep terraces above for the cow or donkey at home, and women tramping
+in their thick-soled shoes to Cutigliano with baskets of fresh fruit
+or eggs or cheeses for the summer hotels balanced on their heads. From
+all of these Natale kept his face steadily averted, lest they should
+bear back to the town tidings of his going. Usually, after passing a
+group of these wayfarers, the boy broke into a quick run in order to
+lengthen the distance between them and himself, but these spurts of
+speed availed him little, for he had always to stop and rest afterward,
+and so lost many more minutes than he had gained of the golden day.
+
+The road had already become a curving white glare before Natale came
+in sight of a long stone house having many windows and doors, and
+standing on the inner edge of the road. He came upon it suddenly, on
+turning a sharp curve, and then he saw that another house faced it on
+the opposite side of the road, and that an inviting shade lay between.
+The back of one of the houses looked directly upon the steep slope of
+the mountain behind, while the rear wall of its opposite neighbor had
+its foundation in the rocky banks of the tumbling river. In the shade
+between, barefoot peasant children played noisily. Near by, a stream
+of spring water, clear and cold, trickled from a wooden trough into a
+rough stone basin.
+
+And here at last were rest and food and drink for the runaway,--only no
+one must learn that he was a runaway!
+
+A fat and black-eyed housewife with arms akimbo stood in one of the
+doors, and as Natale came up to her on limping feet, she eyed him with
+interest from the stone of the doorstep.
+
+“Will you give me a little piece of bread, signora? See, I have money,”
+said Natale, showing her a handful of Mr. Grantly’s copper coins in his
+open palm.
+
+“A bit of bread you shall have, to be sure, and your _soldi_ you shall
+keep, little one,” the good-natured creature promptly answered, and
+while the children left their play and gathered about Natale, with
+friendly eyes, their mother disappeared into the very small and dusky
+shop behind.
+
+“There, sit down and eat,” she said, returning with a hunk of bread and
+a generous lump of cheese on a coarse plate in her hand.
+
+As Natale received the plate and moved rather lamely toward the
+dripping fountain in the shade, the children ran ahead, and one filled
+a rusty tin cup with the cold water and had it ready for Natale by the
+time he reached the mossy brink of the fountain.
+
+These little ones of the road, wild and rude enough in their play, were
+well used to offering the “cup of cold water” to the passing wayfarer,
+and Natale’s thirsty throat gulped the draught gratefully.
+
+There was something about the child which arrested the attention of the
+woman more than the ordinary passer-by often did, and she also stood
+watching Natale breakfast hungrily.
+
+He was shy and downcast, fearing difficult questions, and as soon as
+the last crumb of bread and cheese had disappeared he got to his feet,
+setting the empty plate on the margin of the fountain.
+
+“Thank you, signora, and good-by,” he said, and was off.
+
+“No, but wait!” she cried, laying her hand on his shrinking shoulder.
+“You have eaten my bread; now answer my questions. What is your name,
+_picino_,[7] and where are you going?”
+
+[Footnote 7: Little boy.]
+
+“Down the road,” was the shyly spoken answer to the last question, with
+a quiet waiving of the first. “Please let me go, signora. It is already
+late, and I must hasten.”
+
+“Well, go!” she exclaimed then, “and a good journey to you!” But she
+stood watching him trudge briskly away from her until another curve in
+the zigzag road hid him from her sight.
+
+“Some stranger’s child!” she muttered to herself, going back to the
+doorstep. “I have never seen him pass here before, and few there be
+who pass by without the knowledge of Chiara. Well, I am glad he has
+his _soldi_ safe in his pocket. May the saints protect and feed my own
+children when they go a-wandering! You, Beppo! keep your head out of
+the dust of the road!”
+
+“Mamá, mamá, Beppino is making _capitomboli_, such as the boy who was
+here just now made in the circus at Cutigliano, on the day we went with
+our father to the big tent! Do you not remember?” cried an admiring
+small sister of Beppo. “See, our Beppo does them even better than the
+other boy, mamá!”
+
+The woman gave a little start of recollection, and then dismissed the
+idea which had occurred to her, as impossible--fortunately, perhaps,
+for Natale.
+
+“Silly girl! The circus people went down the road a week ago to the
+Bagni, do _you_ not remember? How should the boy be seven days behind?
+No more _capitomboli_, I say, Beppo _mio_, in all this dust!”
+
+[Illustration: “Capitomboli, such as the boy who was here just now made
+in the circus at Cutigliano.” _Page 142._]
+
+In a carriage, with two good horses and a fine cracking whip behind
+them, one may drive from Cutigliano down to the Baths of Lucca in the
+first half of a summer’s day. On two tired slim little legs, one
+would need much more time to accomplish the journey. Also when one has
+been for six days imprisoned within stone walls, one does not hurry--if
+fairly out of danger--along beauteous and fresh-smelling paths of
+freedom.
+
+Every hour or so after leaving the woman and children at the fountain,
+Natale stopped for a rest along the way. Sometimes he sat down
+on a heap of mending stones by the wayside, in company with some
+stone-breaker hammering away in the shade of his sun screen, a rude
+lattice of chestnut boughs propped behind the heap of stones.
+
+The monotonous clink of the hammer breaking the sharp-edged stones was
+usually stayed as the lonely worker turned to chat with the large-eyed
+child hovering near. Only once or twice was Natale’s cheerful “_Buon’
+giorno!_”[8] returned by an unwelcoming growl or by sour silence.
+In such cases, the dawdling feet made all haste to pass and seek a
+resting-place in the shade of some breeze-rustled chestnut tree quite
+out of sight of the cross stone-breaker.
+
+[Footnote 8: Good morning.]
+
+The second night was passed as the first had been, out of doors,
+after a supper of hot rice paid for at an _osteria_,[9] a short way
+back along the road. Natale might have slept, as well, at the little
+inn, but he was too unused to roofs to dream of proposing it, and the
+absent-minded old landlord had not seemed to be thinking of anything
+but puffing away at his pipe, as Natale slipped past him and out of the
+dingy passage-way, after paying for his food.
+
+[Footnote 9: Inn.]
+
+A long-bodied two-wheeled cart stood outside the inn door, its shafts’
+ends resting on the ground, its rear high in air, and Natale, with an
+instinct for sleeping above wheels, had decided to return to the cart
+for a night’s lodging place when the world should be dark again. But
+sleep overtook him as he lay waiting at the foot of a tree to which
+he had scrambled from the road below, and when he roused, dawn was
+staining the pale sky with rose color.
+
+The next day promised to pass as the first had done,--with slipping
+shyly past occasional houses of entertainment along the way, with
+lingerings to stare into the mysterious depths of some noisy mill in
+league with the tumbling river, and with long, monotonous trampings,
+between times, along the smooth road, bordered always by the mountains
+and the river. As the road neared the valley, it crossed dashing
+streams hurrying to join their waters to the broader water of the
+river, and so solid was the stone masonry of the arches that one would
+never have known that he was crossing a bridge but for the sparkle and
+the laughter of the foaming water as it dashed under the road and out
+again.
+
+Many times Natale, himself a small dark speck on the endless white
+road, looked up the long mountain slopes, green in the sunlight, purple
+in the shadow, and glimpsed high above him on the giddy heights the
+climbing roofs of some hoary old mountain town, away out of hearing of
+the busy river, out of reach of traveling circus wagons, and which,
+
+  “Like an eagle’s nest hangs on the crest
+  Of purple Apennine.”
+
+It was past noon of the second day when Natale entered a village
+on a level with the highway. Here the road suddenly changed into a
+stone-paved street, running between high houses and echoing with the
+tramp of wooden-soled shoes and the patter of donkeys’ hoofs.
+
+He stopped at the door of a sour-smelling wine shop where sat a man on
+a stool outside the door. To him the little boy put his question as
+to whether this town might perhaps be very near to the Bagni di Lucca.
+This man wore a red fez on his bushy, black head, and down his long,
+black beard trickled drops from the wine cup at his lips. The fellow
+did not stop his drinking long enough to reply in so many words to the
+question, but a decided shaking of his head and the pointing of a long,
+dirty finger onward sufficiently enlightened Natale, and he kept slowly
+on his way.
+
+In passing a small baker’s shop, he stopped and bought a great ring of
+sweetish bread, and then slipping his arm through this, he went more
+cheerily onward. There were still many _soldi_ left in his pocket, and
+surely this beautiful ring of bread would last until the Bagni di Lucca
+should come in sight, with, of course, the dear yellow tent set in its
+midst!
+
+One of the last houses he passed as he left the town was entered
+through a garden by a huge wooden door opening upon the cobblestones
+of the street. This door stood ajar, and Natale stayed his steps for a
+moment to gaze through the aperture down a charming vista of trellised
+vines supported on crumbling white columns of masonry. Green and
+gold lights played over the rough paving-stones of the cloister-like
+colonnade through the latticework above. Halfway down this corridor,
+two or three girls romped and sang together, their scarlet kerchiefs
+and the rich blues of their skirts making dashes of vivid color in the
+shade where they lounged. Pale jewels of grapes, already growing pink
+and amethystine, crowded the vines with promise of luscious sweetness
+when their full time should come.
+
+The girls peered back at the travel-worn lad peering in at them, but
+when the largest of them called mockingly to him, “Enter, signore!”
+Natale ran away down the street and again out upon the road. The girls
+had made him think of Arduina and Olga and little Maria, and away down
+at the end of the corridor he had caught a glimpse of a gray-haired
+woman sitting on a flight of broken stone steps, with an infant on her
+lap. His heart swelled with homesickness. If only he might see Nonna
+once again! How long was the monotonous road to Bagni di Lucca!
+
+The day, however, was not to close without an exciting and important
+event.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI
+
+FLUTTERING A LITTLE FARTHER
+
+
+NATALE sat down in his leisurely fashion on the low wall bounding the
+road just beyond the town and began daintily nibbling around the crisp,
+sugared edges of his bread ring. It was mid-afternoon, and while his
+jaws worked steadily, his wide bright eyes watched with interest two
+bicyclists toiling up the hill and trundling their wheels alongside. As
+they passed him by without a glance, their faces red and perspiring,
+and their shoes whitened with the light dust, the boy’s eyes still
+followed them and lighted upon a queer figure coming from the town he
+had just quitted. It was the red-capped, swarthy-faced man of the
+wine-shop door, and now his shoulders were bent under a pack slung on
+his back, and his legs were bowed as he limped along, and he wore an
+old overcoat much too long, which had seen better days upon another’s
+shoulders.
+
+The wheelmen paid no attention to this fellow, as he stopped on meeting
+them and perhaps offered them a sight of his wares hidden in the pack,
+so the peddler presently came up with Natale, grumbling sourly.
+
+“These foreigners without manners!” he growled, planting himself in
+front of the little boy’s swinging legs. “Ah! you are the boy who goes
+to the Bagni. Come, I also go thither. We shall be companions merry
+enough!”
+
+Natale had no fancy for joining company with this man who frowned with
+his black brows and grinned, in turn, with big white teeth gleaming in
+his hairy face, but neither had he the courage to demur. Therefore,
+he slipped down unwillingly from his perch and trotted along at the
+peddler’s side.
+
+Fortunately, the man asked no questions and spoke little, and before
+evening, his steady tramp had led Natale over more miles than the whole
+previous day had carried him. Little cared this strange, silent fellow
+for leaning over walls to gaze at the foaming water singing over the
+rocks, or for idly resting on a bridge to watch the white cloud-ships
+crossing the azure sea overhead, as the white sails of the orange boats
+ply the blue waves between Sicily and the Italian coast, and to dream
+of future glory as an acrobat of renown!
+
+The sun had again sunk behind the rounded summits in the west, when the
+peddler at last stood still and grinned down upon the panting child.
+
+“One easily sees that you are no traveler,” he said in his hoarse,
+unpleasant voice. “Now we will sit down here by the roadside and make
+our beds for the night. Did you mention supper? The bracelet you wear
+on your arm will suffice for us both, if we divide it according to the
+size of our stomachs. _Ecco!_” And Natale’s precious ring of sweetened
+bread was rudely snatched from his arm.
+
+Naturally, Natale was most indignant at being treated in this manner by
+so perfect a stranger, and he did not hesitate to remonstrate.
+
+“But the bread is mine, signore! I bought it with my own _soldi_ in
+the town,” he cried, clutching at the beautiful ring of bread, already
+being broken in two by the peddler’s dirty fingers.
+
+“_Soldi!_” echoed the man; “and where are your precious _soldi_?”
+
+“At the shop where I bought the bread, of course,” was the shrewd
+reply, and not a coin remaining in Natale’s pocket jostled against its
+neighbor now. They kept as quiet as if they knew that long, eager
+fingers were ready to pounce upon them.
+
+Then a change came over the peddler’s manner, and he showed his
+unpleasant-looking teeth in a broad smile. Perhaps he was planning a
+look into those little pockets by and by, who knows?
+
+“What a clever boy you are!” he cried. “Well, as you are also such a
+hungry little beast, take back your bread, and for a relish I shall
+give you a smell of my own supper. See!”
+
+So speaking, he drew a roll of sausage from a pocket of his long coat.
+The sausage was wrapped in a soiled handkerchief, and there was a
+hunk of black bread with it. A knife with a curious curved handle and
+long, shining blade was next produced, and the peddler went to work,
+alternately whacking off bits of the highly seasoned meat and the hard
+bread, and devouring them with crunching teeth and smacking lips.
+
+Natale gnawed industriously at his own bread without even thinking of
+offering to barter a portion of it for a taste of the savory sausage.
+There was a kind of fascination in watching the ugly fellow eat, and
+the wondering brown eyes were fixed upon the peddler’s surly face.
+
+It was now the close of a warm afternoon. A light haze wrapped the
+more distant mountains in misty blue, a chirring of insects stirred
+the silence about the travelers, and now and then a carriage or cart
+whisked downward, or toiled upward, along the road, accompanied by the
+jingle of harness bells and the whooping cries of the drivers. A fog of
+white dust rose behind every passing vehicle, and the chestnut leaves
+overhead, long unwashed by rain, hung grimy and listless in the heavy
+air.
+
+As the peddler supped, large drops of sweat gathered on his long, red
+nose and dripped down his black beard, while his face grew flushed
+and more scowling than ever. Presently, with an angry movement which
+startled Natale half out of his wits, he dropped the sausage and knife
+to the ground and tore off his coat.
+
+“Poor men have no choice!” he muttered. “Bare shoulders in winter, the
+cast-off winter coat of an Englishman in summer!”
+
+The soiled and tattered old coat was tossed aside, falling
+uncomfortably close to Natale’s feet, but he did not dare to push it
+away with disdainful touch. The peddler’s meal now came to an end, the
+remains of the sausage were gathered up with the cruel-looking knife
+and laid aside with the handkerchief, after which the peddler, with
+a satisfied grunt, sprawled himself on his side--to sleep, as Natale
+devoutly hoped.
+
+But not quite yet was the man ready for sleep. Reaching for his pack,
+with a lazy movement from where he lay, he unstrapped it and drew from
+among the coarse laces and horn buttons inside a flat bottle, which
+he uncorked and turned up to his lips. As the liquor gurgled down his
+throat and its strong odor tainted the air, Natale let his eyes fall to
+the uncomely garment lying within touch of his fingers.
+
+Then the boy’s heart leaped into his throat, and it seemed as if he
+would suffocate where he sat. He dared not move, and bravely he looked
+away from the thing which lay within such easy reach of his longing
+hands, half-in, half-out of the fellow’s old coat pocket.
+
+If only the peddling thief would go off into a drunken sleep!
+
+For there, close by, lay Giovanni’s old pocketbook of stamped Spanish
+leather, stained and battered, as Natale had always known it!
+
+Who could tell whether any money still remained in it? There was
+nothing to do but wait till the man should go to sleep, and then,
+stealthily drawing the pocketbook away from the overcoat, speed down
+the road to a safe distance and find out all about it.
+
+He had not long to wait before the peddler returned the bottle to
+the pack, and then, disposing himself on the ground, sank into an
+open-mouthed slumber.
+
+Only when quite sure that the sleep was real did Natale steal away on
+noiseless feet, prize in hand, across the shallow ditch bordering the
+road, and onward to the shelter of a ruined shed quite out of sight of
+their resting-place. Putting the shed between him and the road, Natale
+unstrapped the pocketbook with trembling eagerness.
+
+There lay the notes into which Giovanni had from time to time changed
+the cumbersome copper soldi of their earnings! There were the dingy
+blue five-franc notes, with many one and two-franc notes of a most
+uncompromising dirt color!
+
+The boy dared not take time to count them all. The fierce ogre asleep
+under the tree might rouse at any moment and find the pocketbook gone.
+Away, away, he must fly, on and on toward the Bagni di Lucca, even
+though evening was at hand, and a gray blanket of cloud threatened
+to hide the coming stars. So the little feet twinkled away through
+the dust, Natale’s heart now heavy with the dread of what was behind,
+now light with the joy of what might be ahead. As the warm dusk fell,
+it seemed safe to walk again, although every sound from behind made
+Natale’s heart seem to leap into his throat. Indeed, it seemed pretty
+much to stay in his throat, until, by and by, he came upon some one who
+was to give him most welcome news.
+
+He had traveled half a mile farther, and still it was not yet dark when
+he sighted a cluster of houses ahead and heard cheerful human voices.
+Coming up to the first house, he found a pretty, plump young mother on
+her doorstep, cuddling a nursling on her breast. From across the road
+and about the house came busy sounds of sheep and cows being housed for
+the night in their thatched pens, and nobody seemed at leisure except
+the laughing woman with the crowing baby in her arms.
+
+On plying the woman with his usual question, Natale learned that
+the end of his pilgrimage was indeed “just down the road a little
+distance”, although, on such short legs as his, the woman added
+thoughtfully, it might take two hours more of brisk walking to reach
+even the big circus tent, standing on the outskirts of the Bagni all
+the past week.
+
+Ah! and was the circus still there?
+
+Of that the woman could not speak certainly, as some passer-by had
+mentioned only the day before that but one or two more performances
+were to be given before the _circo_ moved on to Lucca. She herself had
+wished to go to see the wonderful Antonio Bisbini, also the little Olga
+who had no more fear of a great horse’s hoofs than she herself of her
+baby’s brown toes. But how was a woman to leave her house and the tired
+men folks, to tramp down the hill and up again at night, with a heavy
+baby in her arms? Was the little boy hoping to reach the tent in time
+for the night’s exhibition?
+
+Natale’s heart had thrilled at the mention of Antonio’s magic name,
+and his spine straightened and his head was lifted with the pride of
+conscious relationship with the hero of the circus. He gave but a
+thought now to Olga’s usurpation of his place in the ring. For was
+he not returning to his own again, with the stolen pocketbook in the
+breast of his blouse? What a welcome there would be for him now!
+
+“Well, good night, _bimbo_, if you will go, and may you enjoy seeing
+the riding in the tent!” the woman called to him, looking wistfully
+after the little figure plodding away, after a polite return of her
+farewell.
+
+Natale’s heart was carefree now, as he limped lamely onward to the tune
+of the “Dead March,” humming the air as he went.
+
+The road had been growing more level for some hours as it entered the
+valley, and the river flowed more still and deep. The hush of night
+gathered under the trees, and the birds and insects went to rest or
+noiselessly crept from their haunts about vine and root, intent upon
+the business of the hour.
+
+As signs of the famous Baths of Lucca began to appear at certain curves
+in the road, Natale became possessed of but one idea. Down the river he
+began to see the lights of the town, and he even thought he heard the
+notes of band music, which, in truth, were wafted to his ears from the
+terrace of the Casino. His head was full of plans of stealing into the
+tent, and for at least this last night at Bagni di Lucca, playing his
+own part in the dying-horse act. He would not take precious moments now
+for practicing a somersault or wheel, as he went along, but it was easy
+to rehearse the dialogue over the dying brute--if only his tired, tired
+legs could keep the road, and his aching eyes find the old yellow tent
+set up somewhere among the trees.
+
+Presently, the gleaming eyes of bicycles began to whiz by, and a
+squarely built, many-windowed villa or two rose flush with the road. A
+little farther now, and the tent would surely appear, with perhaps Cara
+in her red dress at the doorway, and the band playing outside in the
+light of the big lamp!
+
+Laughing stragglers now sauntered here and there, none noticing the
+child making his dizzy way among them toward a flare of light on one
+side where the trees fell apart. One would have hardly believed it
+possible that there was room for even the tent of the Circo Equestre of
+Antonio Bisbini and Giovanni Marzuchetti in the space between the long
+storehouse of corn and the terraced hillside behind. Yet, not only was
+the tent there, spread to its full circle and height, but the brown
+wagon also was visible, drawn within its shadow, and now the staring
+brown eyes of the little wanderer had found them both.
+
+Yes, there was the dear old tent, with its white patches upon the dull
+yellow, showing against the vine-clad hillsides of the Bagni. Also,
+there was the smoky lamp fastened to a post, where two ways met and
+parted. There was the usual crowd gathered outside about the entrance
+where Cara in her red dress and gauzy veil watched over the money bowl,
+in wait for some possible late-arriving spectator. The big reflecting
+lantern on the table showed the wistful features of the outsiders as
+they crowded about the tent.
+
+As Natale crept around the tent, he saw the bare, brown legs of some
+trespassing youngster following squirming head and shoulders inside,
+under the curtain by way of the ground. In former times, the little
+acrobat would have been the first to raise an alarm and assist with
+alacrity in the ignominious expulsion of the intruder who wanted to see
+the show, and yet keep his _soldi_ in his pocket, if such were there.
+But the sight of the enterprising offender made little impression on
+Natale’s mind now, as he stepped past the struggling legs, for, the
+hour being much later than he thought, the band inside just then struck
+up the familiar schottisch, and Natale knew that Il Duca was even
+now treading the ring in a dignified dance, led by Giovanni himself.
+His heart gave a suffocating throb, and his cheeks burned. Then he
+shivered with cold, and his weary legs faltered before the daring deed
+about to be perpetrated.
+
+There was plenty of time, even yet, and he would do it even if Giovanni
+should strike him to the ground with his cracking whip, which had never
+yet, however, been raised against him with more than threatening intent.
+
+He stopped to listen a moment longer to the music before entering. Yes,
+there it was, the schottisch, accompanied by the beat of the clever
+hoofs. Then, as he knew the moment was at hand for Il Duca to drop
+dying in the ring, Natale crept swiftly in among the players gathered
+as usual in the small tent behind. Olga was there and Arduina, in their
+fanciful costumes, and Elvira, his mother, waiting for their “cues.”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII
+
+AT LAST
+
+
+THE small, pale apparition of Natale, suddenly projected into their
+midst, so startled them all that even Olga forgot to listen for the
+thud of Il Duca’s heavy body on the ground and the sound of his groans.
+They stared open-mouthed for an instant, and then the apparition
+vanished as suddenly as it had appeared.
+
+But the strains of the “Dead March” now recalled little Olga to
+herself, and she darted from behind the curtain and out into the light
+of the oil lamp, only to hear a familiar boyish voice instead of her
+own answering shrilly Giovanni’s question, “What are you crying about,
+child?”
+
+“Because our horse is dead!”
+
+“But are you sure he is quite dead?” And Giovanni’s voice faltered with
+sudden fear, as he gazed at Natale’s small, dusty figure kneeling at
+the horse’s head, with Oh! such a world of pleading in his dark eyes
+and folded hands.
+
+“Quite dead!” wailed Natale.
+
+“Get up and feel his pulse, boy. If there is any pulse he is _not_
+dead!” Giovanni spoke fiercely, but there was no frown upon his face.
+
+And so the farce went on as usual, to the end, while Olga, with pouting
+lips, slipped behind the curtain again and joined the others who were,
+every one, peeping in to see little Natale do his beloved dying-horse
+act.
+
+The little girl had come to enjoy her bit of acting with Giovanni and
+Il Duca, for kneeling with folded hands and sobbing breath was a pretty
+attitude, always loudly applauded, and she no longer feared that Il
+Duca would lift his faithful hoof against her. But now, here was Natale
+back again, and his shrill little voice going over the silly replies
+to the clown in his own, old way. Well, it would be rather nice, after
+all, to have Natale again, and she would not fuss about it as there
+were so few things he could really do, while she was learning new feats
+already, and would soon be riding Tesoro bareback around the ring.
+
+A perfect storm of applause succeeded the end of the dialogue, when Il
+Duca scrambled to his feet, and the tent was filled with cries for a
+repetition of the scene. But Giovanni turned swiftly and lifted Natale
+to the horse’s back, only in time to prevent the child’s falling to the
+ground, as if stunned by the noise of the shouting. Out of the ring
+and through the smaller tent to the open air beyond Il Duca pranced
+proudly, with Giovanni at his bridle, holding Natale in his place with
+his free hand.
+
+Outside, they laid the child down on the warm ground in the dim light,
+and Arduina brought a cupful of water and bathed his face, while Olga
+stood by, and Antonio and Elvira went back to help Giovanni with his
+table-leaping inside.
+
+“He is not dead, is he, Arduina?” Olga asked in a frightened voice.
+“Feel his pulse as we do Il Duca’s!”
+
+“Hurry and call Nonna!” the older girl urged nervously. “We shall have
+to go in, the very next thing after this, and Nonna will know what to
+do.”
+
+So when Natale next opened his eyes, the light of a sputtering candle
+showed him the gray head of dear Nonna bent over him. He lay on a small
+mattress in a corner, and the smoke-stained ceiling of the house-wagon
+shut out the sky.
+
+“_Ecco!_ he opens his eyes, my _bimbo_! my Natalino! _Carino_,[10] what
+does it all mean? Tell Nonna how you have come back to the _circo_!”
+
+[Footnote 10: Darling.]
+
+But at first Natale only lifted one hand to stroke the dear, wrinkled
+face of Nonna, in smiling content. After a little, he laid his hand on
+the breast of his blouse and begged to be allowed to go to Giovanni.
+
+“He will not scold me for coming back when he sees what I have brought
+with me,” he urged.
+
+But Nonna reminded him that the tent was still crowded with
+spectators,--did he not hear the music close by, and the laughter
+of the people, as the clown and Antonio and Arduina did the funny
+pantomime?
+
+Natale lay back listening, with a happy smile on his lips, while Nonna
+went to blow up the coals of a small fire on the ground outside, and
+to hurry the broth that Natale might have nourishment. She could not
+prevail upon the boy to confide to her what he was so anxious to tell
+his stepfather, and she left him alone, too glad to have him returned
+to them, to grumble over his reticence.
+
+Of all the children, Natale most sweetly recalled her own son’s
+childhood, and Antonio’s boyish affection for her, his cheeriness and
+obedience, had seemed to live again in Natale, although he was Elvira’s
+son, and no grandson, at all, of her own.
+
+The little ones, Tito, Maria, Gigi and the rest, were asleep in their
+corners, and Nonna had been sitting at rest in the wagon door when
+Olga had rushed up with the news that Natale had arrived and lay
+dying, perhaps, on the ground outside the tent. It was Nonna’s strong
+arms that had borne him away to the house-wagon, and Nonna’s vigorous
+rubbings and applications of cold water that had brought him out of
+the half-swoon of exhaustion. So Nonna was content with her work, and
+would not press Natalino’s secret from him.
+
+By the time the performance was over, and the merry-makers had streamed
+out whistling, chatting and laughing together, and had gone their ways
+homeward, Natale, fed and rested, was sitting up bright-eyed and eager
+to announce his news.
+
+It was stuffy and hot in the wagon, and Giovanni went to fetch the
+boy outside, the moment the tent had emptied and the players were at
+leisure. Olga had not even taken time to change the yellow satin blouse
+and pink tights for her usual faded cotton frock. As for Antonio, he
+had only slipped his feet into a pair of loose slippers, so the great
+acrobat stood before Natale in all the glory of his spangled black
+velvet and shapely, pink-clad limbs.
+
+As the night was dark, one of the lamps was brought from the tent, and
+a wild, gypsy-like scene its rays revealed under the trees about the
+steps of the house-wagon. Elvira, in an access of motherly tenderness,
+gathered Natale to her red satin bosom, and called him by all the
+musical pet names belonging to the boys and girls of Italy, while
+the musicians peeped over the shoulders of the actors and wondered
+how little Natale had ever found his way on foot all the way from
+Cutigliano to the Bagni.
+
+“The tramping will have limbered up his legs!” one whispered to another.
+
+“Stiffened them, rather!” was the reply, and then everybody stopped
+talking and only gazed the harder as Natale put his hand within the
+breast of his blouse and drew out the old leather pocketbook.
+
+“There, Giovanni!” he said simply, reaching the book toward his
+stepfather. “The ugly, black peddler with the red cap like our Leo’s
+stole the money, and while he slept on his back, by the road, I stole
+it from him, and then--Oh, how fast I ran and ran that he might not
+catch me and kill me with his long, sharp knife!”
+
+Giovanni, speechless with astonishment and joy, solemnly received and
+kissed and opened the pocketbook, and then spread out the notes, one by
+one, on his knee, while the rest crowded around, counting them aloud.
+
+What if all should not be there? Natale’s eyes shone feverishly as he
+leaned forward from his mother’s knee, his gaze alternately upon the
+clown’s face, and the long, lithe fingers handling the money.
+
+Five, ten, fifteen, twenty, twenty-five, thirty, thirty-five,
+forty, forty-five, fifty, fifty-five, sixty, sixty-five, seventy,
+seventy-five, eighty, eighty-two, eighty-four, eighty-six,
+eighty-eight, ninety, ninety-one, ninety-two, ninety-three,
+ninety-four, ninety-five, ninety-six, ninety-seven, ninety-eight,
+ninety-nine, _one hundred_!
+
+Natale’s head dropped back against the red satin shoulder of his
+mother, and his large eyes gazed wistfully into Giovanni’s face.
+
+Would they let him stay now that he had come all the weary way “after
+the wagon”, bringing them the lost money? Their welcome had been
+encouraging; would they let him remain, or must he be sent back to
+Cutigliano, to the priest, to Sora Grazia, to school, to imprisonment
+in a house without wheels, and without Nonna?
+
+It was Antonio Bisbini who brought up the question finally and in a
+manner settled it with his slow-spoken words. Everybody had wondered
+and rejoiced over the safe return of the pocketbook, with the money
+untouched, and Natale had had to tell all about the peddler, and the
+risks he had run of rousing the fellow from sleep in making his escape
+with the pocketbook.
+
+“He was the man who teased me to buy the beautiful diamond brooch on
+the day of San Lorenzo!” cried pretty Arduina, who well remembered
+the peddler’s flattering attentions to her in his hope of finding a
+purchaser for his paltry glass jewelry.
+
+“And the same who so frightened our Tito outside the church,” Nonna
+chimed in indignantly. “And he all the time pretended to be so pious
+and anxious to see the saints’ relics in the church! No wonder Tito
+cried at the snapping of those dirty, thievish fingers in his little
+face. The saints only know how he found the money in Giovanni’s
+coat-pocket hung in the tent!”
+
+“Mamá _mia_, do you remember how stiff my legs were when I played at
+leaping with the boys at school in Florence?” Antonio, the finished
+acrobat, asked thoughtfully, breaking a long straw with his fingers and
+looking at nobody. His blond head reached almost to the lowest boughs
+of the chestnut tree under which he stood, and the lamplight flared
+over his fair face and glittering costume.
+
+Natale sat up to hear the words of this oracle, and even slipped off
+the satin lap of Elvira to the ground, in order to be nearer Antonio.
+
+“I remember that you were a studious boy,” Nonna murmured in reply,
+with a note of the old bitterness in her voice.
+
+“Natale has done a good work in returning the money to us, Giovanni,”
+the acrobat continued. “Why send him back to the foreigners? He was
+unhappy, or he would never have come all this distance alone--mere baby
+that he is.”
+
+“And the Englishwoman’s money?” Giovanni asked in a businesslike tone.
+
+“What has been used, replace from the pocketbook. It is not much, as we
+have taken in so good a sum, here at the Bagni. Leo can ride back with
+it to Cutigliano to-morrow morning, and return in time for our last
+night here.”
+
+“_Ebbene!_” said Giovanni, and this meaning “All right, with a very
+good will,” so it was decided, and then everybody hurried to get into
+comfortable old clothes and to eat supper.
+
+Leo was sent to the nearest wine shop for a bottle of good red wine
+that the troop might drink to the joy of Natale’s return and the
+recovery of the money; also to the just discomfiture of all thieving
+peddlers.
+
+Long before the evening came to an end, a tired but most happy little
+boy had crept into the shadow and fallen asleep, with his head pillowed
+against Nonna’s knee.
+
+“I am glad thou art come back to us, Natalino,” she whispered in the
+softest Italian above the tangled brown curls, while the rest sang and
+made merry, “and if thy little legs will only grow as straight and as
+strong as my Antonio’s, and thy heart remain as faithful to old Nonna,
+the saints forgive me if I care very much whether thou be acrobat or
+priest!”
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+For some reason known best to himself, but readily guessed by the clown
+and the rest of the older members of the circus, the swarthy peddler
+was not seen in Bagni di Lucca for many a day after. But Natale did
+not lose his dread of encountering the fierce eyes and the cruel knife
+until long after the circus troop had taken to the road again.
+
+Nothing in the world could have induced Mrs. Bishop, the English lady
+at Cutigliano, to touch the money returned with, what was to her, most
+astonishing promptness and honesty through Leo, one of the musicians.
+
+In the first place, the notes were very dirty, much more so, she was
+sure, than when she had paid them to the clown a little more than a
+week before. Secondly, she would not reclaim money which had been once
+devoted to the cause of civilization and of education. If the “little
+ingrate” despised his opportunities and had finally returned to his
+“wallowing in the mire”, let the money which would have bought him
+for decency and for usefulness go with him. Thirdly--but this was not
+acknowledged even to Betty--the old lady’s heart had been touched by
+the tale Luigi the priest had come to tell her on the morning after
+the flight of the birdling. So her heart was not quite so hard as
+her words sounded, and she was in truth rather rejoiced, as well as
+very much relieved in mind, when Leo had arrived to tell of runaway
+Natale’s return to the troop in safety. Therefore, generously, Mrs.
+Bishop would not receive the money because it seemed to her no longer
+her own; surely Giovanni and Elvira and Nonna had kept their part of
+the bargain in giving up the child, while Natale had not even been
+consulted in their plan.
+
+The roll of notes was therefore returned by Leo to Giovanni, with the
+foreign lady’s instructions that the money was to be spent in providing
+meat for broth for the children so long as it should last. There would
+still be plenty of cold water always, free as air, for daily baths
+along the roads of Italy, and Mrs. Bishop hoped that Sora Grazia’s
+ministrations in that line would not soon be forgotten by Natale, who
+for one short week had been a scrubbed little lad. (It is safe to say
+that they were not!)
+
+Along with the money, Mrs. Bishop sent a school primer to Natale,
+with the admonition that he would at least try to learn to read
+while jogging up and down the earth and upsetting his stomach in all
+heathenish sports.
+
+But Madame Cioche and Betty rejoiced in open triumph over Natale’s
+freedom, to say nothing of the priest Luigi and the wise old gentleman
+who had in fact unwittingly opened the cage door for flight.
+
+Sora Grazia was a trifle glum for a day or two at finding her pains
+thrown away upon the sulky little protégé of the foreign lady, but as
+the month’s pay for his board and lodging had been in advance, and the
+nearly new clothes and shoes and cap were now thrown into the bargain
+by Mrs. Bishop, to repay her for her extra trouble, she too soon became
+content and even pleased with the ending of the rich lady’s scheme.
+
+So the bare front wall of the priest’s house in Cutigliano among the
+mountains has, as yet, no prospect of being adorned by a memorial
+tablet to a waif of all outdoors who was willing to be a great man in
+books and goodness.
+
+And Natale?
+
+Well, Natale is learning, better and better, how to turn his
+_capitomboli_ over the dusty circus carpet, and he still feels Il
+Duca’s pulse with sorrowful apprehension to the tune of the “Dead March
+in Saul”--by night among the oil lamps.
+
+By day, he trudges along hot white roads, under the marvelous blue of
+Italy’s sky, with Niero and Bianco for company. Or, he lies on the
+ground at Nonna’s side under some spreading tree in the camping-out
+times, sometimes spelling out words in a dog-eared primer, oftener
+gazing past the tree tops at the cloud-ships sailing overhead, while
+Nonna tells of Antonio’s wonderful childhood.
+
+By and by, when Natale grows too large to do the dying-horse act, and
+little Tito, or Gigi takes his place, he will be dashing with the
+horses around the ring. And then, in the still further and sweeter by
+and by, when Antonio’s agile legs will perhaps have begun to stiffen
+again, and the straight back to bend forward a little as he walks, who
+but Natale will be the shining star of the Circo Equestre, like another
+bespangled, pink-clad Antonio, with crisp brown curls and laughing
+eyes, and the nimblest, straightest legs in all Italy?
+
+
+
+
+_The story of a little patriotic Cuban girl_
+
+  LITTLE CUBA LIBRE
+
+_By_ JANIE PRICHARD DUGGAN
+
+Illustrated. 282 pages. 12mo. $1.35 _net._
+
+In all the big city of Havana there was no more patriotic little girl
+than Amada Trueno, daughter of one of the city gardeners. With all her
+heart she hated the Spaniards who ruled her beloved island of Cuba.
+“Little Cuba Libre” they called her when she stamped her foot and
+called the Spaniards enemies and tyrants. When she went to her cousin’s
+house in the country, although she played on friendly terms with the
+children of a Spanish planter, still her hatred of the oppressors
+slumbered. How the Cubans finally revolted, and how little Amada
+herself took part in that revolution, even to the extent of bearing
+arms, is told in this charming story. “Little Cuba Libre” contains
+faithful pictures of Cuban life and Cuban people, and while written
+especially for young readers, its fine qualities should also appeal to
+older ones. Besides being an interesting story of Cuban girlhood it is
+a depiction of the very spirit of patriotism.
+
+
+LITTLE, BROWN & CO., PUBLISHERS
+
+34 BEACON STREET, BOSTON
+
+
+
+
+_Real stories of three famous elephants_
+
+  THE ADVENTURES OF
+  MOLLIE, WADDY and TONY
+
+_By_ PAUL WAITT
+
+Illustrated in color by Clara E. Atwood.
+
+75 cents net.
+
+Mollie, Waddy and Tony are three of the most wonderful elephants in the
+world. Born in India, they have traveled all over Europe and our own
+America, showing their clever tricks to thousands of boys and girls.
+They were bought by the children of Boston and are now kept in the
+Franklin Park Zoo, where they will remain the rest of their lives.
+
+Mr. Waitt writes of their adventures when they were traveling, and
+tells of some tricks they played which their keeper never taught them.
+Little Tony is the roguish one, and he is always getting into mischief.
+That clever little trunk of his pokes into all sorts of places where it
+doesn’t belong, and sometimes it takes Mollie, Waddy and Johann, the
+keeper, to make him behave as a proper little elephant should.
+
+ “This is the most bewitching elephant story we ever read. It is
+ the story of their travels through many countries. It is as good a
+ story for boys and girls as any boys and girls will ever want to
+ read.”--_Journal of Education_, Boston.
+
+ “The story of ‘The Adventure of Mollie, Waddy, and Tony’ is one of
+ the nicest that little people who like animals can read.”--_New York
+ Times._
+
+
+LITTLE, BROWN & CO., PUBLISHERS
+
+34 BEACON STREET, BOSTON
+
+
+
+
+TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:
+
+On page 4, Tesore has been changed to Tesoro.
+
+On page 71, up-stairs has been changed to upstairs.
+
+Illustrations have been moved to avoid interrupting the flow of
+paragraphs.
+
+In text edition of this e-book, footnotes have been moved to
+immediately below the paragraph where they occurred.
+
+All other spelling, hyphenation, and non-English dialogue have been
+retained.
+
+*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LITTLE ACROBAT: A STORY OF
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+<p style='text-align:center; font-size:1.2em; font-weight:bold'>The Project Gutenberg eBook of The little acrobat: a story of Italy, by Janie Prichard Duggan</p>
+<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and
+most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
+whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms
+of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online
+at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you
+are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the
+country where you are located before using this eBook.
+</div>
+
+<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: The little acrobat: a story of Italy</p>
+<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Janie Prichard Duggan</p>
+<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Illustrator: Nana French Bickford</p>
+<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: September 30, 2022 [eBook #69064]</p>
+<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</p>
+  <p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em; text-align:left'>Produced by: D A Alexander and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by the Library of Congress)</p>
+<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LITTLE ACROBAT: A STORY OF ITALY ***</div>
+
+<div class="figcenter hide" style="width: 32%">
+<img src="images/cover.jpg" alt="Cover"  />
+</div>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
+
+<p class="ph1">THE LITTLE ACROBAT</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 350px;">
+<a id="i_frontispiece"><img src="images/i_frontispiece.jpg" width="350" alt="The pale apparition of Natale startled them all."
+title=""  /></a></div></div>
+
+<p class="caption">The pale apparition of Natale startled them all. <i>Frontispiece.</i><br />
+<span class="center"><i>See page <a href="#Page_167">167.</a></i></span></p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
+
+<h1>THE<br />
+<br />
+LITTLE ACROBAT</h1>
+
+<p class="ph3">
+A STORY OF ITALY</p>
+
+<p class="ph2 nobreak"><span class="smaller">BY</span><br />
+JANIE PRICHARD DUGGAN</p>
+
+<p class="center no-indent p2b"><span class="smaller"><i>WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY</i></span><br />
+NANA FRENCH BICKFORD</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 70px;">
+<img src="images/i_title.jpg" width="100" alt="Publishers Logo"
+title=""  /></div>
+
+<p class="p2">&nbsp;</p>
+
+<p class="ph3"><span class="smaller">BOSTON</span><br />
+LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY<br />
+<span class="smaller">1919</span></p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<p class="center no-indent"><i>Copyright, 1919</i>,
+<br />
+<span class="smcap">By Little, Brown, and Company</span>.
+<br />
+<i>All rights reserved</i><br />
+
+Published, September, 1919<br />
+<br />
+Norwood Press<br />
+Set up and electrotyped by J. S. Cushing Co., Norwood, Mass., U.S.A.<br />
+Presswork by S. J. Parkhill &amp; Co., Boston, Mass., U.S.A.</p></div>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<p class="center no-indent">DEDICATED<br />
+TO MEMORIES OF<br />
+TWO LITTLE “ANGELICALS” OF ROME<br />
+SPOTTISWOODE AND SUSIE<br />
+BY<br />
+“CUDDIE”</p></div>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<p class="ph2 nobreak" id="CONTENTS">CONTENTS</p>
+</div>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="3" cellspacing="3" summary="CONTENTS">
+<tr><td class="tdbr smaller">CHAPTER</td>
+<td>&#160;</td>
+<td class="tdc smaller">PAGE</td></tr>
+
+<tr><td class="tdbr">I</td>
+<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Along the White Road</span></td>
+<td class="tdbr"><a href="#Page_1">1</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td class="tdbr">II</td>
+<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Nonna</span></td>
+<td class="tdbr"><a href="#Page_12">12</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td class="tdbr">III</td>
+<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">In the Ring</span></td>
+<td class="tdbr"><a href="#Page_26">26</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td class="tdbr">IV</td>
+<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Festival of San Lorenzo</span></td>
+<td class="tdbr"><a href="#Page_39">39</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td class="tdbr">V</td>
+<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">A Gift for the Circus</span></td>
+<td class="tdbr"><a href="#Page_55">55</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td class="tdbr">VI</td>
+<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Separation</span></td>
+<td class="tdbr"><a href="#Page_73">73</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td class="tdbr">VII</td>
+<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Caged Bird of the Fields</span></td>
+<td class="tdbr"><a href="#Page_91">91</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td class="tdbr">VIII</td>
+<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Cage Door Opened</span></td>
+<td class="tdbr"><a href="#Page_105">105</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td class="tdbr">IX</td>
+<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Flight of the Bird</span></td>
+<td class="tdbr"><a href="#Page_121">121</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td class="tdbr">X</td>
+<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">On the Wing</span></td>
+<td class="tdbr"><a href="#Page_133">133</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td class="tdbr">XI</td>
+<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Fluttering a Little Farther</span></td>
+<td class="tdbr"><a href="#Page_150">150</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td class="tdbr">XII</td>
+<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">At Last</span></td>
+<td class="tdbr"><a href="#Page_167">167</a></td></tr>
+</table>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<p class="ph2 nobreak">LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS</p></div>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="3" cellspacing="3" summary="CONTENTS">
+<tr><td>&#160;</td><td>&#160;</td></tr>
+
+<tr><td class="tdlh">The pale apparition of Natale startled<br />
+them all</td>
+<td class="tdr"><a href="#i_frontispiece"><i>Frontispiece</i></a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td class="tdlh">Mrs. Bishop looked down upon the tent<br />
+from the garden terrace</td>
+<td class="tdr"><span class="allsmcap">PAGE</span> <a href="#illo1">45</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td class="tdlh">The priest led Natale to the other end of<br />
+the house</td>
+<td class="tdr"><span class="allsmcap">“&nbsp;&nbsp;</span> <a href="#illo2">94</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td class="tdlh">“<i>Capitomboli</i>, such as the boy who was<br />
+here just now made in the circus at<br />
+Cutigliano”</td>
+<td class="tdr"><span class="allsmcap">“&nbsp;</span> <a href="#illo3">142</a></td></tr>
+</table>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_1">[Pg 1]</span></p>
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<p class="ph1 nobreak">THE LITTLE ACROBAT</p></div>
+
+<p class="ph2"><i>A STORY OF ITALY</i></p>
+<p class="ph2 nobreak"></p>
+
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_I">CHAPTER I<br />
+<span class="smaller">ALONG THE WHITE ROAD</span></h2>
+
+<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap"><span class="dropcap">T</span>he</span> July sunshine lay hot and
+golden over the fields of wheat on
+the Italian hillsides, and the deep
+shade of the chestnut woods along the
+road was more inviting than the white glare
+beyond. The sun stood directly overhead,
+and along the middle of that white, dusty
+road there was not an inch of shadow.</p>
+
+<p>A small brown house on wheels crept
+slowly along this sunny way, drawn by a
+queer, ill-matched team of three&mdash;a plump
+white horse with long, silky mane and tail,
+a large spotted horse with fierce eyes and
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_2">[Pg 2]</span>nostrils, and a lean, little brown pony, with
+strangely twisted neck.</p>
+
+<p>Up and up, always a little higher up, the
+horses toiled with the house-wagon, as the
+road rose into the mountains. From the
+interior of the wagon came the sound of
+voices, mingled now and then with a complaining
+note, or an exclamation of pain.
+The travelers were very tired, and poor
+Pietro’s fever was rising with every turn of
+the wheels.</p>
+
+<p>Several men and a sturdy girl of fifteen
+walked beside the horses in the powdery white
+dust. Behind the big wagon lagged a boy
+of eight or nine years. This was Natale,<a id="FNanchor_1" href="#Footnote_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a>
+a slight little fellow, with dusty lean legs
+and dragging feet. His light brown hair
+curled damply about his sun-browned forehead,
+and he wore an old, misshapen hat
+set far back on his pretty head. His loosely
+fitting clothes were dingy with dust but
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</span>Natale did not mind, for, presently, they
+would come to Cutigliano, the old, old
+town on the mountain side, and there they
+would camp out on the soft, green grass.
+And Natale knew from much experience
+that nothing could clean the dust from
+travel-stained clothes so well as rolling down
+the grassy slopes of the chestnut woods,
+with Niero and Bianco as companions.</p>
+
+<p>Of course the sun was hot; was it not
+always hot at noon of a summer’s day in
+the Apennines? But Niero did not complain,
+and why should Natale?</p>
+
+<p>Bianco had tired of trotting along at
+Natale’s side, and at the last stopping-place,
+when Pietro had had a drink of
+water from the wayside fountain, the tired
+little black dog had begged to be allowed
+to ride, and had been willingly taken inside
+the wagon.</p>
+
+<p>Natale never asked to ride in the wagon,
+unless he were very tired and sleepy. They
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</span>were rather crowded in there even without
+him, for Pietro took up a great deal of room,
+now that he had to lie down all the time.
+Besides, the other children, good travelers
+as they usually were, sometimes grew
+quarrelsome and made the mothers and
+the grandmother angry. Natale did not
+like quarreling and loud voices, so he always
+preferred his resting times to be given
+him on the back of one of the horses. But
+now Tesoro and Il Duca were tired also, and
+they were so near Cutigliano, it did not
+matter if Natale did lag behind a little,
+always with big Niero for company.</p>
+
+<p>Niero was a large, lean, white dog with a
+closely sheared body. About his neck,
+however, he wore a fluffy collar of long
+white hair, and bracelets of the same
+adorned his four paws, while his long tail
+ended in a tuft, having very much the appearance
+of a dishmop. Why this white
+dog should have been named Niero, meaning<span class="pagenum" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</span>
+black, the clown who had also named the
+little black dog Bianco, white, could have
+best explained.</p>
+
+<p>By and by, long after the gray church
+tower had come in sight and the red-tiled
+roofs of the town showed bunched together
+against the green of the wooded hillside, the
+travelers reached the arched stone bridge
+across the river at the foot of the mountain.
+Here the wagon made a halt before beginning
+the last steep climb to the town.
+Above, they could see the stone wall which
+was the boundary of the road winding by
+loops, one above the other, up the mountain
+side, but the town had now disappeared
+from view, so sheer was the rise of the
+chestnut woods.</p>
+
+<p>This halt gave Natale time to come up
+with the wagon, and then he sat down with
+a tired sigh on a heap of mending-stones by
+the roadside, in front of the wagon door.
+His legs ached with weariness, but this was
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</span>no time to think of riding, as even the
+women and all the children but Pietro must
+alight now, to relieve the horses in the last
+pull up hill. Natale watched them descend
+from the wagon one by one, by the steps one
+of the musicians placed at the door.</p>
+
+<p>First came Nonna, the grandmother of
+Rudolfo and Tito and the five other children
+of the blond acrobat, Antonio Bisbini. She
+was not Natale’s Nonna, of course, yet
+everybody called her Nonna, and why
+should not he, who had no grandmother of
+his own?</p>
+
+<p>Nonna carried Tito in her arms and led
+Rudolfo by the hand. Then came Tito’s
+mother, the three-months’-old infant, Gigi,
+in her arms, followed by Olga, who held
+little Maria by the hand. Next, Natale’s
+own mamá stepped down, glad to stretch her
+active limbs by walking, after nursing
+Pietro for so many tedious hours. Then
+the rest of Bisbini’s children scrambled
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</span>out, aided by the music-man’s helping
+hands.</p>
+
+<p>On they went again then, the clown, who
+was Natale’s stepfather, walking at the
+horses’ heads, and cracking his long whip,
+and chirruping to them while the other men
+strode behind the wagon, pushing upon it
+with all their might at the steep places in
+the road.</p>
+
+<p>The women and children, meanwhile, left
+the road to climb the short cuts upward,
+leading directly from terrace to terrace,&mdash;mere
+paths paved with rough stones, here
+and there loosened and displaced by rushing
+rain-torrents of the past. The little ones
+bore the heat and the roughness of the way
+without murmuring, being allowed to
+straggle along as they pleased, now stopping
+to gather a red poppy from the edge
+of the wheat, now dropping on the ground
+to search for a briar afflicting some tired
+foot. Natale was not the last in the procession<span class="pagenum" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</span>
+now, for he was anxious to get
+to the top and see what the tall wheat
+and the green slopes were hiding from
+his eyes.</p>
+
+<p>At last they reached the wide turn in the
+road where the wagon must finally stop, at
+the edge of the town field. The wagon
+also came toiling upward, and now the good
+horses might rest. So these were unhitched
+from the wagon, and while one or two of the
+men led them up the steep, paved street into
+the village to find food and shelter for them,
+the others attended to the house-wagon,
+drawn close against the low stone wall
+inclosing the field, placing great stones
+against the wheels to steady it in its place.
+Now was Natale’s hour and the dogs’, and
+they understood this as well as he! Over
+the low wall they scampered and down on
+the soft, hot grass they lay, rolling over and
+over down the gentle slope of the field until,
+suddenly, Natale found himself landing
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</span>directly upon his feet, with a whirring in his
+head, and the sound of distressed barking
+in his ears.</p>
+
+<p>The dogs had had the wit to stop on the
+very edge of a sharp descent which Natale
+had not noticed, and now they stood on the
+bank, half-a-dozen feet above him, their
+forefeet firmly planted on the brink of the
+grassy precipice, and their tufty tails high
+in the air, begging with all their might to
+know whether their dear little comrade were
+hurt. Natale was not hurt, but the jar
+of the descent gave him a queer feeling
+under the waistband of his trousers, and
+he sat down directly where he stood,
+on the lower terrace, turning his back
+upon the dogs.</p>
+
+<p>A fringe of bushes threw a narrow band
+of shade about him from above, and he
+made up his mind to stay there till something
+should be made ready for dinner.
+He hoped he would not be wanted to fetch
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</span>anything from the village,&mdash;he was always
+fetching something for somebody. He had
+heard his mother calling to her husband to
+bring a little meal for the polenta,<a id="FNanchor_2" href="#Footnote_2" class="fnanchor">[2]</a> when he
+should finish stabling the horses, and he
+knew there was wine left in the flask in the
+wagon.</p>
+
+<p>From where Natale sat he could look
+directly down upon the roof of a house far
+down by the stone bridge and could faintly
+hear the rushing of the little river Lima over
+the rocks. Presently he eased himself out
+on the grass at full length, with his arms
+crossed beneath his head. As he dropped
+off to sleep, he was thinking how well it was
+that there could be no performance in the
+tent that evening. He was sure that
+Arduina would laugh more than ever at
+his stiff little feats on the circus carpet if
+he should have to turn somersaults after
+the long tramp.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</span></p>
+
+<p>Then Natale slept, with the great green
+mountains closing around him, and Bianco
+the black dog and Niero the white keeping
+watch above his head from where they had
+stretched themselves on the edge of the
+terrace in the sun.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</span></p>
+
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_II">CHAPTER II<br />
+<span class="smaller">NONNA</span></h2></div>
+
+<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap"><span class="dropcap">N</span>atale</span>, as will have been discovered
+by this time, was an
+Italian circus boy, a cheerful,
+happy little soul, who loved his “profession”,
+and whose ambition reached to the
+giddy height of some day rivaling even
+Antonio Bisbini in his wonderful trapeze
+performances. He loved everything connected
+with the life he led,&mdash;the long slow
+journeyings through his beautiful Italy, the
+camping out at night along the quiet roads,
+the open-air loungings in some village
+through the sunny days, until the evening
+should come and the oil lamps be lighted in
+the tent, and the people come crowding
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</span>in to see Arduina dance the tight rope, and
+little Olga do her wonderful turns and
+twists on the carpet, and to applaud Antonio
+and the clown and the horses, and&mdash;yes,
+and himself too, little Natale, stiff as
+his short thin legs always were and hopeless,
+as Arduina declared, in his bows and scrapes.</p>
+
+<p>Besides the three musicians, there were
+two families in the strolling company.
+Giovanni Marzuchetti was the clown, also
+the stepfather of Paulo, Arduina, Pietro,
+Natale and little Maria, and husband of
+Elvira, the black-haired mother of the five
+children. This man had no children of his
+own but was kind in his rough, clownish way
+to Natale and the rest.</p>
+
+<p>It is not difficult to understand why
+Giovanni should have married Elvira and
+her family, when it was known that the
+woman brought to her husband a small
+fortune in the shape of her own wonderful
+skill as a rider of horses, and the little ones
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</span>as possible acrobats of the future. They
+had been married for two years now, and
+if Giovanni had counted largely upon his
+ready-made family for speedy reënforcements
+in the “ring”, he must have become
+a little discouraged even by this time. It
+is true that Paulo and Arduina were well
+trained in the art of circus acting; but poor
+Pietro, the middle-sized one, who was
+twelve years old, was always ailing and
+feeble. Sleeping out of doors in the marshy
+regions had developed in his system a
+chronic fever which could not be thrown
+off, even with the aid of Nonna’s assiduous
+doctoring, and lately the weakness had
+settled in one leg and foot, threatening
+permanent lameness.</p>
+
+<p>Natale, who came next, was agile enough
+when running about on his slim brown legs,
+but his funny stiff-legged somersaults and
+awkward antics in the ring were matters of
+jesting among the whole troop. Poor little
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</span>Natale, who did so wish to be like Antonio
+Bisbini!</p>
+
+<p>Lastly there was Maria, who was a mere
+baby and as yet only just learning to stand
+upright on her stepfather’s head.</p>
+
+<p>But Antonio Bisbini, the father of the
+other family, was the star of the little troop
+of strolling players. Tall and lean and
+muscular, he stood six feet two in his sandals.
+His blond hair and skin and strong,
+clear-cut features gave him the look of some
+stern young Viking from the cold forests of
+the North, yet this youthful-looking, ruddy
+athlete was already the father of seven
+young children.</p>
+
+<p>No one in the company, not even the
+clown, could hold a candle to Antonio in
+looks or in graceful skill. Natale was sure
+that the noblest and most beautiful figure
+in all Italy was that of Antonio Bisbini as
+he would step forth from behind the tent-curtain,
+ready to thrill the spectators about
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</span>the ring. The flesh-colored tights clothing
+his limbs showed to perfection their symmetry
+and grace, relieved by the brilliantly
+spangled hip garment of black velvet and
+fringe, while the proud glance of his gray
+eyes and the light tread of his feet never
+failed to impress the beholder.</p>
+
+<p>Antonio’s oldest, little red-haired Olga,
+tumbled and danced with all a healthy
+child’s love of activity and applause, and
+Oh! how Natale envied her the perfect
+“wheels” she turned, one after the other
+with dizzying swiftness across the dusty
+strip of carpet in the ring. But the rest of
+Antonio’s seven were as yet too small to be
+useful as tumblers or dancers, and Nonna’s
+hands were always full, while their mother
+did her daring dances in the air.</p>
+
+<p>The three musicians, then, and Nonna
+completed this strolling band of twenty,
+with the two horses, the dogs and the
+twisted-necked pony. Poor Caffero had
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</span>grievously hurt his pretty neck one day
+when very young, while tied in his stall and
+leaping to reach his food from a manger
+set cruelly high. Since then he had trotted
+painfully through three years of going up
+and down the earth, with his brown head and
+long neck twisted far around to one side
+without the power of righting them. Caffero
+would have made a pretty part of the
+show had not this accident befallen him.
+As it was, he was good for little but helping
+to guide the house-wagon along the weary
+roads. Yet every one loved Caffero.</p>
+
+<p>On the day of the arrival at Cutigliano
+the two horses Tesoro and Il Duca were left
+in their stalls in the village stables during
+the whole afternoon, while Caffero was
+brought down the steep village street and
+allowed to graze in the public field. Nonna
+herself had gone up for him with Tito in her
+arms, after the midday meal of polenta, or
+thick mush of yellow meal, had been eaten.
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</span>As the trio passed through the narrow
+street of the village, many heads turned to
+wonder at the strangers&mdash;the gray-haired
+woman, the bright-eyed child in her arms,
+and poor Caffero, who always seemed
+pulling against the leading rope and trying
+to twist his head after something left
+behind.</p>
+
+<p>It was while Nonna, a little later, was
+tying Caffero’s rope to a tree in the field that
+she spied the two dogs asleep in the sun near
+the edge of the terrace. As Tito recognized
+them at the same time, and called them in
+his baby voice, the grandmother added her
+summons, and was rather astonished at
+their failure to obey. They bounded to
+their feet, it is true, but instead of scampering
+to meet her, they stood still, quivering
+with nervous excitement and waving their
+tails in much perplexity. Then as Tito
+began to fret and belabor the air with his
+fists, Nonna started swiftly toward the
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</span>dogs with something threatening in her
+gait.</p>
+
+<p>But where were they, those lazy brutes,
+which a moment before had defied her and
+then had promptly disappeared? A few
+more hasty steps brought Nonna near
+enough to the edge of the descent to see
+both Niero and Bianco crouching over
+Natale on the lower terrace. The boy had
+been awakened by the sudden onset of his
+faithful friends, and lay looking lazily upward
+as Nonna and Tito peered over at
+him.</p>
+
+<p>“Natalino!” the old woman exclaimed,
+and, at the word, Natale scrambled to his
+feet.</p>
+
+<p>“I am ready! Where am I to go?” he
+asked hurriedly, preparing to creep up the
+bank. But Nonna only laughed and
+reached down a helping hand to the child,
+as he clutched at the long grass for support.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</span></p>
+
+<p>“Come and eat your polenta,” she said,
+when Natale stood at her side, the dogs
+panting close by. “I suppose they have
+saved you a bite. Why did you run away?
+Though, as for that, you were not missed
+in all this hurly-burly of arriving. Now,
+Niero, stand on your hind legs and beg.
+See, Tito is fretting for you to do it&mdash;”</p>
+
+<p>“But we haven’t a bone or a crust of
+bread for him, Nonna,” Natale pleaded.
+“See how sadly his eyes look at you.
+Giovanni always gives him a bone.”</p>
+
+<p>“There! take to your legs then, poor
+thing!” Nonna cried in a friendly way
+to the hungry dog. “Perhaps to-morrow
+there will be a bone. Who knows?”</p>
+
+<p>Natale ran off toward the wagon, followed
+by the patient animals, who perhaps were
+well assured that he was going to share with
+them his own scanty heap of polenta.</p>
+
+<p>The brown house on wheels leaned
+slightly inward against the stone wall for
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</span>security, as the hill’s incline was steep at
+this point. The door opened directly upon
+the top of the wall, which formed a broad
+and convenient doorstep, reached from the
+ground by a short ladder. About the
+wagon and in the field close by everybody
+was busy.</p>
+
+<p>The great canvas of the tent had been
+unpacked from the top of the wagon, and
+the two women sat on the ground patching
+the holes and thin places worn in it by long
+use. Some of the men were making trips
+back and forth from wagon and field,
+carrying sections of board for inclosing
+the ring. These were to be set up in their
+places by and by, when Antonio should have
+finished marking off the circle on the grass,
+with the hole in the center for the tent pole.
+There was nothing, as yet, for the children
+to do but loll in the shadow of the wagon,
+asleep or awake, and chatter among themselves.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</span></p>
+
+<p>As Natale and the dogs drew near,
+Elvira, the boy’s mother, looked up from
+her stitching and clapped her hand to her
+forehead on seeing them.</p>
+
+<p>“Natale! I had forgotten the child.
+Little pest, where have you been, away
+from us all, and your dinner? One would
+think you had friends in the town and
+had been taking your polenta in grander
+houses than ours here.”</p>
+
+<p>Natale replied to these mocking words
+with only a rather naughty shrug of the
+shoulders, and went to sit down on the
+lowest step of the short ladder against the
+wall.</p>
+
+<p>“Give him his polenta, Arduina,” Nonna
+called shrilly from a little way behind.
+“He was asleep, Elvira, all tired out with
+walking to-day as much as any man among
+us. I keep my eyes open. Don’t scold the
+boy.”</p>
+
+<p>“One would think my Natale your own
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</span>grandson, Nonna,” Elvira replied, laughing
+good-naturedly.</p>
+
+<p>“All boys are as her own sons or grandsons,”
+Nonna’s daughter-in-law interposed
+carelessly, as the old woman passed on with
+Tito, perhaps to see that Arduina gave
+Natale his proper share of mush.</p>
+
+<p>In Nonna’s big warm heart there was indeed
+room for the sons and grandsons of
+those who were too sparing of motherly
+love and care for their own. The gray-haired
+woman had long ago accepted this
+wandering life for the sake of continuing
+near to her only son, Antonio, the acrobat,
+and Antonio’s children. When her boy at
+the age of twenty-two had given up everything
+that his mother thought of worth in
+the world&mdash;home, a decent, quiet life in
+it, books, school, a career as a priest&mdash;in
+order to marry Cara, a rosy, lithe-limbed
+rope-dancer out of Egypt, he had found that
+his mother was not going to be given up
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</span>along with these. By and by, when the
+babies began to come every year or two,
+Nonna came to be appreciated even by the
+fantastic daughter-in-law given her by
+Antonio, while in the hearts of all the little
+ones Nonna was&mdash;well, Nonna,&mdash;and
+therefore everything good and patient and
+sweet.</p>
+
+<p>It was Nonna who cared for the ailing
+Pietro, who rubbed Natale’s stiff ankles and
+elbows with an ointment of her own invention
+to limber them up, who thought to tuck
+Olga’s long red hair out of the way when
+practice time came and the curling locks
+would have teased the little face and shoulders
+turned upside down and hindside before.
+It was Nonna who nursed the babies
+and put them to bed while the mothers rode
+the horses in the tent, and Nonna who led
+the poor pony about to “fresh fields and
+pastures new”, and Nonna who instructed
+giddy-brained Arduina in the simple mysteries<span class="pagenum" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</span>
+of concocting savory stews out of next to
+nothing, and how to make corn meal for ten
+do service as polenta for twice as many.
+The little troop could not have done without
+Nonna, no, indeed!</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</span></p>
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_III">CHAPTER III<br />
+<span class="smaller">IN THE RING</span></h2></div>
+
+<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap"><span class="dropcap">I</span>t</span> took all of that first day and most of the
+next to get everything into shape for
+an exhibition on the second night after
+the arrival of the circus troop at Cutigliano.</p>
+
+<p>The turf had been removed from the ring,
+or round space inclosed by the low panels
+of wood, and the tent pole erected, by the
+time the canvas was mended and the side
+curtains were ready to be hung.</p>
+
+<p>The sun was just about to slip over the
+mountain rim in the west when everything
+was done, and it only remained to draw the
+stout ropes and hoist the canvas into
+position. Natale was generally on hand
+when this was done, listening for the creaking
+of the pulley at the top of the pole, as
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</span>the dull yellow canvas slowly rose into
+position, till, all at once, it spread like a
+queer, pointed mushroom over the green
+grass of the field.</p>
+
+<p>It was a fortunate thing that there was
+no wind that first evening, for if there had
+been even a stiff breeze there would have
+been no performance. A very little wind
+caught under the canvas spread on that
+exposed hillside before it was securely roped
+into place might have carried it all away to
+be stranded in the tops of the chestnut trees
+below, and a new canvas for such a <i>circo</i>
+as that would have cost certainly three
+hundred francs.</p>
+
+<p>When at last the tent was raised, Giovanni
+hung above the entrance a broad
+strip of blue canvas with clowns’ and
+horses’ heads painted upon it, and the sign
+in large letters: “Circo Equestre”, which
+is Italian for “Circus with Horses.”</p>
+
+<p>Lastly, figured curtains of pale green
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</span>calico were hung around the little vestibule,
+so that outsiders who had not paid the
+entrance fee might not peep inside and see
+what was going on, without payment.</p>
+
+<p>Now all was ready, and it was still early,
+although almost dark in the field. Among
+the mountains, where one lives perhaps at
+the foot or even half-way up the slopes,
+night falls early, because the sinking sun is
+hidden from sight over the mountain tops
+long before it really drops into the sea
+behind them.</p>
+
+<p>Yet it was not quite time to light the
+lamps inside the tent, as the performance
+was not to begin until half-past eight
+o’clock. Cutigliano was full of Italians,
+and a few English and Americans who had
+left the hot cities behind, with their churches
+and picture galleries and ruins, and had
+come to the pleasant hotels of the ancient
+mountain town to enjoy the fine air and
+the beautiful chestnut woods during the hot
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</span>summer months. These visitors would not
+be through with their dinners at the hotels
+before eight o’clock, while the servants and
+plain village folk would find a late hour
+convenient for coming down the hill to the
+yellow tent.</p>
+
+<p>At seven o’clock, however, the three men,
+with the big brass horn, the cornet and the
+drum, climbed the stony street into the town
+and made lively music in the little stone-paved
+<i>piazzas</i>, or open squares, where the
+children played in the sunset light.</p>
+
+<p>By this time everybody in Cutigliano had
+learned what had been going on down in the
+field for the past two days, and many even
+of the rich strangers had made up their
+minds to go to see the show, partly out of
+curiosity, partly out of kindly purpose
+to help the strolling players. It had been
+announced that six <i>soldi</i>, or cents, would
+admit to the side of the ring where there
+would be benches and a chair or two for
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</span>seats, while three cents offered room on the
+other side with a few boards and the green
+grass as accommodation. Visitors were
+invited to bring chairs for their sittings, if
+possible.</p>
+
+<p>The music sounded very brave and loud
+as it returned down the very steepest street
+of all, which ran between high walls past
+Madame Cioche’s English <i>pension</i> or boarding-house
+and ended in the field. As this
+was a dark and even dangerous descent at
+night for the unwary, Antonio had driven
+a nail into a tree at the foot of the street,
+and had hung there a smutty tin lamp, with
+the light flaring and the smoke pouring
+from two long spouts.</p>
+
+<p>Nonna had beguiled most of the children
+away from the tent by this time, and was
+putting the youngest to bed in the wagon,
+while the others rolled over the grass behind
+the tent.</p>
+
+<p>Natale was as busy as a bee in the small
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</span>tent which opened out of the large one.
+This was the dressing room, and the different
+costumes of the actors lay in heaps on
+the boxes scattered about.</p>
+
+<p>As half-past eight o’clock approached,
+the boy became as excited as if this were to
+be his first appearance in public, and he
+kept lifting up the flap of curtain dividing
+the two tents to see how fast the seats were
+filling. The band had brought back a horde
+of village children in its train, and though
+few of these were possessed of the three
+cents charged for children, they served to
+keep up an appearance of bustle and enterprise
+outside, where the band now played
+the National Hymn of Italy gaily in the
+light of the big lamp at the entrance.</p>
+
+<p>Cara, the mother of Olga and the rest of
+the seven, stood in the vestibule and took
+in the great copper cents which by and by
+began to pile up in the bowl on the table.
+She was a very striking person to look at,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</span>with her coal-black hair frizzed bushily on
+each side of her head, with her flashing
+black eyes and her heavy brows, her red,
+red lips and cheeks, and her scarlet and
+black gown. No one dared to slip in behind
+the rustling skirts or portly form of anybody
+without paying, for her piercing eyes
+seemed everywhere. Once or twice, when
+the crowds about the doors seemed to
+hesitate and to wonder whether, after all,
+it were worth while to expend six or even
+three cents for what was to be seen behind
+the curtain, the pretty little figure of her
+Olga was seen to flit, as if by accident,
+across the vestibule, the full light streaming
+over her little full blouse of yellow satin,
+and her pink feet tripping as if on air.</p>
+
+<p>The anxious half-hour of expectation
+ended in the sight of a full circle surrounding
+the ring, and then the band came inside and
+all the performers slipped into the smaller
+tent and hurried on their costumes.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</span></p>
+
+<p>The band played on; Arduina danced a
+measured dance on the tight rope which
+was stretched near the ground; the clown
+made his funny jokes; Antonio performed
+his clever feats on the bars; Elvira rode
+the galloping horses with Cara dancing in
+and out and everywhere, while Giovanni
+cracked the whip and Paulo held the bar
+for Il Duca to leap. The pantomime then
+brought shouts of laughter and loud hand-clappings
+from the spectators; and afterward
+the tumbling began.</p>
+
+<p>There was nothing that Olga loved so
+much, and she showed it in every line of her
+chubby, yet nimble little figure as she came
+prancing into the ring, and then went heels
+over head, over and over again, without
+stopping to breathe, as far as the strip of
+dusty carpet stretched. Then back again
+she tumbled, only stopping to toss a stray
+wisp of hair from her flushed face.</p>
+
+<p>Next Arduina came tripping in, and over
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</span>and over she went too, not so gracefully and
+daintily as Olga had done, for Arduina was
+getting a little too large for that kind of
+thing,&mdash;a great girl of fifteen years.</p>
+
+<p>The clown followed Arduina, dressed in
+his clumsy suit of black and white, and what
+a farce his tumbling was, to be sure; only
+the spectators must have known that he
+failed in order to make them laugh at his
+awkwardness, and make merry they did.</p>
+
+<p>Somehow Natale never quite enjoyed the
+laughter which often accompanied his own
+performances, and now his time had come.</p>
+
+<p>“<i>Ecco!</i> Natalino!” called his stepfather,
+the clown, rushing behind the curtain
+all breathless and covered with dust.
+“Over and over and over you go, youngster,
+without stopping to sneeze between!”</p>
+
+<p>Natale was such a little fellow, so much
+smaller than Olga even, that many of the
+faces outside the ring softened at sight of
+him, as he darted out into the light of the
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</span>lamps and then halted to make his funny
+little salute. He was dressed in imitation
+of the clown, in long black trousers and a
+tailed black coat, with a pointed white
+waistcoat reaching below his waist. With
+an earnest seriousness very different from
+Olga’s smiling grace, Natale turned his first
+somersault, paused on his back, turned
+another jerkily, while the little boys watching
+him hooted, and a ripple of laughter ran
+around the ring. Back again he came,
+however, his thin black legs sprawling in
+air, and his pale little face flushing with the
+exertion. On his feet again, he clapped one
+hand to the back of his neck, bobbed his
+head to the spectators, and trotted off
+behind the friendly curtain, satisfied that
+he had, at least, done as well as usual, and
+pleased with the loud clapping attending
+his exit. Indeed, there was a clapping and
+a calling out of something with laughing
+voices.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</span></p>
+
+<p>“<i>Il picino! Il picino!</i>”<a id="FNanchor_3" href="#Footnote_3" class="fnanchor">[3]</a></p>
+
+<p>“You will have to go back, Natalino,”
+laughed the clown. “Salute them and
+stand on your head, boy, but don’t lose it
+on the way.”</p>
+
+<p>The music played loudly, and Natale
+stepped gravely back again, made his odd
+little bow, and fell over on his hands as the
+first step toward standing on his head.
+Poor, stiff little legs! It took more than
+one effort to throw them into an upright
+position above his head, but finally he really
+did accomplish it, and stood thus several
+seconds while the shouting and laughing
+went on.</p>
+
+<p>When Natale had disappeared a second
+time behind the curtain, there were a few
+grave faces among the laughing ones looking
+on. An English lady whispered to her
+companion and sighed.</p>
+
+<p>“The poor little fellow is evidently afraid
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</span>to disobey that dreadful clown,” she said.
+“Did you see how he trembled as the man
+stood over him, when he tried to stand on
+his head? Something ought to be done to
+put a stop to this, Betty.”</p>
+
+<p>“The child looks weak, as if he were not
+very well fed,” Betty answered, “but I do
+not think he looks unhappy. And the
+clown was certainly smiling, and seemed to
+be standing by as if to help the little boy
+accomplish his wonderful feat, I thought.
+Don’t distress yourself, Aunty. He is just
+learning, it may be, and they bring him in
+to contrast him with that little beauty who
+turned the ‘wheels.’ Send the boy some
+good bread and meat to-morrow, and that
+will be better for him than our empty
+sympathy.”</p>
+
+<p>But “Aunty” was not satisfied, as we
+shall see.</p>
+
+<p>The last act of the evening again brought
+Natale to the fore. The big spotted horse,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</span>Il Duca, was again brought into the ring,
+and after he had cantered gaily around
+inside the ring many times, to the music
+of a schottisch, striking terror to the ladies
+occupying the front seats, with their knees
+pressed against the low barrier, the clown
+suddenly called a halt and caught the
+bridle of the panting steed. Gently the
+solemn strains of the “Dead March”
+sounded through the tent, and Il Duca fell
+slowly and painfully upon his knees, and
+then rolled over upon the ground, apparently
+dying. The light dust of the ring
+stirred under the beast’s laboring nostrils,
+and deep groans issued from his throat,
+while Giovanni stood mournfully by and
+the music played on.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</span></p>
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_IV">CHAPTER IV<br />
+<span class="smaller">THE FESTIVAL OF SAN LORENZO</span></h2></div>
+
+<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap"><span class="dropcap">S</span>uddenly</span> the small black figure of
+Natale appeared, kneeling at the
+horse’s side, although no one had
+seen him slip in. With his hands clasped in
+distress, he lifted his voice in such a disconsolate
+wail that even Betty started and
+wondered if the horse could be really dying.</p>
+
+<p>The solemn march was still sounding in
+the tent, and before speaking the clown gave
+the spectators full time to take in the tragic
+tableau. Then he exclaimed briskly:</p>
+
+<p>“What are you crying about, boy?”</p>
+
+<p>“Because our horse is dead.”</p>
+
+<p>“Do you think he is quite dead, Natale?”</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, quite,” wailed the child.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</span></p>
+
+<p>“Get up and feel his pulse, boy. If there
+is any pulse he is not dead.”</p>
+
+<p>Natale went nearer and took one of the
+great hoofs of the horse fearlessly into his
+little hands, and felt for the “pulse.”</p>
+
+<p>“Well, what do you find?” asked the
+clown impatiently.</p>
+
+<p>“There isn’t any pulse,” the little fellow
+wailed again, laying down the big black
+hoof with the utmost tenderness.</p>
+
+<p>“Too bad,” quoth the clown, taking his
+seat deliberately on the prostrate horse,
+which lay as motionless as if certainly dead.
+Then, all in a moment, Natale’s manner
+changed, and he skipped around in front of
+Giovanni, remarking glibly that the gentleman
+had found a beautiful sofa to sit upon.</p>
+
+<p>“And I shall have a kiss to prove that the
+beast is not dead,” exclaimed the clown,
+chirruping a little and smacking his lips.
+And the great brown head of the horse
+lifted itself from the dust, the graceful neck
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</span>turned, and Il Duca actually kissed his
+master, then scrambled hastily to his feet
+as if glad for that job to be over, while
+Giovanni hurried him out of the ring.</p>
+
+<p>“Such silly jokes!” commented Mrs.
+Bishop, otherwise Aunty, as the performance
+ended, and the rollicking crowd poured
+out of the tent. “Think of my having spent
+two whole hours listening to them, and all
+on pins too, for fear that poor, ill-used child
+should be forced to do some other unchristian
+thing.”</p>
+
+<p>“But, Aunty, what did you expect when
+you came?” Betty asked impatiently.
+“Surely the little show was not bad, and
+there was actually nothing but what was
+quite decent in every way.”</p>
+
+<p>“I call it ‘bad’ to beat and starve children
+into turning themselves into monkeys.”</p>
+
+<p>“If people would not go to see the
+‘monkeys’ it would be stopped,” was
+Betty’s retort.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</span></p>
+
+<p>“Well, I am sure I only went to oblige
+Mrs. Choky,” Aunty said in an injured tone.
+“She said she thought we ought to encourage
+the poor people on their first night. But it
+will be my last night there, as I shall very
+soon inform her. ‘Encourage’ them to
+martyrize that poor child, indeed!”</p>
+
+<p>From the first performance in Cutigliano,
+therefore, Natale’s trouble began, although
+he did not know it. Contented and tired he
+lay down in his corner of the brown house
+on wheels and went to sleep, while the men
+let down the big yellow canvas of the large
+tent and furled it about the pole. But
+first, he ate his supper of macaroni with
+the rest of the actors, gathered in the small
+tent behind. Midnight suppers were the
+rule on the nights when there were performances,
+as it would have been at the
+risk of upsetting their stomachs in more
+ways than one to eat food beforehand.</p>
+
+<p>Later, the stars kept quiet watch above
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</span>the little encampment, where even Pietro
+slept well, with the open house door admitting
+the fresh air of the mountains.</p>
+
+<p>For ten days the yellow “mushroom”
+spread over the grass of the field, although
+very much in the way of the fine city gentlemen,
+playing at ball with bats like tambourines.
+The noisy music at night and the
+cheering in the tent may have kept the
+invalids in the nearest boarding-houses
+awake and nervous, and the people at large
+may have grown tired of the performances
+which they soon learned by heart, but no
+one felt inclined to hustle the poor people
+away, and no one grumbled except Mrs.
+Bishop.</p>
+
+<p>There was something pathetic about the
+clown in his everyday dress, his gayety and
+paint all gone and the deep lines of his face
+showing too plainly in the garish light of
+day, as he pottered about the tent, adjusting ropes,
+and keeping off the village boys
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</span>who would throw stones upon the old
+canvas, or play hide and seek among the
+curtains. It gave one a queer feeling, also,
+to fancy the drooping figure of Pietro, with
+his pure little face like alabaster, a member
+of the “wicked circus troop.”</p>
+
+<p class="p2b">This child was perhaps twelve years old,
+and he had the face of an angel. He had
+begun to lose his daily feverishness after a
+week in the mountains, and was soon able
+to limp, and later to run feebly about the
+field with the village boys.</p>
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 350px;">
+<a id="illo1"><img src="images/i_044.jpg" width="350" alt="Mrs. Bishop looked down upon the tent from the garden terrace."
+title=""  /></a></div></div>
+
+<p class="caption">Mrs. Bishop looked down upon the tent from the garden terrace.<br />
+<span class="center"><i>Page <a href="#Page_45">45.</a></i></span></p>
+
+<p class="p2">But Natale, spidery little Natale, interested
+every one more even than did Pietro.
+Yet he looked only an everyday lad during
+the long summer days, when he trotted up
+and down, to and from the town, carrying
+now a bowl of this, now a flask of that,
+but always carrying something. To most
+people he seemed as happy as the days were
+long, just as ready for a chat with a strange
+foreigner who might address him in broken
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</span>Italian as with old Sora Teresa who sold
+fruit and vegetables in the piazza, and who
+sometimes presented him with a ripe red
+tomato, or a slice of melon all green and
+pink.</p>
+
+<p>But Mrs. Bishop looked down upon the
+tent from the garden terrace of Madame
+Cioche’s boarding-house every day, and
+slowly formed a plan for making Natale’s
+life happier. Poor little Natale!</p>
+
+<p>The terrace garden above the field was
+shaded with plane trees and the mountain
+ash, and the grass was soft and richly green.
+Each afternoon some of the boarders would
+gather at the palings on the edge of this
+garden and watch the gentlemen playing
+ball below, and the village boys imitating
+Olga and Natale at turning somersaults and
+wheels.</p>
+
+<p>One afternoon, while the boarders were
+drinking tea under the ash trees, with the
+berries overhead turning red, and the sun
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</span>streaming across the croquet ground, there
+came a knock at the side door of the boarding-house.
+Madame Cioche herself opened
+the door, and there stood Natale, smiling
+up into her face, with the old blue hat set
+far back on his dark curls. The lady
+noticed that the boy’s face was very clean.</p>
+
+<p>“Happy day to you,” he said brightly,
+using the peasant form of address, “and
+my mamá says will you please send her a cup
+of tea? She is feeling ill to-day.”</p>
+
+<p>Of course Madame Cioche would send the
+tea, fetching it herself from the dining room
+and handing it to the boy. But she kept
+Natale a moment to ask how it was that his
+mamá could possibly like tea.</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, but she has it every day when we
+are in Egypt,” was the reply. “And to-day
+her head aches. Thank you, Signora.”
+And Natale went off down the hill carrying
+the big cup as carefully as his bowls and
+flasks were always carried.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</span></p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Bishop overheard the word “Egypt”
+and sighed.</p>
+
+<p>The next day was Sunday and an important
+festival, being the day of San
+Lorenzo. A great harvest of <i>soldi</i> was
+expected, as peasants from all the mountain
+villages would come trooping in that day,
+to go to high mass in the church under the
+old mountain firs, and to take part in the procession
+of the “saints” in the afternoon. So
+there was, of course, to be a performance in
+the tent that day, but in the afternoon this
+time, just after the procession, instead of
+in the evening, when everybody would be
+tired or toiling homeward along the dark
+mountain ways. As there was nothing for
+him to do about the tent, however, until
+five o’clock should boom from the stone
+tower of the church, Natale made good use
+of his legs during the whole day, for there
+was much to see.</p>
+
+<p>Betty Bishop had tossed a penny into his
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</span>hands down over the garden palings that
+very Sunday morning. Perhaps she was
+thinking of some little child at home in
+England who would be clamoring for a
+penny to carry to Sunday school, but
+Natale had no thought of dropping his
+precious two <i>soldi</i> into the priest’s collecting
+bag in the church.</p>
+
+<p>The <i>piazza</i> was too fascinating a place to
+be passed by, when one held a penny of his
+own fast in his fist. With the dogs on each
+side of him, therefore, Natale spent most
+of the day above in the town, going from
+booth to booth, and in fancy spending his
+money over and over again. There were
+sweets of various kinds offered for sale on
+the little tables along the steep, narrow
+streets, and booths of everything from
+coarse stuffs and ready-made clothing to
+breastpins of gay mosaic work and filigree
+rings.</p>
+
+<p>Everywhere Natale was jostled by the
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</span>peasants who all through the morning had
+flocked to the town, dressed in their best
+clothes and wearing holiday looks on their
+faces. The women and girls wore gay
+kerchiefs on their heads, with brilliant
+borderings and flowing ends, while even the
+men wore bits of vivid color in the shape of
+gorgeous neck scarfs spread over their white
+shirt fronts. Mingled with these walked the
+lords and ladies of a higher class dressed
+according to the fashion plates of Paris, and
+seeming to enjoy the hot sunshine and the
+gay restiveness of the multitude as much as
+the plainer folk. All day the frolic and
+prayers and the music of the town band and
+the church organ went on in the little town,
+till mid-afternoon, when there fell a hush
+over all and a great expectation.</p>
+
+<p>Natale had not a very good place from
+which to see the procession pass, for he
+stood between a very stout peasant woman
+and a visiting priest in his full black gown.
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</span>Still, he managed to peer from under their
+elbows without attracting their attention,
+and he was content, holding securely in one
+hand, meanwhile, the balloon whistle which
+he had finally purchased with his penny.
+The pretty red bubble of rubber had not
+yet burst, and Natale was happy in its
+possession. The handful of crisp wafers
+flavored with anise seed, which he had
+almost bought&mdash;so very foolish he had
+been&mdash;would have been eaten long ere
+this, and it would be as if he had never had
+a penny of his own tossed over the fence to
+him by a smiling young lady, but now he
+still had the whistle!</p>
+
+<p>On they came, the straggling company
+of men and boys, dressed in white gowns
+and cowls, and bearing huge lighted
+candles in their hands. Natale thought he
+would like to have been one of the two boys
+bearing the immense candlesticks of brass;
+yet, after all, the candlesticks must be very
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</span>heavy, and they were propped very uncomfortably
+on the little boys’ stomachs,
+and very red and perspiring were the little
+boys’ faces.</p>
+
+<p>Natale thought the men’s feet ugly and
+clumsy, showing below the white gowns,
+and their harsh, chanting voices made him
+shiver. But he could not follow the awkward
+marching steps of the peasants with
+laughing looks as some of the onlookers
+were doing, for here, behind the banners and
+crucifixes, came two very curious-looking
+objects.</p>
+
+<p>“<i>Ecco!</i> the dead saints!” he exclaimed
+softly to himself. “How heavy they must
+be in the glass boxes on the men’s shoulders.
+Yet our Antonio Bisbini would never bend
+so under a small box as those men do.
+Ah! but the little girls are pretty, so pretty
+in their white veils, and scattering flowers
+before the saints.”</p>
+
+<p>The crowd closed in upon the end of the
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</span>procession now, and Natale could see no
+more, as he was nearly overturned where
+he stood. After a breathless moment or
+two, he found himself left in peace and
+quiet under the great old fir trees in front
+of the church, with the crowd all gone and
+Nicro and Bianco with them.</p>
+
+<p>Nonna had told him to be sure and see
+the saints, if possible, so he went into the
+dark old church and sat down on a low chair
+to wait for the procession to return. He
+knew that San Lorenzo and Sant’ Aurelio
+would surely be brought back to spend the
+night in the church, perhaps in front of the
+candle-lighted altar, and he wished to
+please Nonna. It was dark and quiet in
+his corner under the organ gallery, and it
+was a very easy and natural thing for a tired
+little boy to fall asleep in that quiet place.</p>
+
+<p>When the procession returned after half
+an hour, it was without the blare of trumpets
+and the crash of organ music, though for a
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</span>long while shuffling feet passed in and out.
+This continued until everybody had looked
+at the two saints robed in costly garments
+and reposing now at full length on their
+satin cushions within their caskets of glass
+set before the altar. Many touched the
+rich cloths draping the caskets with reverent
+fingers, and pressed kisses on the cold
+glass before passing out into the radiant
+sunset light.</p>
+
+<p>When Natale waked, the church doors
+were still open, but only one light swung
+before the high altar, and there was no
+trace anywhere of dead saint or living soul.
+He groped his way among the disarranged
+chairs and benches quite to the altar rail,
+but even the empty biers had been borne
+away to some inner recess of the church, so,
+with a dread that he had overslept awaking
+in his mind, Natale found his way out of
+the church again.</p>
+
+<p>The purple bloom of evening was creeping
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</span>up the mountain sides, and a star glowed in
+the sky. Just above the mountain line in
+the west the crescent moon hovered, as if
+uncertain over which side to sink. The
+dread in Natale’s mind had nothing to do
+with saints or dark churches. On awaking,
+his first sensation had been a fear that he
+might have missed the afternoon performance
+in the beloved tent, and now, standing
+outside the church in the dusk, he knew that
+he had missed it!</p>
+
+<p>With a sob in his throat he turned his
+face from the telltale sky, and fled through
+the village down to the field. When he
+reached the wagon,&mdash;for he would not go
+to the tent, quiet now and unlighted,&mdash;the
+first words he heard came from Olga:</p>
+
+<p>“Have you not heard, Natalino? Giovanni
+has lost a hundred francs! Somebody
+stole them when he changed his coat
+in the little tent. Yes, I know you were not
+there! We wondered where you could be!”</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</span></p>
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_V">CHAPTER V<br />
+<span class="smaller">A GIFT FOR THE CIRCUS</span></h2></div>
+
+<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap"><span class="dropcap">N</span>atale</span> held his breath with horror.
+One hundred francs lost! And he
+not at hand to hear of it, to help
+look for the money, among the very first?
+He could not ask Olga how it had happened,
+because his heart was almost too
+disappointed and sore for words. He sat
+down on the wall, with his back toward
+the tent, and waited for her to tell all
+about the loss, although he was not at all
+certain that she would condescend to do
+so. In fact, she said not a word more,
+but stood in front of Natale, wondering
+not a little at his unusual quiet.</p>
+
+<p>“You are sulky!” she exclaimed finally,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</span>“and Giovanni is very angry with you. So
+am I, for I had to feel Il Duca’s pulse, and
+I did not like it at all. Suppose he had
+kicked me, seeing that it was not you.”</p>
+
+<p>“Il Duca was dead!” Natale retorted,
+with a twinkle in his eye, if only Olga could
+have seen it. “He would not know you
+from me!”</p>
+
+<p>“Dead!” cried Olga. “I believe you
+truly do think that, when you set up your
+crying, Natale; really I did not do it half
+so well as you,” she confessed honestly.</p>
+
+<p>“But you ‘wheel’ much better than I
+do,” Natale conceded with ready generosity
+in return.</p>
+
+<p>“Il Duca did not shut his eyes at all,”
+Olga went on, nodding assent to Natale’s
+remark, “and I am sure he <i>winked</i> at me,
+Natale, just to frighten me. It did not
+take <i>me</i> long to feel his pulse! But where
+were you, Natalino, all the time? Nonna
+said she was afraid some of the peasants had
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</span>stolen you and carried you off, when Niero
+and Bianco came home without you.”</p>
+
+<p>“As if they would have let anybody steal
+me! Olga, I went to sleep in the church,
+waiting for the saints to come back, and
+when I waked it was dark, almost as dark
+as this!”</p>
+
+<p>“Oho! then you must have been in the
+church when Arduina and I went in to look
+at the saints. Arduina said&mdash;but you
+must not dare to tell anybody&mdash;she said
+that she did not believe there were any
+bones under the saints’ fine velvet robes
+because San Lorenzo had a hand of pink
+wax, and the rest of him looked rather
+stuffed. But do not tell Nonna, Natale!”</p>
+
+<p>“Arduina is very wicked,” said Natale,
+but he laughed with Olga, and then felt
+much better, and as if he could ask about
+the losing of the money.</p>
+
+<p>They were in a little nook to themselves,
+behind the wagon, and no one heeded them.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</span></p>
+
+<p>“<i>Ecco!</i> it was this way,” Olga began,
+charmed to be the first to recount the misfortune
+to Natale, who was usually behind
+none in his knowledge of the affairs of the
+company. “Just when Giovanni was going
+in to do the clown in the first dance on
+the rope, the Signor Barbera, the stable
+man, came behind the big tent with his bill
+for keeping the horses, and Giovanni took
+the big pocketbook out of the pocket of
+his coat&mdash;”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, I know which pocket,” Natale
+interposed. “I saw him put the money
+there this morning.”</p>
+
+<p>“Well, the signor could not make the
+change, so he told Giovanni it was all right,
+and any time would do, and then Antonio
+rang the bell for Giovanni, and he just put
+the pocketbook back in his coat and hung
+the coat on the nail in the little tent, and
+hurried on the black coat, and went into the
+ring.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</span></p>
+
+<p>“Yes, and then?” asked Natale breathlessly.</p>
+
+<p>“When he came back, he saw his coat on
+the ground, and he knew he had hung it up.
+‘How comes my coat on the ground?’ he
+said, very loud indeed, and your mamá told
+him he must have put it there himself.
+But he did not hear her, because he was
+shaking the coat and feeling in the pocket,&mdash;but
+there was nothing there!</p>
+
+<p>“We made a great fuss about it,”
+Olga ended, shrugging her shoulders and
+throwing up her hands, “but what was
+the use?”</p>
+
+<p>Natale was silent with dismay. A hundred
+francs meant so much. It was all
+that they had made during the ten days’
+stay at Cutigliano, and now it was gone,
+in a moment.</p>
+
+<p>“The stable man?” he questioned in a
+distressed tone of voice, and very low.</p>
+
+<p>“No, Giovanni said it could not have been
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</span>the signor. He is a rich man and honest,
+everybody says.”</p>
+
+<p>So subdued were they all over the trouble
+of the afternoon that not even Elvira
+thought it worth while to scold the quiet
+boy who presently slipped in among the
+little crowd of players in the tent, deep in
+fruitless discussion over their grievous loss.
+They had had a crowded tent that afternoon,
+and the receipts had been so good that
+this evening would have been one of rejoicing
+if only the money for the labors of the
+ten other days and nights had been again
+safe in Giovanni’s pocket. There was not
+the slightest clew to the thief, as no stranger
+had been known to enter the tent, and
+Giovanni had even interviewed the Signor
+Barbera from outside the doorway. It had
+been necessary to be on the lookout for
+possible thieving, as the field was crowded
+all the afternoon with strange peasants,
+attracted by the band music and the big
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</span>yellow tent, and by peddlers with their
+wares. One very decent-looking peddler
+had begged pretty, vain Arduina to look at
+his beautiful jewelry and ribbons, but she
+had refused him entrance very reluctantly,
+and Giovanni himself had noticed how
+patiently and decorously the man had
+turned away. He had worn a red fez cap
+over his long black hair, and his bushy
+black beard had reached nearly to his waist.</p>
+
+<p>“I saw him!” Emilio, one of the musicians
+exclaimed, “and his legs were as
+crooked as Pietro’s, only they bent out at
+the knee instead of in!” There was a laugh
+at this sally, but Pietro frowned and muttered
+something about Emilio’s having
+little right to criticize the legs of others.</p>
+
+<p>“I met such a man as I came out of the
+church in the crowd,” said Nonna, hastening
+to speak that a dispute might be avoided.
+“He walked very well notwithstanding his
+poor, bent legs, and he asked me if he were
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</span>too late to get a glimpse of the blessed
+relics. A politer man I never saw, though
+Tito was afraid of him, and began to cry
+when the man snapped his fingers at him.”</p>
+
+<p>Poor Natale felt so left out in the cold
+with this talk that he could not bear it long,
+and was just about to creep away, down to
+his corner in the wagon, when a strange
+hand lifted a corner of the tent flap, and a
+strange voice inquired for “<i>Il piccolo
+Natale</i>.”</p>
+
+<p>“Some ladies up at the house there have
+a little present for you all,” the black-coated
+Italian butler of the boarding-house
+announced, peering in upon the group
+gathered about the sputtering lamp inside,
+“but they wish to send it down by the boy,
+Natale.”</p>
+
+<p>Then Natale was himself again, and without
+demur or bashfulness presented himself
+to the servant.</p>
+
+<p>“It is well you turned up in time, Natalino,”<span class="pagenum" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</span>
+said the clown, giving him a little
+shove toward the dignified butler waiting
+just outside. “Perhaps Olga would not
+have done, in this case. Off with you to the
+<i>forestieri</i><a id="FNanchor_4" href="#Footnote_4" class="fnanchor">[4]</a> above!”</p>
+
+<p>Many a boy would have been abashed at
+finding himself the center of such a group as
+awaited Natale in the hallway of the house
+in the garden. But Natale was too well
+accustomed to an array of faces fixed upon
+him to make the least show of bashfulness.
+The lady of the house, whose pleasant face
+he knew very well, laid her hand on his
+shoulder and asked him kindly in Italian if
+anything had been heard of the money lost
+that afternoon, and her soft, dark eyes
+looked sympathetically into his own.</p>
+
+<p>“No, signora, and my papá says we shall
+never see a <i>soldo</i> of it again,” was Natale’s
+prompt answer.</p>
+
+<p>“Ask him if they have any idea of the
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</span>person who stole it,” Betty Bishop suggested
+in English, and Madame Cioche did so.
+Natale’s answer to this was more expressive
+than polite perhaps, for without words he
+simply raised his shoulders as high as
+possible, pressing his elbows against his
+sides, and spreading his hands wide to indicate
+the complete ignorance of his people
+as to the coward who had taken their hard-earned
+money. And the drawn-down
+corners of his mouth so changed the expression
+of his face that one would hardly
+have known him.</p>
+
+<p>“Who would have believed the child
+could make himself so ugly,” Mrs. Bishop
+exclaimed. “Have you no tongue, boy,
+to answer properly?”</p>
+
+<p>But as English words were far less intelligible
+to Natale than Caffero’s whinny,
+or Niero’s bark, he only looked up into
+Madame Cioche’s face and smiled.</p>
+
+<p>“There! it is a bonny little face after
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</span>all,” said that lady, “and now shall we give
+him the money and send him away?”</p>
+
+<p>“No, let me speak to him first,” demanded
+Mrs. Bishop, “and you, Mrs.
+Choky, must interpret. Ask him if he likes
+to be a wicked little circus boy.”</p>
+
+<p>“Aunty!” gasped Betty.</p>
+
+<p>“Never mind, I have a reason for my
+question, Betty. Hush, what does he
+say?”</p>
+
+<p>“Do you like to play in the circus, dear?”
+asked Mrs. Cioche’s kind voice, in Italian.</p>
+
+<p>Natale’s eyes shone.</p>
+
+<p>“Ah, yes, signora! And when I am a
+man, I shall be another Antonio Bisbini.”</p>
+
+<p>“He says he likes it very much, Mrs.
+Bishop,” was the interpretation.</p>
+
+<p>“Already corrupted, poor boy, and so
+young!” the old lady sighed, while Betty
+laughed outright.</p>
+
+<p>“Ask him if he would not like better to
+have some nice clothes, and go to school,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</span>and grow up to be a decent man some day,
+Mrs. Choky.” That lady hesitated a little
+before putting this question into Italian.</p>
+
+<p>“What does she say to me?” Natale
+asked, his brown eyes twinkling as he looked
+from one to the other, his teeth showing
+white between his red lips. Natale’s was
+a wide, good-natured mouth, very prone to
+laugh upon small provocation.</p>
+
+<p>“She wants to know if you would not like
+to go to school, and learn to read and write,”
+said Madame Cioche.</p>
+
+<p>“And leave the <i>circo</i>?” Natale asked with
+a gasp.</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, you could not go to school unless
+you should stop in one place, you know.”</p>
+
+<p>“And not travel about with the horses
+and wagon any more, and leave Nonna?”</p>
+
+<p>“Of course, Natale. But she is only asking
+you about it, <i>carino</i>, so do not look so
+troubled.”</p>
+
+<p>Natale laughed then, and happily.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</span></p>
+
+<p>“She wanted to find out how much I love
+the <i>circo</i>!” he exclaimed. “Please tell her,
+signora. You know, how we all love the
+<i>circo</i>!”</p>
+
+<p>“I think I do, Natale. He does not want
+to go to school, Mrs. Bishop,” turning to the
+eager old lady, “because he loves his life
+with the circus and his own people too
+much.”</p>
+
+<p>“And he does not wish to leave his grandmother,”
+chimed in Betty who had very
+cleverly picked up a good deal of Italian
+during a winter and summer in Italy, and
+all grandmothers are Nonnas in that land.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Bishop was silent for a moment, her
+gaze taking in every detail of Natale’s little
+figure standing sturdily before her, dusty
+shoes, and rough peasant leggings, velveteen
+trousers, faded blue blouse, and rumpled
+curls, with the old hat held in one sun-burned
+hand. His face was not so clean as
+usual now, and there were tired circles about
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</span>his eyes. It had been a long, exciting summer’s
+day.</p>
+
+<p>“Children&mdash;especially boys&mdash;do not
+know what is best for themselves,” she said
+presently, bending her brows, but not in the
+least frightening Natale, “and I am not going
+to give up my plan, for this baby’s
+nonsense. Why, he cannot be over eight
+years old, at the most.”</p>
+
+<p>“Here, Natale,” said Madame Cioche,
+judging that the interview might well be
+concluded, and handing the boy a small
+packet. “Take this to your papá, and tell
+him that the ladies and gentlemen in my
+house have heard of the loss of the money,
+and are sending him thirty-five francs as
+a little present. Can you carry it safely?”</p>
+
+<p>Again Natale’s sweet smile broke over his
+face, but he only nodded happily in reply,
+tucking the money away in the bosom of his
+blouse.</p>
+
+<p>“Ask him how long they are going to
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</span>stay,” Mrs. Bishop called after Madame
+Cioche, who was going to the gate with
+Natale.</p>
+
+<p>“He says that the <i>sindaco</i>&mdash;the mayor&mdash;has
+offered them the use of the field for
+another week,” Madame Cioche said, her
+eyes glowing, as she returned to the hall.
+“I am glad of that, as the poor creatures
+will need all they can make here, now.”</p>
+
+<p>“I call it a sort of punishment, their losing
+the money when playing on Sunday,” Mrs.
+Bishop said severely, and one or two other
+English ladies nodded their approval of this
+speech. “And I think the whole business
+wrong and that it ought to be discouraged.
+I was not at all sure about the propriety of
+giving my francs to your little collection,
+Mrs. Choky.”</p>
+
+<p>“Would it have been more Christian to
+have let them suffer, perhaps for food, and
+the poor beasts too?” the hostess asked,
+pausing on her way through the hall.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</span></p>
+
+<p>“But surely you think circusing wrong
+and <i>un</i>christian?” the disputative old lady
+exclaimed.</p>
+
+<p>“Aunty, do be quiet,” cried Betty
+warmly. “I am sure you ought not to
+dispute ‘on Sunday’! Besides,” she added,
+as everybody laughed, and two or three
+softly applauded, “they make their living
+that way, and we cannot change them into
+farmers, or preachers. But I think it is
+always wrong not to help honest people who
+are in trouble.”</p>
+
+<p>“If they <i>are</i> honest,” Mrs. Bishop remonstrated,
+but under her breath, this time,
+for Madame Cioche’s eyes were sparkling,
+and she seemed waiting to speak.</p>
+
+<p>“Those poor creatures down there deserve
+nothing but praise,” she said stoutly;
+“they are quiet folks, who teach their children
+obedience and keep themselves
+remarkably clean and mended. If they
+make their living in a way we do not approve,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</span>
+we cannot change them, as Miss
+Betty says, but we can feed them when they
+are hungry, and that seems to me not
+‘unchristian’!”</p>
+
+<p>“I am afraid she has a little temper,”
+said Mrs. Bishop, as their hostess went
+upstairs.</p>
+
+<p>“A temper I like!” exclaimed a gentleman
+who had before kept silent, looking up
+from his book. “But do you still think of
+carrying out your plan, Mrs. Bishop?”</p>
+
+<p>“If possible, certainly,” was the reply,
+while Betty, shaking her head, walked out
+into the garden. There, under the stars,
+she stood looking down upon the tent in the
+field. There was no wind, and the heavens
+were fair, so the canvas had not been furled.</p>
+
+<p>“I should like it myself,” she murmured.
+“What a fascinating life to live! Camping
+out the year round in Italy, with no troublesome
+dressing four times a day, no tiresome
+<i>table-d’hôte</i> dinners at night. But after all
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</span>I should not like to be that girl,&mdash;Arduina,
+they call her. Of course, Aunty is right
+about the rope dancing and other ‘circusing’
+on Sunday, only she need not be quite
+so fussy over what we certainly cannot help.
+Poor Natale! how disturbed he did look
+when Madame Cioche asked him about
+going to school!”</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</span></p>
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_VI">CHAPTER VI<br />
+<span class="smaller">SEPARATION</span></h2></div>
+
+<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap"><span class="dropcap">N</span>atale</span> lay flat on the grass, his
+face hidden on his arms, and his
+feet rebelliously kicking the ground.
+The added week granted by the mayor
+had passed, and the circus-wagon was
+about to move on.</p>
+
+<p>“You are only to try it, child, and if it
+will not do, you can come back to us. One
+year is not a hundred.”</p>
+
+<p>No reply from Natale.</p>
+
+<p>“You ought to think, sometimes, of how
+many mouths your stepfather has to fill,”
+another voice began. “Five children, and
+not one his own.”</p>
+
+<p>“Why did he marry us then?” fiercely
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</span>muttered Natale, but without lifting his
+head, so perhaps nobody heard.</p>
+
+<p>“You will have new clothes and shoes!”</p>
+
+<p>“And a new hat, Natalino!”</p>
+
+<p>“And you will learn to read much faster
+than I can teach you ’Lino, with all the
+practicings and the journeyings. Perhaps
+you will even learn to be as clever as my
+Antonio was, before&mdash;” Nonna ended with
+a sigh instead of more words.</p>
+
+<p>The women and girls were in the side
+tent, busied about dinner, and Nonna
+would not finish her sentence in the presence
+of Antonio’s wife.</p>
+
+<p>“I would rather be our Antonio than&mdash;than
+the King or the <i>principino</i>,”<a id="FNanchor_5" href="#Footnote_5" class="fnanchor">[5]</a> Natale
+cried helplessly. Then he sat up on the
+worn grass, and faced them all, tearful but
+resolute. “I shall not stay here with the
+priest and go to school, mamá,” he said
+earnestly. “You shall not leave me behind<span class="pagenum" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</span>
+and take Maria and Pietro and the
+rest.”</p>
+
+<p>“Perhaps we can persuade Giovanni to
+leave little Bianco with you, if the good
+priest does not object,” Nonna whispered
+in his ear.</p>
+
+<p>“No, I shall go with you,” returned
+Natale.</p>
+
+<p>“Ah! what is all this?” came suddenly
+in Giovanni’s gruff, good-natured tones.
+“What? Natale will not stay? The beautiful
+little star of the ring will not leave us
+in the darkness?” And the clown entered
+the tent and flung himself down, laughing,
+beside the little boy.</p>
+
+<p>“Hurry with the polenta, Arduina,” he
+called to his stepdaughter, who had lifted
+her hot face from the steam of the mush pot
+to laugh at the man’s rough wit. “The
+biggest hole yet torn in the tent must be
+mended this afternoon, and the canvas is
+almost dry now in this wind. If it had not
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</span>rained yesterday, and if the wind had not
+played us such a trick on the very eve of
+our going, we should have made our fortunes
+yesterday. A cattle fair does not
+offer itself every day, with its crowd of
+country bumpkins who never saw a man
+in tights. Now, that will do, Natale,”
+turning to the boy, who was sniffing
+audibly. “Hours ago it was all decided,
+and there is nothing more to be said.”</p>
+
+<p>“Then I am <i>not</i> to stay in this horrid
+place, Giovanni&mdash;papá&mdash;”</p>
+
+<p>“‘Giovanni&mdash;papá&mdash;!’ No more of
+these tears, Natalino. You are to stay in
+this beautiful place, and after polenta, you
+are to go up to the garden and thank the
+lady.”</p>
+
+<p>With a loud, rebellious howl, Natale
+sprang to his feet and rushed out into the
+open air. Nor did he stop until he stood
+among the briar bushes below the garden
+palings. Clenching his small grimy fists, he
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</span>stood there looking up toward the many-windowed
+<i>pension</i> and shook them vehemently,
+while his shrill voice cried out
+passionately:</p>
+
+<p>“I shall not stay here! I shall not go to
+school! I like my old hat, and I want
+Nonna to teach me to read. I shall never
+thank you, <i>never</i>, <span class="allsmcap">NEVER</span>, NEVER!”</p>
+
+<p>He had seen no one in the garden, and
+was only addressing the whole houseful of
+his enemies up there in the big yellow building
+with the staring windows. Why should
+they interfere with him? Why should
+any one be trying to make him wretched,&mdash;the
+most wretched boy in all Italy?</p>
+
+<p>“Heyday! what’s all this about?” and
+a white-haired old man, speaking from the
+garden, came close to the palings and looked
+over at the small, threatening figure among
+the bushes. “I cannot understand your
+gibberish, if you are talking to me. You
+would better go away now, little boy, or
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</span>some of your people will come and whip
+you.”</p>
+
+<p>“How suddenly you stopped the noise,
+Mr. Grantly,” exclaimed Betty, coming up
+to his side. “Who was it? Why, Aunty’s
+little protégé, Natale! How pitiful he
+looks, walking away as if his feelings were
+hurt. You must have frightened him.”</p>
+
+<p>“Not a bit of it, ma’am. He frightened
+<i>me</i> with his fierce little voice. It came
+suddenly, just as I was dropping off to
+sleep in my chair. It is a relief to have
+them moving on this afternoon, with their
+horns and drum. But that boy stays,
+some one tells me. Is it possible that the
+family agreed to give him up? I have
+understood that the Italians cling to each
+other as much as even we do in America
+or England. Do they really leave the
+child?”</p>
+
+<p>“For more money than he could ever
+bring them by his somersaulting, yes,”
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</span>Betty answered. “Sometimes I think
+Aunty really does not know what to do
+with her money,” the girl went on confidentially
+to the old gentleman, who was
+listening with interest. “Now, that boy
+has no desire to be taken away from ‘the
+evil life he is leading’ in Aunty’s estimation,
+and he does not wish to be sent to school
+and become ‘a decent man.’”</p>
+
+<p>“Ah! tell me the whole plan, now. I
+heard something of it a few days ago.”</p>
+
+<p>“It is very simple&mdash;all but getting Natale
+to agree to being imposed upon,” Betty went
+on a little vexedly. “Aunty has had the
+stepfather and the mother up here several
+times this past week to be talked to, and
+an old woman who seems to be the grandmother
+of them all. Miss Lorini has done
+all the interpreting, and also saw the priest
+about it, as Madame Cioche would not.
+They have agreed to leave Natale here for
+one year; he is to be taken care of by the
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</span>priest’s mother, and to be sent to school and
+made ‘decent,’ poor little fellow.”</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Grantly laughed, but said nothing, for
+his heart was still young and understanding
+of boyish hearts, if his head was white, and
+he felt a wise interest in Mrs. Bishop’s
+philanthropic scheme.</p>
+
+<p>“Aunty is to pay everything, and she
+says she thinks she knows now why all the
+hotels up at Abetone were full so she could
+not get a good room there for these three
+weeks. She finds that she was ‘ordained’
+to rescue a boy from his persecutors, as she
+persists in calling the circus men. It is
+supposed, I believe, that all little boys and
+girls of circuses have been stolen from kind
+parents, and if not are half-killed with
+cruelty by their own.”</p>
+
+<p>“You speak very warmly, young lady,”
+Mr. Grantly remarked, a little reproof in his
+tone. “There is no doubt that many such
+children do suffer and are very unhappy.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</span></p>
+
+<p>“Those certainly do not!” retorted Betty,
+pointing to a number of the circus children
+frolicking in the field with Niero and Bianco.
+Olga’s red cotton dress was flitting over the
+grass, and her merry laugh was echoed by
+the other little ones, as Niero finally caught
+her red skirts in the chase.</p>
+
+<p>“Of course the clown objected at first,”
+Betty continued, “but Aunty was more
+determined than he and soon proved to
+him that it would be worth his while to
+agree. The old lady, whom they call
+Nonna, was curiously anxious for Natale
+to have a chance at schooling. I wondered
+at that till I heard about her son.”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, I know,” Mr. Grantly assented.
+“Some, however, would think he had made
+a very fair exchange in giving up the future
+of a priest for the easy, out-of-doors life of
+an acrobat. There is no accounting for tastes,
+though. And is this boy to be made a priest?”</p>
+
+<p>“Only let my Aunty hear you say that!”
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</span>laughed the girl. “No, indeed, but the
+priest was the only one who would agree to
+be troubled with the child, after Miss Lorini
+had explained all Aunty’s conditions&mdash;how
+Natale was to have a cold bath every morning,
+meat to eat every day, and new shoes
+as soon as his old ones come into holes.
+The priest, too, has agreed to write a letter
+to Aunty every month to tell her of Natale’s
+progress&mdash;”</p>
+
+<p>“Toward growing into a ‘decent man’?”
+interposed Mr. Grantly. “Well, I hope the
+plan will work well for all parties. Few
+Italian peasant lads get such a chance.”
+Then the old gentleman went back to his
+chair to continue his nap.</p>
+
+<p>All that afternoon, until four o’clock,
+there was an unusual bustle going on about
+the little encampment. The tattered,
+damp, half-ruined canvas was rolled up and
+packed along with poles and planks and
+ropes on a small cart hired for this occasion,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</span>
+while the cooking utensils and the
+scant furniture of the tents were gathered
+together for conveyance in the house-wagon.
+It was a cold and dreary day, following the
+night of stormy wind, with the clouds settling
+close about the mountain tops and the
+wind sweeping down the valley wet with
+rain. And in the heart of Natale there
+was even less promise of sunshine. He sat
+apart from the others on the damp wall,
+frowning and sullen.</p>
+
+<p>Half an hour before, he had been almost
+forcibly dragged up the hill to the house in
+the garden by Giovanni, who had made
+little jokes to hide the sulkiness of the boy’s
+replies to the questions of the ladies gathered
+there. Madame Cioche had promptly hidden
+herself when she saw the green gate
+open and the pair coming in, but the clown
+had walked directly through the hall and up
+to the little table where Mrs. Bishop sat
+taking her tea.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</span></p>
+
+<p>No command of Giovanni nor persuasion
+of Miss Lorini, who was an artist, could
+induce Natale to say: “Thank you, signora,
+for your kindness.” His revolt had
+been beforehand hushed into silence by
+some very plain threats of punishment by
+his mother, but nothing could make him
+say that he was glad to stay in Cutigliano
+and go to school every day.</p>
+
+<p>He stood before them all, miserable as a
+child could be, his face very clean and pale,
+and a new pair of shoes already upon his
+feet. They pinched his toes woefully, but
+his heart ached more than his feet.</p>
+
+<p>“You will love the signora very much,
+some day, when you are a man and remember
+how good she was to the poor little boy
+who knew nothing but how to turn somersaults,”
+Miss Lorini had said caressingly in
+her softest Italian, studying the piteous
+face meanwhile with an eye to painting it
+some day, when it should smile again.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</span></p>
+
+<p>“I shall learn to do something besides the
+<i>capitomboli</i>,<a id="FNanchor_6" href="#Footnote_6" class="fnanchor">[6]</a> when I am a man,” Natale had
+said eagerly. “I shall be like our Antonio
+some day.” Perhaps these foreigners would
+be willing to leave him in peace if he could
+convince them that he <i>wished</i> to be a strolling
+player all his life.</p>
+
+<p>“He speaks as if he does not exactly
+understand,” said Miss Lorini, looking at
+Giovanni inquiringly. “Does he not know
+that he is to give up the circus now?”</p>
+
+<p>Giovanni shrugged his shoulders, then
+shook Natale’s slender shoulder, muttering:</p>
+
+<p>“No more of your silly talk, boy!”
+Then louder, “If you will not thank the
+lady, I do, with all my heart.” And with
+that he bowed low, then pushing Natale
+before him, went quickly away. He was,
+in secret, rather sorry for the boy, who had
+never before given any trouble with foolish
+willfulness, and who had moreover such high
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</span>ambitions! It did seem a stupid life to
+which they were leaving the poor child, but
+then there was to be considered the roll of
+money already sewed into his own belt,
+with more to accumulate there, if Natale
+should be left still another year with the
+priest Luigi. If rich <i>forestieri</i> had nothing
+else to do with their money but give it
+away in this frantic fashion, the stepfather
+was not unwilling to share the bounty, and
+Elvira, the mother, had seemed not to mind.</p>
+
+<p>So now Natale sat alone on the wall, feeling
+very much out of it all, and longing to
+hear some one say, “Natalino, do fetch me
+this”, or “Carry that”; but no one said
+anything of the kind. They seemed to feel
+that he was no longer one of them, and his
+little heart swelled to breaking.</p>
+
+<p>He was too young to long harbor ill-will
+and of too sunny a spirit to sulk for many
+minutes at a time, so presently he slipped
+off the wall and ran to meet Olga, who was
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</span>struggling over to the traveling house-on-wheels,
+dragging two stools behind her.
+The very last things were being done, and
+already the horses were standing by, ready
+to be hitched at the last moment.</p>
+
+<p>“Do let me carry the stools, Olga,”
+Natale pleaded with unwonted entreaty
+in his voice. “Well, one of them, then.”</p>
+
+<p>“I am sorry you are going to stay behind
+here, Natalino,” the little girl panted.
+“Why do you? I should run after the
+wagon if I were you!”</p>
+
+<p>Natale had never thought of such a
+simple thing to do by way of escape! He
+promptly set down the stool he had grasped
+and looked fixedly away from Olga’s red-brown
+eyes.</p>
+
+<p>Alas! in that critical moment, what did
+he see approaching from the village? The
+flat, broad-brimmed hat and flowing black
+skirts of a priest, descending the street and
+turning in at the field!</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</span></p>
+
+<p>There was then not a moment to be lost!
+Forgetting Olga and the heavy stools,
+Natale turned and fled, away&mdash;anywhere&mdash;out
+of sight of the jailor advancing.
+Everything flashed out of his mind except
+the impulse to escape, to hide himself from
+those searching eyes under the felt hat brim.
+His flying feet skimmed across the field, and
+when they had borne him out of sight down
+the nearest slope, Natale flung himself
+on the ground under a thicket of thorny
+blackberry bushes.</p>
+
+<p>He lay there for what must have been a
+long time, for, after a while, a sudden
+shower of rain swept down the valley and
+for a few minutes enveloped everything
+in a gray mist. Even after it had passed,
+Natale delayed returning to the wagon
+until the priest should have quite gone,
+in despair of capturing his prisoner. When
+at last he did venture forth, and crept
+to the upper verge of the slope, his first
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</span>glance was across the field for the brown
+wagon.</p>
+
+<p>It was not there!</p>
+
+<p>He set out in a headlong run for the place
+where it had stood. There was nothing
+left&mdash;absolutely nothing. Only a priest
+sat quietly waiting in a gap in the wall.</p>
+
+<p>Natale, with eyes only for the deserted
+spot, came stumbling upon the man, without
+so much as seeing that he was there,
+and then the priest rose, and taking the
+boy’s hand, spoke with the utmost quietness.</p>
+
+<p>“Come home with me now, Natalino,”
+was what he said, and Natale heard as one
+hears dream voices.</p>
+
+<p>Poor child! If he had only listened, he
+might have heard the dull screeching of the
+brakes as the wagon crawled carefully down
+the hill toward the arched bridge, and it
+would have been an easy matter to snatch
+his hand from the limp grasp of the priest
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</span>and go hurrying down the short cuts in
+pursuit. But his head seemed so full of
+a hundred roaring noises that he could not
+hear, and his heart beat so fast that he
+could not speak, and so up the hill he went
+at the priest’s side.</p>
+
+<p>Nor did he see the quiet smile upon
+Luigi’s shaven lips, as they passed the green
+gate of the garden where Betty stood peering
+through. She would not have spoken to the
+boy just then for all the world, and as for
+Madame Cioche, she could not have done
+so if she had wished. She gazed down from
+her latticed window, her bright eyes dimmed
+as they fell upon the little caged bird of the
+fields fluttering by.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</span></p>
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_VII">CHAPTER VII<br />
+<span class="smaller">THE CAGED BIRD OF THE FIELDS</span></h2></div>
+
+<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap"><span class="dropcap">T</span>here</span> is a short, crooked street in
+Cutigliano, which leads back of the
+church and out upon the promenade
+of San Vito. This street is confined on
+either hand by stone houses and stone walls
+of gardens, and paved with large square
+stones. Here and there a gateway gives a
+peep at lapping hills across the river. The
+massive church tower rises directly from a
+narrow turn in this street, and when the
+bells ring down from the arches in the top
+of this tower, the stony street reverberates
+with a deafening clamor.</p>
+
+<p>By the time the priest and Natale reached
+the foot of the church tower, the boy was
+weeping bitterly but quietly. His one free
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</span>arm hid as much of his face as possible,
+and his feet in the clumsy new shoes stumbled
+so helplessly that Luigi had some
+trouble in preventing his falling.</p>
+
+<p>As they had passed through the town,
+where everybody sat at their doors or
+lounged in the <i>piazza</i>, all had recognized
+the little acrobat, as Natale realized only
+too well. Many accosted him in wonder,
+and some would even have stopped him to
+inquire into his misfortune in being left
+behind by his family. But the young
+priest motioned such away with authority,
+silencing with a gesture of his long finger the
+too curious. Others had already learned
+how it had come about that Natale was to
+spend a year with Sora Grazia, and her son
+the priest, and these contented themselves
+with shrugs and smiles for the boy’s companion,
+as who should say: “We wish you
+well of your bargain, Signor priest.”</p>
+
+<p>The great hands of the church clock
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</span>pointed to ten minutes of four, as the bell
+boomed the hour of six. No one, however,
+ever thought of consulting the huge figures
+painted on the stone face of the tower
+clock, for those long iron hands had not
+stirred for many a day.</p>
+
+<p>The deep sound of the bell struck so
+suddenly upon Natale’s ears that he started,
+and dropping his arm from before his eyes,
+gazed dully ahead. It was not often that
+he had strayed farther than this corner of the
+old church, and he had never followed the
+San Vito promenade to the end. Most of
+the town was left behind now; whither
+could this man be taking him?</p>
+
+<p>A row of houses with numbers in blue
+figures on one side of the lintels extended
+back of the church, but before none of
+these did Luigi pause. Next came a low,
+broken wall, and then a house, detached
+from its neighbors and with a long, sloping
+roof, covered with slabs of slate. This
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</span>house had no door opening on the street,
+and in the blank front wall there was only
+a very small window at one corner close
+under the eaves. Over a door in the end of
+the house nearest the church there was a
+small crucifix in carved stone set into the
+wall, but this door was seemingly closed
+and unused.</p>
+
+<p>The priest led Natale a few steps farther,
+to the other end of the house, and then they
+left the street and entered a long balcony
+leading to a wide-open door.</p>
+
+<p class="p2b">A middle-aged woman sat just inside this
+doorway at the foot of a flight of stairs
+leading up into the room under the roof.
+She wore a kerchief of red and black cotton
+over her head and tied in a knot under her
+chin, and her eyes were bent upon a coarse
+piece of mending occupying her work-worn
+hands.</p>
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 350px;">
+<a id="illo2"><img src="images/i_094.jpg" width="350" alt="The priest led Natale to the other end of the house."
+title=""  /></a></div></div>
+
+<p class="caption">The priest led Natale to the other end of the house.<br />
+<span class="center"><i>Page <a href="#Page_94">94.</a></i></span></p>
+
+<p class="p2">At Luigi’s heavy step on the stone flooring
+of the balcony, she lifted her face to his and
+something like a smile softened the expression
+of her stern features. Her black brows
+unbent and she made way for her son to
+enter by twisting her stool slightly and
+shifting her feet. Luigi passed by her and
+took up his stand in the gathering gloom of
+the little passage, his eyes fixed warily upon
+Natale. The little boy had released his
+hand from the priest’s outside the door,
+and now stood leaning against the railing
+of the balcony, staring frowningly at the
+woman.</p>
+
+<p>“You are content to have it over with,
+Gigi?” the mother asked, glancing from
+man to boy and back again.</p>
+
+<p>Luigi nodded his head.</p>
+
+<p>“Give him something to eat and put him
+to bed,” he counseled in a low tone, “and
+do not argue with him to-night. To-morrow
+the sun will shine and he will begin
+to forget.”</p>
+
+<p>Natale’s sharp ears caught every word,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</span>stolid as he looked. “Forget?” What did
+they think he would forget? Not Olga’s
+last words, certainly: “I would run after
+the wagon, if I were you.”</p>
+
+<p>But, <i>why was he not running now</i>? No
+door, as yet, kept him prisoner. There was
+the empty street. Below ran the long,
+long white road. The night was coming
+down, and he was not afraid of the dark.
+Once out of sight, around one of the loops
+of the road, it would take but a moment to
+slip off the heavy shoes with their soles half
+an inch thick, and then on and on in the
+cool darkness he might run on light bare
+feet&mdash;“after the wagon.”</p>
+
+<p>He thrilled with the thought as it flashed
+through his mind, but a flash of the same
+thought thrilled Sora Grazia at the same
+time, for just then she leaned forward and
+laying her hand on Natale’s arm, she drew
+him to her side.</p>
+
+<p>“Once I had a curly-haired little boy of
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</span>my own,” she said with a serious smile,
+“but after a while, he grew to be a man, and
+now he has brought to me another little
+boy. Natalino, I hope you will be as good
+a boy as my Gigi ever was.”</p>
+
+<p>Natale gazed earnestly into the woman’s
+face.</p>
+
+<p>“I am not at all good, signora,” he said
+unsteadily, and he could not help the stirring
+of hope in his heart, with this confession,
+but Sora Grazia only smiled again and
+tapped his cheek, and said that perhaps the
+good Luigi would teach him to be good.</p>
+
+<p>And there was no more opportunity left
+Natale for running away, for he was presently
+led into the kitchen where he had to
+sit and watch Sora Grazia prepare the
+macaroni for supper. He was hungry
+enough to enjoy a plateful of this but the
+slip of boiled beef served him on a clean
+plate afterward could not be choked down.
+He had overheard some one in the tent&mdash;could<span class="pagenum" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</span>
+it have been only that very day?&mdash;say
+that he was to have meat every day in
+his new home, and his sister, Arduina, had
+added that she wished <i>she</i> were sure of
+getting a morsel three times a week. Had
+not a doctor in Sicily said that she must
+have all delicate and nourishing food? And
+what were dry bread and sour wine as substitutes?
+No, Natale could not eat the
+meat that night. Happily the plate of
+macaroni had been generous, and what in
+all the land of sunny Italy is so filling as a
+plate of macaroni?</p>
+
+<p>The valley looked dismally dark that
+night, as Natale crept from his little trestle
+bed and crouched on the brick floor at the
+window, after he was supposed to be asleep.
+He was to share the priest’s attic chamber,
+and a few moments before Sora Grazia had
+carried away the candle. He peered out
+between the flower pots on the window
+ledge and again wondered in his childish
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</span>way why anybody in the big world outside
+should have troubled to make him miserable.</p>
+
+<p>He was very sure that he had done
+nothing to harm the foreign lady with the
+spectacles. Once he had laughed when
+she had sneezed many times very loudly,
+in crossing the field near him, but he was
+sure no one had heard him, for he was lying
+on the ground and had buried his face in the
+grass. The pretty signorina with her had
+laughed too, and said something in their
+strange language which the lady had answered
+by another loud sneeze. Besides this,
+there was absolutely nothing he could have
+done to provoke any of the people in the
+garden. Yet, here he was being punished!</p>
+
+<p>The thought of Sora Grazia oppressed
+him, her serious face and her high hopes of
+his goodness. The house, too, was quieter
+than any place he had ever known,&mdash;he
+who had been used to few roofs save those
+of the caravan and tent. There were no
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</span>children about, and there was no sound
+inside of crying, or laughing, or singing, or
+whistling. It was almost as bad as having
+to live in a solemn church when the candles
+are all out and the crowds are gone, and
+one feels, in the dimness and silence, as if
+something were coming up stealthily behind
+one to scare one’s wits away. It is all very
+well to rest for a minute in a cool church,
+out of the glare of the sunlight, when one
+may run out again at will, free as a wild bird
+or butterfly. But to have to stay, night
+and day, for a whole year in such a place!
+Natale shuddered, for this was just the way
+in which the awful quiet of the little stone
+house of the priest affected him.</p>
+
+<p>When Luigi came up to bed, hours later,
+he lifted the sleeping boy from the bricks
+at the window and covered him up snugly
+in bed.</p>
+
+<p>“My mother thinks we can do it,” he
+muttered to himself, as he threw off his
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</span>black gown. “I shall do my part, but I am
+not sure they have done a wise thing.”
+Then he sighed a little. Perhaps he was
+wishing that he could be a little boy again,
+with the wide, wide world before him, and
+no one to interfere with his choice of a career,&mdash;free
+to be acrobat or priest, but always
+to have his own choice.</p>
+
+<p>With the passing of the first night all idea
+of running away seemed to have left Natale’s
+mind, and Sora Grazia was at first delighted
+to find her charge as submissive as
+a lamb to all her arrangements. After the
+first day or two, however, it became not
+quite so comfortable to see the little boy
+sit immovable for hours at a time, on the
+floor of the balcony, gazing down into the
+valley where the river ran merrily over the
+rocks. She would even have preferred to
+rebuke the child for something a little more
+outrageous than his listless torpor. She
+herself had to eat the meat prepared for
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</span>Natale, if she would not see it wasted, for
+Natale could not touch it, nor would Luigi,
+her usually tractable son.</p>
+
+<p>The young priest was no less puzzled over
+Natale’s conduct than his mother was.
+The schoolmaster reported to him that the
+boy held his little paper-covered spelling-book
+before his eyes with the utmost diligence,
+and really seemed to try to remember
+the letters as they were pointed out to him
+with patient repetition, but that he might
+as well have been gazing off into the valley
+instead, for all the good the pages did him,
+and Luigi believed it.</p>
+
+<p>The other boys tried to lure him into their
+games and to practice his funny <i>capitomboli</i>
+but he would only sit quietly by, on the
+stone steps of the church, watching them
+till playtime was over, when he must sit up
+on the bench in the schoolroom again and
+hold his book before his eyes.</p>
+
+<p>“He cannot keep up his sulking forever,”
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</span>Sora Grazia said on the sixth day of Natale’s
+stay with her. Luigi was standing near her
+in the balcony, brushing the dust from the
+skirts of his long gown, which he shook
+vigorously with his strong hands, as his
+mother continued, “I confess that I am
+surprised he has taken things so quietly.”</p>
+
+<p>“A little too quietly!” muttered Luigi
+into the folds of his gown.</p>
+
+<p>“But now, one would like to see him
+brighten up a little instead of glooming
+over his food and everything else,” Sora
+Grazia went on. “He is not the same child
+he was a week ago, making his ridiculous
+<i>capitomboli</i> over the circus carpet. I wonder
+if he could turn a somersault now,
+Luigi.” The woman lifted her head from
+her work to look over at Natale, who sat
+on the low street wall with his feet dangling
+into the road.</p>
+
+<p>“I gave him leave to go and play with
+the boys down in the field, this afternoon,”
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</span>said Luigi, shaking his gown almost
+viciously. “He said he did not wish to go
+where his tent had been, and that he never
+expected to turn a somersault again.”</p>
+
+<p>“Impertinent!” exclaimed Sora Grazia.
+“We’ll let him alone a while longer, and
+he’ll come all right. A child cannot sulk
+forever, as I said before.”</p>
+
+<p>“But one can die of starvation and homesickness,
+perhaps,” quoth Luigi, stepping
+past his mother and springing up the stairs,
+his gown upon his arm.</p>
+
+<p>Grazia’s retort was stayed upon her lips
+by what she now saw passing in the street.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</span></p>
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_VIII">CHAPTER VIII<br />
+<span class="smaller">THE CAGE DOOR OPENED</span></h2></div>
+
+<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap"><span class="dropcap">N</span>atale</span>, too, was looking up, but
+only dully, as a party of ladies and
+gentlemen sauntered toward him
+laughing and talking gayly as they came.
+Many such groups had passed him already,
+taking afternoon strolls toward the beautiful
+promenade of San Vito leading around the
+mountain side. But this particular group
+paused, when a spectacled old lady did, and
+all gathered about Natale, except the white-haired
+gentleman standing a little aloof
+and tapping the paving stones with his
+stick.</p>
+
+<p>“Why haven’t you been to see us, Natale
+Marzuchetti?” Miss Lorini asked cheerfully<span class="pagenum" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</span>
+in Italian. “Mrs. Bishop was sure
+you would come.”</p>
+
+<p>“He does not look like the same child!”
+whispered Betty to her aunt, who now
+pushed forward.</p>
+
+<p>“Ask him if he is a <i>smart</i> boy in school,
+and if he is not <i>glad</i> to be dressed so decently
+and to be learning something <i>useful</i>,”
+Mrs. Bishop said hurriedly to the
+Italian lady, all of which was repeated to
+Natale in his own language as was requested.
+But Natale only shook his head
+slowly and wistfully.</p>
+
+<p>“You used to talk fast enough!” Mrs.
+Bishop cried impatiently. “Look,” she
+went on, pointing to the next house, a little
+farther on, “don’t you see that white stone
+in the wall? The words on it tell about a
+man who was born there, two hundred and
+fifty years ago, who was so good and useful
+that the people here put his name up there
+that he might never be forgotten. What’s
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</span>to hinder there being a stone put up on this
+house, to tell about little Natale who was
+only a poor circus boy, but who came to
+live here when he was eight years old and
+became a very useful and good man? Tell
+him, Miss Lorini, just what I say!” And
+Mrs. Bishop pointed from the memorial
+tablet in one house to the blank front wall
+of the other, while Luigi, peering out of his
+window between the flower pots, dodged
+behind a tall geranium, and hoped the sharp
+eyes of the old lady were not searching for
+him.</p>
+
+<p>Natale listened gravely to Miss Lorini’s
+communication, his eyes passing carelessly
+from the memorial tablet to the wall of an
+opposite house.</p>
+
+<p>There was a rude painting on this wall of
+a Madonna holding a baby in her arms, and
+it was protected from the weather by a
+shallow arch of masonry. As Natale looked
+at the picture, he was reminded in some
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</span>mysterious way of Nonna, who was never
+without a child in her arms, unless she were
+bending over a fountain washing the children’s
+clothes. A new look sprang into
+his eyes.</p>
+
+<p>“Our Antonio had <i>his</i> name printed in
+Egypt and in Turkey and in Greece!” he
+answered proudly, for the first time opening
+his lips. “I would rather be like that than
+have my name cut here on the priest’s
+house!”</p>
+
+<p>“Good for the little chap,” cried the
+gentleman softly. He had understood what
+the shrill little voice said.</p>
+
+<p>“Printed on what, child? What was
+‘our Antonio’s’ name printed on, in all
+those places?” Miss Lorini asked.</p>
+
+<p>“On paper, of course,” answered the child
+simply. “And there were pictures of him
+too, all red and yellow and blue, performing
+on the bars. Everybody in the streets
+was looking at his name and the pictures.”
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</span>The little fellow’s face was glowing as he
+spoke of his friend, and Miss Lorini had not
+the heart to translate his words to Mrs.
+Bishop, who could hardly have passed them
+by calmly.</p>
+
+<p>“But you are content here?” Betty
+managed to ask in intelligible Italian.</p>
+
+<p>The shadow fell again over Natale’s face,
+and his figure visibly drooped. He did
+not pretend to answer her question.</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, Aunty, let him go back to his
+people,” Betty pleaded, seeing the change.
+“Anybody can see that he is miserable.
+He is too little to be made to suffer.”</p>
+
+<p>“He is too little to suffer long,” Mrs.
+Bishop replied calmly, with but one thought
+in her mind, of course.</p>
+
+<p>“Poor little Egyptian!” sighed the gentleman.
+“He was born in Egypt, was he not,
+Miss Betty?”</p>
+
+<p>“At Port Said, yes, and Pietro in Tunis
+they say.”</p>
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</span></p>
+<p>“Well, be a good boy, Natale,” said Mrs.
+Bishop, patting his head, in its new cap.
+“Then you will be happy. In a few days,
+I shall send for you to come to see me, and
+we will drink tea in the garden. Good-by!
+<i>Addio!</i>”</p>
+
+<p>Natale touched his hat, as he had long
+ago been taught to do, and the pedestrians
+moved away, all but the gentleman who
+had called him a “little Egyptian.”</p>
+
+<p>He stood for a moment at Natale’s side,
+with his back turned to the house and his
+departing friends, and in a trice a handful
+of copper coins was transferred from his
+pocket to Natale’s hands. Mr. Grantly
+had just had a paper note changed into small
+coins, at the fruit shop, and he was glad to
+relieve his pocket of some of its weight.</p>
+
+<p>“I hope his guardians will let him keep
+the money,” was his thought as he turned
+away from Natale’s brilliant smile of thanks.
+The boy’s training had made him none too
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</span>proud to accept the money of a stranger,
+and he lost no time in stowing it away in
+his jacket pocket, while Mr. Grantly hurried
+after the echoing steps of his party.</p>
+
+<p>Luigi at the window above had seen the
+money given to Natale, but he asked no
+questions of the boy, who, after kicking his
+heels against the wall for some time longer,
+was presently called to his supper.</p>
+
+<p>There was a flush on Natale’s cheeks and
+a brightness in his eyes which even Sora
+Grazia noticed, and as the evening was cool,
+she thought it wise to forbid his sitting
+out on the balcony or the wall, as was his
+wont, until bedtime. He looked feverish,
+she said, and in her own mind she planned
+a cup of hot camomile tea as a remedy at
+bedtime. Natale’s disappointment at this
+command to keep indoors showed so plainly
+upon his childish features that Sora Grazia
+was provoked, and for the first time since the
+boy had been with her she used harsh tones.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</span></p>
+
+<p>“There! you may as well go to bed at
+once!” she cried, as he was leaving the
+kitchen, without a word it is true, but with
+the light all gone from his face. “I can
+never please you, whatever I do, and you
+are here only to waste food and sulk. Go
+to bed, Natale!”</p>
+
+<p>Luigi had gone off directly after eating his
+supper, about some matter of business with
+one of his superiors at the church, so he was
+not there to take Natale’s part.</p>
+
+<p>It is hard enough to be sent to bed on an
+ordinary night and at one’s regular time, as
+any child will agree, but to be forbidden the
+early hours of a moonlit evening outdoors,
+especially when one’s little head is teeming
+with wild, delicious ideas of flight&mdash;away
+from daily baths, from the cramping walls
+of a house, and out into the freshness and
+freedom of the night, which has no terror
+for the dwellers in tents, was well-nigh
+unbearable.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</span></p>
+
+<p>Ah! how little Sora Grazia knew of the
+anguish she was causing!</p>
+
+<p>But Natale obediently stumbled slowly
+upstairs in the dark to the bedroom, and
+when there, crouched in his usual place on
+the floor behind the flower pots without an
+audible murmur.</p>
+
+<p>The little acrobat had made no plans at
+all, but with the touch of the money given
+him by the kind old gentleman on San Vito,
+an impulse to seek his freedom had occurred
+to his mind, and in the half-hour while he
+continued on the wall, furtively handling
+the coins in his pocket, he had wished,&mdash;only
+wished, however,&mdash;that he might
+have the courage to steal out into the moonlight,
+after eating, while Sora Grazia should
+be about her dish-washing, and Luigi poring
+over one of his little black books, perhaps, by
+the light of the candle in the kitchen. He
+had often thought of Olga’s words, “I would
+run after the wagon, if I were you,” but he
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</span>had been too closely watched during the
+first day or two to admit of his carrying out
+so bold a plan, and since then, for the rest of
+the long, dreary week since the caravan had
+gone, he had not had the spirit to undertake
+such a measure. The whole world seemed
+to intervene between himself and the beloved
+company who had gone, and he felt
+sure that he would be seen by some mistaken
+person and brought back, even before he
+could reach the river, if he should attempt
+to follow.</p>
+
+<p>Until to-night no thought of leaving under
+the protection of the friendly darkness had
+come to him, and he had only been able to
+see himself flying down the sunny road in
+full view of all the village, to be promptly
+turned back again by some carriage driver
+of the place, or some schoolboy bigger than
+himself and therefore stronger. Besides,
+he had had no money, and Natale had
+traveled enough to know that a few cents
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</span>in one’s pocket make one’s road easier and
+less long. So the days had passed, and
+Natale was fast drifting into a state of listless
+torpor which must have ended in illness,
+had not Mr. Grantly changed a five-franc
+note at the fruit shop that sunny afternoon
+and taken a stroll along San Vito where
+Natale sat “sulking” on the wall!</p>
+
+<p>Presently, as the little child continued to
+gaze longingly out into the moonlight, a ray
+of further hope illumined his mind. As
+Luigi had gone to the church now, it would
+be late before he would return. Sora
+Grazia always sat dozing on her stool in the
+doorway until time for barring the door and
+going to bed. Why should he not slip past
+her and away into the shadows of the street,
+before Luigi should return? His heart
+leaped at the thought, and he rose noiselessly
+to his feet and glanced around the
+darkening room. His small cot stood
+smooth and white against the wall. Another<span class="pagenum" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</span>
+thought struck him, and he quailed
+with a sense of utter discouragement.
+When Luigi should come in,&mdash;and he
+might be very early, one never knew,&mdash;the
+runaway would be missed straightway from
+the empty little bed, and easily overtaken
+if he should have taken the regular road
+down the hill.</p>
+
+<p>It is true there were paths innumerable
+down the terraces from the back of almost
+any house in the street, most of them
+probably leading down to the river far
+below, but Natale had been no explorer of
+the neighborhood during his week of captivity,
+and was ignorant of the precipitate
+windings and the final ending of even the
+most practicable of these. No, he must go
+by the road, and he must wait until Luigi
+should return, and get to bed and to sleep.</p>
+
+<p>Natale knew that the priest slept soundly,
+for, one night he had had the misfortune to
+knock over upon the floor a pot containing
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</span>a carnation plant, and the crash had not
+awakened Luigi. The boy had waked and
+had gone to the window to peer out into the
+night, fancying that he heard the hoarse
+creaking of the caravan brake as the clumsy
+vehicle crawled down the hill, and in craning
+his head between the pots, his elbow had
+pushed over one of them. Fortunately,
+neither pot nor plant had broken, and he
+had spent a good deal of time in packing the
+loosened earth about the carnation’s roots
+and replacing the pot among its fellows.
+The next morning, Sora Grazia had bidden
+him be more careful about carrying mud
+upstairs on his shoes, only to be cleaned up
+by her afterward, and he supposed he must
+have left some of the earth upon the floor,
+in the dim light.</p>
+
+<p>At any rate, Luigi slept soundly, and if
+he, himself, could only manage to keep
+awake until all was safe, he knew that he
+would have no difficulty in unbarring the
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</span>door. He had accomplished it unaided
+only that morning, with Sora Grazia standing
+by and saying that it was the first thing
+of use he had set his hands to do since coming
+there to live. She had spoken good-naturedly
+though, and Natale had nothing
+against her. No, not even now did he
+remember her late harsh words, for he was
+too sweet-natured to harbor malice. He had
+only suffered, and now there was a prospect
+of escaping more suffering of the same kind.</p>
+
+<p>So after sitting on his bed with a wild
+turmoil of thoughts engaging his busy little
+brain, he began rapidly to undress. Luigi
+must not find him up! But, after taking
+off the strong new suit of clothes which
+Mrs. Bishop had had made for him, he
+rummaged under his mattress where his
+old things had been stored by Sora Grazia
+and quickly got into the worn trousers, the
+faded blouse and leggings, tucking the old
+shoes under his pillow. He had set the new
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</span>shoes and stockings in orderly fashion on the
+floor and folded up the new clothes and laid
+them at the foot of the little cot. How
+fortunate that his old shoes had not been
+thrown away, for he could hardly have
+traveled barefoot over the flinty stones of
+the road and the river. Natale chose to
+wear the old easy shoes, for the new ones
+had always hurt him, and he would not have
+been able to steal unheard out of the house
+with those heavy, creaking soles tramping
+over the bricks. If he had known of the
+long way ahead of the old worn shoes, perhaps
+he would have planned to carry the
+despised footgear in his hands. But forethought
+had little place in the mind of so
+young a runaway, and he was guided in his
+change of clothes only by his own desires for
+comfort. The old clothes were as familiar as
+old friends, and therefore he preferred them.</p>
+
+<p>Then, after making his preparations, not
+forgetting to change the money from the
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</span>pocket of the new jacket to that of his old
+trousers, he laid himself down on the cot,
+and drew up the light covering snugly about
+his shoulders, devoutly hoping that he
+would not fall soundly asleep.</p>
+
+<p>If Natale had only known it, Sora Grazia,
+believing Natale safe for the night, had
+slipped off for a gossip with a friend living
+just back of the church, simply drawing the
+door to behind her and leaving the coast
+clear for flight. And it would not have been
+difficult for the boy to leave a semblance of
+himself tucked under the bed covering, in
+the shape of the roll of discarded clothes and
+shoes! But little Natale was not possessed
+of a very designing brain, and after all, Luigi
+<i>might</i> have come in untimely, and spoiled
+it all!</p>
+
+<p>In a few moments, the would-be runaway
+was fast asleep, while the moon sailed across
+the valley from the eastern toward the
+western sky.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</span></p>
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_IX">CHAPTER IX<br />
+<span class="smaller">THE FLIGHT OF THE BIRD</span></h2></div>
+
+<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap"><span class="dropcap">W</span>hen</span> Natale next opened his
+eyes he became very wide
+awake indeed, in an instant.
+In fact, he did not know that he had been
+asleep at all, until the moonlight, slanting
+in, showed Luigi’s long body stretched upon
+the iron bed close by.</p>
+
+<p>What could have waked Natale? For a
+moment he lay still without recollection of
+the momentous plans made at his early bedtime.
+Then he recalled a sensation of icy
+cold water about his feet, and he remembered
+that he had dreamed of a sudden
+plunge into the river while trying to find the
+stepping-stones. It must have been the
+chill of the dream-water that had awakened
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</span>him! He sat up and found that he was
+still dressed and in his old clothes.</p>
+
+<p>Ah! it was easy to remember all now,
+and after a breathless glance over his
+shoulder at Luigi, who was comfortably
+snoring, Natale slipped out of bed. Catching
+up his old hat and his shoes he stole
+softly over the brick floor and down the
+stone stairs as quietly as any mouse would
+have done.</p>
+
+<p>Sora Grazia slept downstairs, but the
+door of her room was mercifully closed, and
+Natale knew that she often locked it at
+night. He turned his back upon it, therefore,
+with confidence, as he felt in the darkness
+for the balcony door. He exerted all
+his strength to raise the heavy bar of iron
+which guarded the door. Then he was very
+careful to keep his hold on the bar, as it
+swung downward, lest it should rouse the
+house with its usual clanging fall. The huge
+key was in the lock, and Natale succeeded
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</span>in turning it with both hands, although this
+was much more difficult than raising the bar
+above the lock. It creaked dully as it
+turned, and Natale’s heart leaped into his
+throat, and a dozen noises buzzed in his
+ears.</p>
+
+<p>Breathless, he stood with his hand on the
+latch, afraid to move lest the door behind
+him should open, and everything come to an
+end. But nothing happened, so he swung
+open the door, and without stopping to
+close it behind him, he again caught up his
+shoes, which he had had to set down, and
+ran along the balcony and out into the
+street, his feet pattering softly on the
+stones.</p>
+
+<p>In his haste he did not stop to think of the
+direction he should take. His only impulse
+was to get out into the night somewhere,
+away from the houses and street.
+So he ran swiftly along in the shadow cast
+by wall and house, in just the opposite
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</span>direction from that which would have led
+him past the church tower and through the
+village, out upon the downward road.
+Presently he crouched in a shadow to draw
+on his shoes, then fled onward again.</p>
+
+<p>Once away, he lost his bearings utterly and
+hurried on without turning, past the small
+house with the Madonna painted on the
+wall, past the large house where the white
+tablet to “Pietro Pacioni” gleamed in the
+moonlight, and then downward, by a
+roughly paved path leading to the Campo
+Santo. Perhaps he would have kept on
+aimlessly along San Vito,&mdash;the fashionable
+promenade leading always higher along the
+mountain side till it ended in an open
+plateau high up above the valley,&mdash;if he
+had not heard steps approaching. Whether
+these steps came from behind or from ahead
+he did not stop to discover. The downward
+path offered safety, and a small pink villa
+threw a dark shadow across its entrance, so
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</span>Natale lost not an instant in scudding down
+the friendly by-way.</p>
+
+<p>On he trotted, past the shrine where the
+tiny Della Robbia Madonna sits under her
+arch, the moonlight touching the shining
+blue of her hood, the yellow of her robe and
+the pink of the baby on her knees with a
+radiance that was almost startling on the
+edge of the shadow. Now the path grew
+level, and the stones were left behind, and
+no more noise of footsteps disturbed the
+quiet.</p>
+
+<p>A few rods more, and Natale stood in
+front of the small mortuary chapel outside
+the cemetery. The iron gates set in the
+wall of the cemetery were locked, as Natale
+found on gently shaking them. He had
+paused to peep through the slender grating
+into the inclosure where the moonlight
+touched the white tomb of the foreign
+gentleman buried close under the wall, and
+showed so plainly the numbers on the low
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</span>stakes marking the graves of the nameless
+poor. The shadows of the cypress trees lay
+like long black fingers outstretched upon the
+wilds of weedy undergrowth, and the wind
+stirred dismally on the exposed hillside.</p>
+
+<p>One day, Natale and Olga had wandered
+together as far as these iron gates. He
+remembered it now, and with the recollection
+he sprang away, eager to continue his
+journey,&mdash;then stood still, uncertain as to
+his path.</p>
+
+<p>The way which had brought him downward
+came to an abrupt end with the little
+chapel, outside the gates. It would not do
+to lose himself among the chestnut woods in
+search of a path! Yet, how could he plunge
+down the pathless slopes among the great
+trees, with nothing to guide him but the
+murmur of the river far below? Still less
+was he willing to return to the road above
+and turn about to take his way through the
+village and so on out upon the road. He
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</span>was almost sure that if he could only see to
+find his way, some downward path from
+where he stood would bring him to a river
+crossing, perhaps a long, long way below the
+arched bridge, and therefore much farther
+on his journey.</p>
+
+<p>Bewildered and tired, he was almost
+ready to give up his flight, and to creep into
+the dark portico of the little chapel, and
+back into the shade beneath the picture of
+the Saint with the skull in his hand, and
+there end this strange night, which already
+seemed to him longer than any night he had
+ever known. But he roused himself to one
+more effort, and crept around to the back
+wall of the chapel. There, to his joyful
+surprise, he came upon a semblance of a
+path!</p>
+
+<p>All indecision was gone now, and he fairly
+slid down the rocky and precipitous way,
+which was more gully than footway, being
+in fact a watercourse for the torrents leaping
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</span>down the mountain side, after some storm
+of rain, as well as a short cut to the river for
+roughly shod peasant feet.</p>
+
+<p>More than once Natale stumbled, and
+once he fell headlong, bruising his hands and
+knees, but he did not mind, for the rushing
+of the little river down among the rocks was
+becoming very loud in his ears.</p>
+
+<p>When at last he came out of the woods,
+and stood on the edge of the waste of
+rounded stones loosely paving the river bed,
+he looked back a moment to where the
+village must be, high above, a huddle of gray
+wall and roof, with the square church tower
+in its midst. All seemed as silent in the
+sleeping town as in the home of the sleeping
+dead on its outskirts. Then, just as Natale
+again turned his back upon the mountain
+side, where perched Cutigliano like a bit of
+gray lichen growing on some mossy bowlder,
+the beautiful, bright, friendly moon slipped
+quite over the mountain in the west, and
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</span>darkness fell upon the valley, where deep
+down in its darkest shadow Natale was
+ready to cross the river. The light of the
+moon still touched the chestnut woods
+higher up the slopes, but every moment the
+shadow would be creeping higher and
+higher, until there would be no more moonlight
+on this side the mountain, and only the
+stars would come peeping out at Natale.</p>
+
+<p>After slipping off his shoes and leggings,
+the boy began picking his way carefully over
+the large dry stones which were worn
+smooth and round by slow wasting in the
+wet seasons, when the river flooded its
+narrow course and spread to the grassy
+banks. The stones rolled under even his
+light footsteps, but Natale kept his balance
+in crossing the smaller stones, and clambered
+patiently over or around the largest ones,
+and presently arrived at the edge of the
+black, rushing water. The brawling Lima
+makes a great ado hereabouts, as it tumbles
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</span>over the rocks, for its bed slopes decidedly
+all the way to Lucca and beyond, and there
+is no opportunity for it to moderate its
+pace, or calm its chafings against the rocks.</p>
+
+<p>With the first touch of the icy water upon
+his bared feet, Natale recalled his dream.
+How long ago it had been since he had lain
+safely in his bed under the slanting roof of
+Luigi’s house! Again and again he tried
+to plant his foot firmly in the midst of the
+swirling water, which was perhaps as much
+as twenty feet wide at that point, but
+always it was deeper and colder than he had
+expected, and the stones more slippery and
+unsteady. Then he began wandering up and
+down the bank, in quest of the stepping-stones,
+which here and there certainly
+crossed the river both above and below the
+arched bridge. Unsuccessful in this, Natale
+finally exerted himself to make a reckless
+dash into the current, where he found himself
+the next instant up to his waist in the
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</span>black water and clinging desperately by
+one free hand to a wet rock, with the instinct
+of preserving himself from being
+carried off his feet. Then miserably he felt
+his way back to the dry rocks on the edge
+of the stream, and dropping down upon
+their harsh bosom, he began to cry bitterly.</p>
+
+<p>He had so hoped there would be a crossing
+place! If he could only find it! His
+feet were sore with bruises now, and he felt
+as if he could not walk another step. He
+grew cold as he crouched there, sobbing with
+disappointment, for though the sun shines
+hot during the daytime on the chestnut
+trees and the vines of the Apennines, the
+nights, even of summer, are cool, and now
+a chill wind came sweeping down the valley
+from the fir-crowned summits of Abetone.</p>
+
+<p>Presently the little wanderer roused himself
+and stood on his feet. Nothing could
+tempt him to try to find his way back to the
+house of the priest, not even aching feet or
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</span>shivering limbs, but he began to think there
+might be a more sheltered place near by&mdash;this
+little boy of the road, who had taken
+many a noontide nap curled up at the foot of
+some wayside tree. Perhaps the earliest light
+of dawn would show him the stepping-stones
+and the road, of which there was no hint
+now in the blackness of darkness across the
+river. Painfully he crept back toward the
+bank, where presently he curled himself into
+a knot at the foot of a huge, distorted old
+chestnut tree, a short distance up the slope.
+The grass was soft and springy about the
+roots of the old tree, and a huge boulder near
+by shut off the wind from Natale’s shivering
+legs. So, with a sigh of content, and for
+the first time tasting the sweets of his new
+freedom, the little acrobat closed his eyes
+upon the stars winking down at him from
+above the stirring leaves, and fell asleep for
+the second time that night.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</span></p>
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_X">CHAPTER X<br />
+<span class="no-indent">ON THE WING</span></h2></div>
+
+<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap"><span class="dropcap">L</span>ong</span> before Natale waked, the day had
+dawned, but the sun had not long
+looked down into the valley before
+he turned stiffly on his grassy couch and
+rubbed his eyes. Then, however, he lost not
+an instant in taking up his journey where it
+had left off the night before.</p>
+
+<p>How easy it was in the light of the sunbeams
+of the early morning to spring over
+the dry stones of the bank, and with a swift
+glance up and down select a safe place to
+cross the water which had seemed so dangerous
+and cruel in the dark.</p>
+
+<p>The daylight changed everything, of
+course, and it was but a few moments after
+waking before he was across the stream and
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</span>scrambling up to the low wall bounding the
+road on the river side. From the inner
+edge of the road the mountains rose precipitately.</p>
+
+<p>As Natale clambered over the wall the
+church bells of Cutigliano burst into a
+wrangle of sound, which must have echoed
+from one end of the village to the other.
+Though the distance softened the metallic
+tones, the little boy was startled by them
+into a scamper away down the sunlit road
+as if the mischievous village boys whose
+office it was to ring the bells were in headlong
+chase after him. The day must have
+been the <i>festa</i> of some saint, and for a long
+time Natale heard the bells’ voices, sweetened
+more and more as his bare feet trudged
+onward and the distance fell between him
+and them. But he soon gave up his running
+because his legs were stiff and his feet sore,
+and as yet no one appeared coming along
+the road behind him, in pursuit.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</span></p>
+
+<p>There had been no doubt in his own mind
+of the direction he should take after once
+gaining the road. He knew that Giovanni
+and Antonio with the house-wagon had been
+bound for the Bagni di Lucca, and also he
+knew that the road to the Bagni led downward
+with the stream, and not up toward
+the cold region of Abetone, the “Great Fir
+Tree.”</p>
+
+<p>So all he had to do was to follow the road,
+broad and white, by the way they had come
+three weeks before, without need, even, of
+asking his way of the peasants he should
+meet. He had turned the shoulder of a great
+green mountain-spur which entirely shut
+off the view of Cutigliano before he would
+stop for an instant in his lame tramping.
+Once assured that the town was out of sight
+behind him, he sat down breathlessly on
+one of the heaps of loose stones such as flank
+every mountain road in Italy. Then he
+deliberately took each foot in turn in his
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</span>small hands and gravely and pitifully
+examined its bruises. There was nothing
+to be done, then, but plant them in the road
+again and continue his way.</p>
+
+<p>For an hour or more he trudged painfully
+on, but the stiffness in his legs left him after
+a while, and he began to be only hungry.
+He wished he had thought of hiding in his
+pocket, the night before, a crust of the dark,
+coarse bread he loved, and which had always
+been plentiful at Sora Grazia’s. But
+the coppers jingled comfortably there instead,
+and Natale contented himself to
+wait for breakfast till he should pass some
+bread shop along the road.</p>
+
+<p>The morning air was sweet with the freshness
+of early day, and the delicious odor of
+the wild thyme’s tiny blossoms. Tall harebells
+nodded to him from the thyme and
+heather bank shoulder-high above the road,
+and sparkled with the sunshine and dew
+upon their purple flowerets. The river,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</span>which in the darkness had seemed to mock
+him with its roaring, now only murmured
+softly as it slipped over the stones in the
+sunlight.</p>
+
+<p>By and by, Natale began to meet people
+in the road, men with donkeys bearing huge
+basketfuls of wet grass and wild flowers
+shorn from the steep terraces above for the
+cow or donkey at home, and women tramping
+in their thick-soled shoes to Cutigliano
+with baskets of fresh fruit or eggs or cheeses
+for the summer hotels balanced on their
+heads. From all of these Natale kept his face
+steadily averted, lest they should bear back
+to the town tidings of his going. Usually,
+after passing a group of these wayfarers, the
+boy broke into a quick run in order to
+lengthen the distance between them and
+himself, but these spurts of speed availed
+him little, for he had always to stop and rest
+afterward, and so lost many more minutes
+than he had gained of the golden day.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</span></p>
+
+<p>The road had already become a curving
+white glare before Natale came in sight of a
+long stone house having many windows and
+doors, and standing on the inner edge of the
+road. He came upon it suddenly, on turning
+a sharp curve, and then he saw that
+another house faced it on the opposite side
+of the road, and that an inviting shade lay
+between. The back of one of the houses
+looked directly upon the steep slope of the
+mountain behind, while the rear wall of its
+opposite neighbor had its foundation in the
+rocky banks of the tumbling river. In the
+shade between, barefoot peasant children
+played noisily. Near by, a stream of spring
+water, clear and cold, trickled from a
+wooden trough into a rough stone basin.</p>
+
+<p>And here at last were rest and food and
+drink for the runaway,&mdash;only no one must
+learn that he was a runaway!</p>
+
+<p>A fat and black-eyed housewife with arms
+akimbo stood in one of the doors, and as
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</span>Natale came up to her on limping feet, she
+eyed him with interest from the stone of the
+doorstep.</p>
+
+<p>“Will you give me a little piece of bread,
+signora? See, I have money,” said Natale,
+showing her a handful of Mr. Grantly’s
+copper coins in his open palm.</p>
+
+<p>“A bit of bread you shall have, to be sure,
+and your <i>soldi</i> you shall keep, little one,”
+the good-natured creature promptly answered,
+and while the children left their
+play and gathered about Natale, with
+friendly eyes, their mother disappeared into
+the very small and dusky shop behind.</p>
+
+<p>“There, sit down and eat,” she said,
+returning with a hunk of bread and a
+generous lump of cheese on a coarse plate
+in her hand.</p>
+
+<p>As Natale received the plate and moved
+rather lamely toward the dripping fountain
+in the shade, the children ran ahead, and
+one filled a rusty tin cup with the cold
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</span>water and had it ready for Natale by the
+time he reached the mossy brink of the
+fountain.</p>
+
+<p>These little ones of the road, wild and rude
+enough in their play, were well used to offering
+the “cup of cold water” to the passing
+wayfarer, and Natale’s thirsty throat gulped
+the draught gratefully.</p>
+
+<p>There was something about the child
+which arrested the attention of the woman
+more than the ordinary passer-by often did,
+and she also stood watching Natale breakfast
+hungrily.</p>
+
+<p>He was shy and downcast, fearing difficult
+questions, and as soon as the last
+crumb of bread and cheese had disappeared
+he got to his feet, setting the empty plate
+on the margin of the fountain.</p>
+
+<p>“Thank you, signora, and good-by,” he
+said, and was off.</p>
+
+<p>“No, but wait!” she cried, laying her
+hand on his shrinking shoulder. “You
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</span>have eaten my bread; now answer my
+questions. What is your name, <i>picino</i>,<a id="FNanchor_7" href="#Footnote_7" class="fnanchor">[7]</a>
+and where are you going?”</p>
+
+<p>“Down the road,” was the shyly spoken
+answer to the last question, with a quiet
+waiving of the first. “Please let me go,
+signora. It is already late, and I must
+hasten.”</p>
+
+<p>“Well, go!” she exclaimed then, “and a
+good journey to you!” But she stood
+watching him trudge briskly away from her
+until another curve in the zigzag road hid
+him from her sight.</p>
+
+<p>“Some stranger’s child!” she muttered to
+herself, going back to the doorstep. “I
+have never seen him pass here before, and
+few there be who pass by without the
+knowledge of Chiara. Well, I am glad he
+has his <i>soldi</i> safe in his pocket. May the
+saints protect and feed my own children
+when they go a-wandering! You, Beppo!
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</span>keep your head out of the dust of the
+road!”</p>
+
+<p>“Mamá, mamá, Beppino is making <i>capitomboli</i>,
+such as the boy who was here just now
+made in the circus at Cutigliano, on the day
+we went with our father to the big tent! Do
+you not remember?” cried an admiring small
+sister of Beppo. “See, our Beppo does them
+even better than the other boy, mamá!”</p>
+
+<p>The woman gave a little start of recollection,
+and then dismissed the idea which
+had occurred to her, as impossible&mdash;fortunately,
+perhaps, for Natale.</p>
+
+<p class="p2b">“Silly girl! The circus people went down
+the road a week ago to the Bagni, do <i>you</i> not
+remember? How should the boy be seven
+days behind? No more <i>capitomboli</i>, I say,
+Beppo <i>mio</i>, in all this dust!”</p>
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 350px;">
+<a id="illo3"><img src="images/i_142.jpg" width="350" alt="“Capitomboli, such as the boy who was here just now made in the
+circus at Cutigliano.”"
+title=""  /></a></div></div>
+
+<p class="caption">“Capitomboli, such as the boy who was here just now made in the
+circus at Cutigliano.”<br />
+<span class="center"><i>Page <a href="#Page_142">142.</a></i></span></p>
+
+<p class="p2">In a carriage, with two good horses and a
+fine cracking whip behind them, one may
+drive from Cutigliano down to the Baths of
+Lucca in the first half of a summer’s day.
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</span>On two tired slim little legs, one would need
+much more time to accomplish the journey.
+Also when one has been for six days imprisoned
+within stone walls, one does not
+hurry&mdash;if fairly out of danger&mdash;along
+beauteous and fresh-smelling paths of freedom.</p>
+
+<p>Every hour or so after leaving the woman
+and children at the fountain, Natale stopped
+for a rest along the way. Sometimes he sat
+down on a heap of mending stones by the
+wayside, in company with some stone-breaker
+hammering away in the shade of
+his sun screen, a rude lattice of chestnut
+boughs propped behind the heap of stones.</p>
+
+<p>The monotonous clink of the hammer
+breaking the sharp-edged stones was usually
+stayed as the lonely worker turned to chat
+with the large-eyed child hovering near.
+Only once or twice was Natale’s cheerful
+“<i>Buon’ giorno!</i>”<a id="FNanchor_8" href="#Footnote_8" class="fnanchor">[8]</a> returned by an unwelcoming<span class="pagenum" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</span>
+growl or by sour silence. In such cases,
+the dawdling feet made all haste to pass and
+seek a resting-place in the shade of some
+breeze-rustled chestnut tree quite out of
+sight of the cross stone-breaker.</p>
+
+<p>The second night was passed as the first
+had been, out of doors, after a supper of hot
+rice paid for at an <i>osteria</i>,<a id="FNanchor_9" href="#Footnote_9" class="fnanchor">[9]</a> a short way
+back along the road. Natale might have
+slept, as well, at the little inn, but he was
+too unused to roofs to dream of proposing
+it, and the absent-minded old landlord had
+not seemed to be thinking of anything but
+puffing away at his pipe, as Natale slipped
+past him and out of the dingy passage-way,
+after paying for his food.</p>
+
+<p>A long-bodied two-wheeled cart stood
+outside the inn door, its shafts’ ends resting
+on the ground, its rear high in air, and
+Natale, with an instinct for sleeping above
+wheels, had decided to return to the cart
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</span>for a night’s lodging place when the world
+should be dark again. But sleep overtook
+him as he lay waiting at the foot
+of a tree to which he had scrambled from
+the road below, and when he roused,
+dawn was staining the pale sky with
+rose color.</p>
+
+<p>The next day promised to pass as the
+first had done,&mdash;with slipping shyly past
+occasional houses of entertainment along
+the way, with lingerings to stare into the
+mysterious depths of some noisy mill in
+league with the tumbling river, and with
+long, monotonous trampings, between times,
+along the smooth road, bordered always by
+the mountains and the river. As the road
+neared the valley, it crossed dashing streams
+hurrying to join their waters to the broader
+water of the river, and so solid was the stone
+masonry of the arches that one would never
+have known that he was crossing a bridge
+but for the sparkle and the laughter of the
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</span>foaming water as it dashed under the road
+and out again.</p>
+
+<p>Many times Natale, himself a small dark
+speck on the endless white road, looked up
+the long mountain slopes, green in the sunlight,
+purple in the shadow, and glimpsed
+high above him on the giddy heights the
+climbing roofs of some hoary old mountain
+town, away out of hearing of the busy
+river, out of reach of traveling circus wagons,
+and which,</p>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+<div class="poetry">
+  <div class="stanza">
+    <div class="verse indent0">“Like an eagle’s nest hangs on the crest</div>
+    <div class="verse indent0">Of purple Apennine.”</div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p>It was past noon of the second day when
+Natale entered a village on a level with the
+highway. Here the road suddenly changed
+into a stone-paved street, running between
+high houses and echoing with the tramp of
+wooden-soled shoes and the patter of donkeys’
+hoofs.</p>
+
+<p>He stopped at the door of a sour-smelling
+wine shop where sat a man on a stool outside<span class="pagenum" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</span>
+the door. To him the little boy put
+his question as to whether this town might
+perhaps be very near to the Bagni di Lucca.
+This man wore a red fez on his bushy, black
+head, and down his long, black beard trickled
+drops from the wine cup at his lips. The
+fellow did not stop his drinking long enough
+to reply in so many words to the question,
+but a decided shaking of his head and the
+pointing of a long, dirty finger onward sufficiently
+enlightened Natale, and he kept
+slowly on his way.</p>
+
+<p>In passing a small baker’s shop, he
+stopped and bought a great ring of sweetish
+bread, and then slipping his arm through
+this, he went more cheerily onward. There
+were still many <i>soldi</i> left in his pocket, and
+surely this beautiful ring of bread would last
+until the Bagni di Lucca should come in
+sight, with, of course, the dear yellow tent
+set in its midst!</p>
+
+<p>One of the last houses he passed as he left
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</span>the town was entered through a garden by
+a huge wooden door opening upon the
+cobblestones of the street. This door
+stood ajar, and Natale stayed his steps for
+a moment to gaze through the aperture
+down a charming vista of trellised vines
+supported on crumbling white columns of
+masonry. Green and gold lights played
+over the rough paving-stones of the cloister-like
+colonnade through the latticework
+above. Halfway down this corridor, two
+or three girls romped and sang together,
+their scarlet kerchiefs and the rich blues of
+their skirts making dashes of vivid color in
+the shade where they lounged. Pale jewels
+of grapes, already growing pink and amethystine,
+crowded the vines with promise of
+luscious sweetness when their full time
+should come.</p>
+
+<p>The girls peered back at the travel-worn
+lad peering in at them, but when the largest
+of them called mockingly to him, “Enter,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</span>signore!” Natale ran away down the street
+and again out upon the road. The girls
+had made him think of Arduina and Olga
+and little Maria, and away down at the end
+of the corridor he had caught a glimpse of
+a gray-haired woman sitting on a flight of
+broken stone steps, with an infant on her
+lap. His heart swelled with homesickness.
+If only he might see Nonna once again!
+How long was the monotonous road to
+Bagni di Lucca!</p>
+
+<p>The day, however, was not to close without
+an exciting and important event.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</span></p>
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XI">CHAPTER XI<br />
+<span class="smaller">FLUTTERING A LITTLE FARTHER</span></h2></div>
+
+<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap"><span class="dropcap">N</span>atale</span> sat down in his leisurely
+fashion on the low wall bounding
+the road just beyond the town and
+began daintily nibbling around the crisp,
+sugared edges of his bread ring. It was
+mid-afternoon, and while his jaws worked
+steadily, his wide bright eyes watched with
+interest two bicyclists toiling up the hill and
+trundling their wheels alongside. As they
+passed him by without a glance, their faces
+red and perspiring, and their shoes whitened
+with the light dust, the boy’s eyes still followed
+them and lighted upon a queer figure
+coming from the town he had just quitted.
+It was the red-capped, swarthy-faced man
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</span>of the wine-shop door, and now his shoulders
+were bent under a pack slung on his back,
+and his legs were bowed as he limped along,
+and he wore an old overcoat much too long,
+which had seen better days upon another’s
+shoulders.</p>
+
+<p>The wheelmen paid no attention to this
+fellow, as he stopped on meeting them and
+perhaps offered them a sight of his wares
+hidden in the pack, so the peddler presently
+came up with Natale, grumbling sourly.</p>
+
+<p>“These foreigners without manners!” he
+growled, planting himself in front of the
+little boy’s swinging legs. “Ah! you are
+the boy who goes to the Bagni. Come, I
+also go thither. We shall be companions
+merry enough!”</p>
+
+<p>Natale had no fancy for joining company
+with this man who frowned with his black
+brows and grinned, in turn, with big white
+teeth gleaming in his hairy face, but neither
+had he the courage to demur. Therefore,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</span>he slipped down unwillingly from his perch
+and trotted along at the peddler’s side.</p>
+
+<p>Fortunately, the man asked no questions
+and spoke little, and before evening, his
+steady tramp had led Natale over more
+miles than the whole previous day had
+carried him. Little cared this strange,
+silent fellow for leaning over walls to gaze
+at the foaming water singing over the rocks,
+or for idly resting on a bridge to watch the
+white cloud-ships crossing the azure sea
+overhead, as the white sails of the orange
+boats ply the blue waves between Sicily
+and the Italian coast, and to dream of
+future glory as an acrobat of renown!</p>
+
+<p>The sun had again sunk behind the
+rounded summits in the west, when the
+peddler at last stood still and grinned down
+upon the panting child.</p>
+
+<p>“One easily sees that you are no traveler,”
+he said in his hoarse, unpleasant voice.
+“Now we will sit down here by the roadside
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</span>and make our beds for the night. Did you
+mention supper? The bracelet you wear
+on your arm will suffice for us both, if we
+divide it according to the size of our
+stomachs. <i>Ecco!</i>” And Natale’s precious
+ring of sweetened bread was rudely snatched
+from his arm.</p>
+
+<p>Naturally, Natale was most indignant at
+being treated in this manner by so perfect
+a stranger, and he did not hesitate to remonstrate.</p>
+
+<p>“But the bread is mine, signore! I
+bought it with my own <i>soldi</i> in the town,”
+he cried, clutching at the beautiful ring of
+bread, already being broken in two by the
+peddler’s dirty fingers.</p>
+
+<p>“<i>Soldi!</i>” echoed the man; “and where
+are your precious <i>soldi</i>?”</p>
+
+<p>“At the shop where I bought the bread,
+of course,” was the shrewd reply, and not
+a coin remaining in Natale’s pocket jostled
+against its neighbor now. They kept as
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</span>quiet as if they knew that long, eager fingers
+were ready to pounce upon them.</p>
+
+<p>Then a change came over the peddler’s
+manner, and he showed his unpleasant-looking
+teeth in a broad smile. Perhaps
+he was planning a look into those little
+pockets by and by, who knows?</p>
+
+<p>“What a clever boy you are!” he cried.
+“Well, as you are also such a hungry little
+beast, take back your bread, and for a
+relish I shall give you a smell of my own
+supper. See!”</p>
+
+<p>So speaking, he drew a roll of sausage
+from a pocket of his long coat. The sausage
+was wrapped in a soiled handkerchief, and
+there was a hunk of black bread with it.
+A knife with a curious curved handle and
+long, shining blade was next produced, and
+the peddler went to work, alternately whacking
+off bits of the highly seasoned meat
+and the hard bread, and devouring them
+with crunching teeth and smacking lips.</p>
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</span></p>
+<p>Natale gnawed industriously at his own
+bread without even thinking of offering to
+barter a portion of it for a taste of the savory
+sausage. There was a kind of fascination
+in watching the ugly fellow eat, and the
+wondering brown eyes were fixed upon the
+peddler’s surly face.</p>
+
+<p>It was now the close of a warm afternoon.
+A light haze wrapped the more distant
+mountains in misty blue, a chirring of
+insects stirred the silence about the travelers,
+and now and then a carriage or cart whisked
+downward, or toiled upward, along the road,
+accompanied by the jingle of harness bells
+and the whooping cries of the drivers. A
+fog of white dust rose behind every passing
+vehicle, and the chestnut leaves overhead,
+long unwashed by rain, hung grimy and
+listless in the heavy air.</p>
+
+<p>As the peddler supped, large drops of
+sweat gathered on his long, red nose and
+dripped down his black beard, while his
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</span>face grew flushed and more scowling than
+ever. Presently, with an angry movement
+which startled Natale half out of his wits,
+he dropped the sausage and knife to the
+ground and tore off his coat.</p>
+
+<p>“Poor men have no choice!” he muttered.
+“Bare shoulders in winter, the cast-off
+winter coat of an Englishman in summer!”</p>
+
+<p>The soiled and tattered old coat was
+tossed aside, falling uncomfortably close to
+Natale’s feet, but he did not dare to push it
+away with disdainful touch. The peddler’s
+meal now came to an end, the remains of the
+sausage were gathered up with the cruel-looking
+knife and laid aside with the handkerchief,
+after which the peddler, with a
+satisfied grunt, sprawled himself on his
+side&mdash;to sleep, as Natale devoutly hoped.</p>
+
+<p>But not quite yet was the man ready for
+sleep. Reaching for his pack, with a lazy
+movement from where he lay, he unstrapped
+it and drew from among the coarse
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</span>laces and horn buttons inside a flat bottle,
+which he uncorked and turned up to his
+lips. As the liquor gurgled down his throat
+and its strong odor tainted the air, Natale
+let his eyes fall to the uncomely garment
+lying within touch of his fingers.</p>
+
+<p>Then the boy’s heart leaped into his
+throat, and it seemed as if he would suffocate
+where he sat. He dared not move, and
+bravely he looked away from the thing
+which lay within such easy reach of his longing
+hands, half-in, half-out of the fellow’s
+old coat pocket.</p>
+
+<p>If only the peddling thief would go off
+into a drunken sleep!</p>
+
+<p>For there, close by, lay Giovanni’s old
+pocketbook of stamped Spanish leather,
+stained and battered, as Natale had always
+known it!</p>
+
+<p>Who could tell whether any money still
+remained in it? There was nothing to do
+but wait till the man should go to sleep, and
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</span>then, stealthily drawing the pocketbook
+away from the overcoat, speed down the
+road to a safe distance and find out all
+about it.</p>
+
+<p>He had not long to wait before the peddler
+returned the bottle to the pack, and then,
+disposing himself on the ground, sank into
+an open-mouthed slumber.</p>
+
+<p>Only when quite sure that the sleep was
+real did Natale steal away on noiseless feet,
+prize in hand, across the shallow ditch bordering
+the road, and onward to the shelter
+of a ruined shed quite out of sight of their
+resting-place. Putting the shed between
+him and the road, Natale unstrapped the
+pocketbook with trembling eagerness.</p>
+
+<p>There lay the notes into which Giovanni
+had from time to time changed the cumbersome
+copper soldi of their earnings! There
+were the dingy blue five-franc notes, with
+many one and two-franc notes of a most
+uncompromising dirt color!</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</span></p>
+
+<p>The boy dared not take time to count
+them all. The fierce ogre asleep under the
+tree might rouse at any moment and find the
+pocketbook gone. Away, away, he must
+fly, on and on toward the Bagni di Lucca,
+even though evening was at hand, and a
+gray blanket of cloud threatened to hide
+the coming stars. So the little feet twinkled
+away through the dust, Natale’s heart now
+heavy with the dread of what was behind,
+now light with the joy of what might be
+ahead. As the warm dusk fell, it seemed
+safe to walk again, although every sound
+from behind made Natale’s heart seem to
+leap into his throat. Indeed, it seemed
+pretty much to stay in his throat, until, by
+and by, he came upon some one who was
+to give him most welcome news.</p>
+
+<p>He had traveled half a mile farther, and
+still it was not yet dark when he sighted a
+cluster of houses ahead and heard cheerful
+human voices. Coming up to the first
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</span>house, he found a pretty, plump young
+mother on her doorstep, cuddling a nursling
+on her breast. From across the road and
+about the house came busy sounds of sheep
+and cows being housed for the night in their
+thatched pens, and nobody seemed at
+leisure except the laughing woman with the
+crowing baby in her arms.</p>
+
+<p>On plying the woman with his usual
+question, Natale learned that the end of
+his pilgrimage was indeed “just down the
+road a little distance”, although, on such
+short legs as his, the woman added thoughtfully,
+it might take two hours more of brisk
+walking to reach even the big circus tent,
+standing on the outskirts of the Bagni all
+the past week.</p>
+
+<p>Ah! and was the circus still there?</p>
+
+<p>Of that the woman could not speak
+certainly, as some passer-by had mentioned
+only the day before that but one or two
+more performances were to be given before
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</span>the <i>circo</i> moved on to Lucca. She herself
+had wished to go to see the wonderful
+Antonio Bisbini, also the little Olga who
+had no more fear of a great horse’s hoofs
+than she herself of her baby’s brown toes.
+But how was a woman to leave her house
+and the tired men folks, to tramp down
+the hill and up again at night, with a
+heavy baby in her arms? Was the little
+boy hoping to reach the tent in time for the
+night’s exhibition?</p>
+
+<p>Natale’s heart had thrilled at the mention
+of Antonio’s magic name, and his spine
+straightened and his head was lifted with
+the pride of conscious relationship with the
+hero of the circus. He gave but a thought
+now to Olga’s usurpation of his place in the
+ring. For was he not returning to his own
+again, with the stolen pocketbook in the
+breast of his blouse? What a welcome
+there would be for him now!</p>
+
+<p>“Well, good night, <i>bimbo</i>, if you will go,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</span>and may you enjoy seeing the riding in the
+tent!” the woman called to him, looking
+wistfully after the little figure plodding
+away, after a polite return of her farewell.</p>
+
+<p>Natale’s heart was carefree now, as he
+limped lamely onward to the tune of the
+“Dead March,” humming the air as he
+went.</p>
+
+<p>The road had been growing more level
+for some hours as it entered the valley, and
+the river flowed more still and deep. The
+hush of night gathered under the trees, and
+the birds and insects went to rest or noiselessly
+crept from their haunts about vine
+and root, intent upon the business of the
+hour.</p>
+
+<p>As signs of the famous Baths of Lucca
+began to appear at certain curves in the
+road, Natale became possessed of but
+one idea. Down the river he began to see
+the lights of the town, and he even thought
+he heard the notes of band music, which,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</span>in truth, were wafted to his ears from the
+terrace of the Casino. His head was full
+of plans of stealing into the tent, and for at
+least this last night at Bagni di Lucca, playing
+his own part in the dying-horse act.
+He would not take precious moments now
+for practicing a somersault or wheel, as he
+went along, but it was easy to rehearse the
+dialogue over the dying brute&mdash;if only his
+tired, tired legs could keep the road, and his
+aching eyes find the old yellow tent set up
+somewhere among the trees.</p>
+
+<p>Presently, the gleaming eyes of bicycles
+began to whiz by, and a squarely built,
+many-windowed villa or two rose flush with
+the road. A little farther now, and the tent
+would surely appear, with perhaps Cara in
+her red dress at the doorway, and the band
+playing outside in the light of the big lamp!</p>
+
+<p>Laughing stragglers now sauntered here
+and there, none noticing the child making
+his dizzy way among them toward a flare
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</span>of light on one side where the trees fell
+apart. One would have hardly believed it
+possible that there was room for even the
+tent of the Circo Equestre of Antonio
+Bisbini and Giovanni Marzuchetti in the
+space between the long storehouse of corn
+and the terraced hillside behind. Yet, not
+only was the tent there, spread to its full
+circle and height, but the brown wagon also
+was visible, drawn within its shadow, and
+now the staring brown eyes of the little
+wanderer had found them both.</p>
+
+<p>Yes, there was the dear old tent, with its
+white patches upon the dull yellow, showing
+against the vine-clad hillsides of the Bagni.
+Also, there was the smoky lamp fastened to
+a post, where two ways met and parted.
+There was the usual crowd gathered outside
+about the entrance where Cara in her
+red dress and gauzy veil watched over the
+money bowl, in wait for some possible late-arriving
+spectator. The big reflecting lantern<span class="pagenum" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</span>
+on the table showed the wistful features
+of the outsiders as they crowded about the
+tent.</p>
+
+<p>As Natale crept around the tent, he saw
+the bare, brown legs of some trespassing
+youngster following squirming head and
+shoulders inside, under the curtain by way
+of the ground. In former times, the little
+acrobat would have been the first to raise
+an alarm and assist with alacrity in the
+ignominious expulsion of the intruder who
+wanted to see the show, and yet keep his
+<i>soldi</i> in his pocket, if such were there. But
+the sight of the enterprising offender made
+little impression on Natale’s mind now, as
+he stepped past the struggling legs, for, the
+hour being much later than he thought, the
+band inside just then struck up the familiar
+schottisch, and Natale knew that Il Duca
+was even now treading the ring in a dignified
+dance, led by Giovanni himself. His heart
+gave a suffocating throb, and his cheeks
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</span>burned. Then he shivered with cold, and
+his weary legs faltered before the daring
+deed about to be perpetrated.</p>
+
+<p>There was plenty of time, even yet, and
+he would do it even if Giovanni should strike
+him to the ground with his cracking whip,
+which had never yet, however, been raised
+against him with more than threatening
+intent.</p>
+
+<p>He stopped to listen a moment longer
+to the music before entering. Yes, there it
+was, the schottisch, accompanied by the
+beat of the clever hoofs. Then, as he
+knew the moment was at hand for Il Duca
+to drop dying in the ring, Natale crept
+swiftly in among the players gathered as
+usual in the small tent behind. Olga was
+there and Arduina, in their fanciful costumes,
+and Elvira, his mother, waiting for
+their “cues.”</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</span></p>
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XII">CHAPTER XII<br />
+<span class="smaller">AT LAST</span></h2></div>
+
+<p class="no-indent"><span class="smcap"><span class="dropcap">T</span>he</span> small, pale apparition of Natale,
+suddenly projected into their midst,
+so startled them all that even Olga
+forgot to listen for the thud of Il Duca’s
+heavy body on the ground and the sound of
+his groans. They stared open-mouthed for
+an instant, and then the apparition vanished
+as suddenly as it had appeared.</p>
+
+<p>But the strains of the “Dead March”
+now recalled little Olga to herself, and she
+darted from behind the curtain and out into
+the light of the oil lamp, only to hear a
+familiar boyish voice instead of her own
+answering shrilly Giovanni’s question,
+“What are you crying about, child?”</p>
+
+<p>“Because our horse is dead!”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</span></p>
+
+<p>“But are you sure he is quite dead?”
+And Giovanni’s voice faltered with sudden
+fear, as he gazed at Natale’s small, dusty
+figure kneeling at the horse’s head, with
+Oh! such a world of pleading in his dark
+eyes and folded hands.</p>
+
+<p>“Quite dead!” wailed Natale.</p>
+
+<p>“Get up and feel his pulse, boy. If
+there is any pulse he is <i>not</i> dead!” Giovanni
+spoke fiercely, but there was no frown upon
+his face.</p>
+
+<p>And so the farce went on as usual, to the
+end, while Olga, with pouting lips, slipped
+behind the curtain again and joined the
+others who were, every one, peeping in to
+see little Natale do his beloved dying-horse
+act.</p>
+
+<p>The little girl had come to enjoy her bit
+of acting with Giovanni and Il Duca, for
+kneeling with folded hands and sobbing
+breath was a pretty attitude, always loudly
+applauded, and she no longer feared that
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</span>Il Duca would lift his faithful hoof against
+her. But now, here was Natale back again,
+and his shrill little voice going over the silly
+replies to the clown in his own, old way.
+Well, it would be rather nice, after all, to
+have Natale again, and she would not fuss
+about it as there were so few things he could
+really do, while she was learning new feats
+already, and would soon be riding Tesoro
+bareback around the ring.</p>
+
+<p>A perfect storm of applause succeeded the
+end of the dialogue, when Il Duca scrambled
+to his feet, and the tent was filled with cries
+for a repetition of the scene. But Giovanni
+turned swiftly and lifted Natale to
+the horse’s back, only in time to prevent the
+child’s falling to the ground, as if stunned
+by the noise of the shouting. Out of the
+ring and through the smaller tent to the
+open air beyond Il Duca pranced proudly,
+with Giovanni at his bridle, holding Natale
+in his place with his free hand.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</span></p>
+
+<p>Outside, they laid the child down on the
+warm ground in the dim light, and Arduina
+brought a cupful of water and bathed his
+face, while Olga stood by, and Antonio and
+Elvira went back to help Giovanni with his
+table-leaping inside.</p>
+
+<p>“He is not dead, is he, Arduina?” Olga
+asked in a frightened voice. “Feel his pulse
+as we do Il Duca’s!”</p>
+
+<p>“Hurry and call Nonna!” the older girl
+urged nervously. “We shall have to go in,
+the very next thing after this, and Nonna
+will know what to do.”</p>
+
+<p>So when Natale next opened his eyes, the
+light of a sputtering candle showed him the
+gray head of dear Nonna bent over him.
+He lay on a small mattress in a corner, and
+the smoke-stained ceiling of the house-wagon
+shut out the sky.</p>
+
+<p>“<i>Ecco!</i> he opens his eyes, my <i>bimbo</i>! my
+Natalino! <i>Carino</i>,<a id="FNanchor_10" href="#Footnote_10" class="fnanchor">[10]</a> what does it all mean?
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</span>Tell Nonna how you have come back to the
+<i>circo</i>!”</p>
+<p>But at first Natale only lifted one hand
+to stroke the dear, wrinkled face of Nonna,
+in smiling content. After a little, he laid
+his hand on the breast of his blouse and
+begged to be allowed to go to Giovanni.</p>
+
+<p>“He will not scold me for coming back
+when he sees what I have brought with
+me,” he urged.</p>
+
+<p>But Nonna reminded him that the tent
+was still crowded with spectators,&mdash;did
+he not hear the music close by, and the
+laughter of the people, as the clown and
+Antonio and Arduina did the funny pantomime?</p>
+
+<p>Natale lay back listening, with a happy
+smile on his lips, while Nonna went to blow
+up the coals of a small fire on the ground
+outside, and to hurry the broth that Natale
+might have nourishment. She could not
+prevail upon the boy to confide to her
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</span>what he was so anxious to tell his stepfather,
+and she left him alone, too glad to
+have him returned to them, to grumble over
+his reticence.</p>
+
+<p>Of all the children, Natale most sweetly
+recalled her own son’s childhood, and
+Antonio’s boyish affection for her, his
+cheeriness and obedience, had seemed to
+live again in Natale, although he was
+Elvira’s son, and no grandson, at all, of her
+own.</p>
+
+<p>The little ones, Tito, Maria, Gigi and the
+rest, were asleep in their corners, and Nonna
+had been sitting at rest in the wagon door
+when Olga had rushed up with the news that
+Natale had arrived and lay dying, perhaps,
+on the ground outside the tent. It was
+Nonna’s strong arms that had borne him
+away to the house-wagon, and Nonna’s
+vigorous rubbings and applications of cold
+water that had brought him out of the
+half-swoon of exhaustion. So Nonna was
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</span>content with her work, and would not press
+Natalino’s secret from him.</p>
+
+<p>By the time the performance was over,
+and the merry-makers had streamed out
+whistling, chatting and laughing together,
+and had gone their ways homeward, Natale,
+fed and rested, was sitting up bright-eyed
+and eager to announce his news.</p>
+
+<p>It was stuffy and hot in the wagon, and
+Giovanni went to fetch the boy outside, the
+moment the tent had emptied and the
+players were at leisure. Olga had not even
+taken time to change the yellow satin
+blouse and pink tights for her usual faded
+cotton frock. As for Antonio, he had only
+slipped his feet into a pair of loose slippers,
+so the great acrobat stood before Natale in
+all the glory of his spangled black velvet
+and shapely, pink-clad limbs.</p>
+
+<p>As the night was dark, one of the lamps
+was brought from the tent, and a wild,
+gypsy-like scene its rays revealed under the
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</span>trees about the steps of the house-wagon.
+Elvira, in an access of motherly tenderness,
+gathered Natale to her red satin
+bosom, and called him by all the musical
+pet names belonging to the boys and girls
+of Italy, while the musicians peeped over
+the shoulders of the actors and wondered
+how little Natale had ever found his way on
+foot all the way from Cutigliano to the
+Bagni.</p>
+
+<p>“The tramping will have limbered up his
+legs!” one whispered to another.</p>
+
+<p>“Stiffened them, rather!” was the reply,
+and then everybody stopped talking and
+only gazed the harder as Natale put his
+hand within the breast of his blouse and
+drew out the old leather pocketbook.</p>
+
+<p>“There, Giovanni!” he said simply,
+reaching the book toward his stepfather.
+“The ugly, black peddler with the red cap
+like our Leo’s stole the money, and while he
+slept on his back, by the road, I stole it from
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</span>him, and then&mdash;Oh, how fast I ran and
+ran that he might not catch me and kill me
+with his long, sharp knife!”</p>
+
+<p>Giovanni, speechless with astonishment
+and joy, solemnly received and kissed and
+opened the pocketbook, and then spread
+out the notes, one by one, on his knee, while
+the rest crowded around, counting them
+aloud.</p>
+
+<p>What if all should not be there? Natale’s
+eyes shone feverishly as he leaned forward
+from his mother’s knee, his gaze alternately
+upon the clown’s face, and the long, lithe
+fingers handling the money.</p>
+
+<p>Five, ten, fifteen, twenty, twenty-five,
+thirty, thirty-five, forty, forty-five, fifty,
+fifty-five, sixty, sixty-five, seventy, seventy-five,
+eighty, eighty-two, eighty-four, eighty-six,
+eighty-eight, ninety, ninety-one, ninety-two,
+ninety-three, ninety-four, ninety-five,
+ninety-six, ninety-seven, ninety-eight,
+ninety-nine, <i>one hundred</i>!</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</span></p>
+
+<p>Natale’s head dropped back against the
+red satin shoulder of his mother, and his
+large eyes gazed wistfully into Giovanni’s
+face.</p>
+
+<p>Would they let him stay now that he had
+come all the weary way “after the wagon”,
+bringing them the lost money? Their welcome
+had been encouraging; would they let
+him remain, or must he be sent back to
+Cutigliano, to the priest, to Sora Grazia,
+to school, to imprisonment in a house without
+wheels, and without Nonna?</p>
+
+<p>It was Antonio Bisbini who brought up
+the question finally and in a manner settled
+it with his slow-spoken words. Everybody
+had wondered and rejoiced over the safe
+return of the pocketbook, with the money
+untouched, and Natale had had to tell all
+about the peddler, and the risks he had run
+of rousing the fellow from sleep in making
+his escape with the pocketbook.</p>
+
+<p>“He was the man who teased me to buy
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</span>the beautiful diamond brooch on the day of
+San Lorenzo!” cried pretty Arduina, who
+well remembered the peddler’s flattering
+attentions to her in his hope of finding a
+purchaser for his paltry glass jewelry.</p>
+
+<p>“And the same who so frightened our
+Tito outside the church,” Nonna chimed
+in indignantly. “And he all the time pretended
+to be so pious and anxious to see the
+saints’ relics in the church! No wonder
+Tito cried at the snapping of those dirty,
+thievish fingers in his little face. The
+saints only know how he found the money
+in Giovanni’s coat-pocket hung in the
+tent!”</p>
+
+<p>“Mamá <i>mia</i>, do you remember how stiff
+my legs were when I played at leaping with
+the boys at school in Florence?” Antonio,
+the finished acrobat, asked thoughtfully,
+breaking a long straw with his fingers and
+looking at nobody. His blond head reached
+almost to the lowest boughs of the chestnut
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</span>tree under which he stood, and the lamplight
+flared over his fair face and glittering
+costume.</p>
+
+<p>Natale sat up to hear the words of this
+oracle, and even slipped off the satin lap of
+Elvira to the ground, in order to be nearer
+Antonio.</p>
+
+<p>“I remember that you were a studious
+boy,” Nonna murmured in reply, with a
+note of the old bitterness in her voice.</p>
+
+<p>“Natale has done a good work in returning
+the money to us, Giovanni,” the acrobat
+continued. “Why send him back to the
+foreigners? He was unhappy, or he would
+never have come all this distance alone&mdash;mere
+baby that he is.”</p>
+
+<p>“And the Englishwoman’s money?”
+Giovanni asked in a businesslike tone.</p>
+
+<p>“What has been used, replace from the
+pocketbook. It is not much, as we have
+taken in so good a sum, here at the Bagni.
+Leo can ride back with it to Cutigliano
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</span>to-morrow morning, and return in time for
+our last night here.”</p>
+
+<p>“<i>Ebbene!</i>” said Giovanni, and this meaning
+“All right, with a very good will,” so it
+was decided, and then everybody hurried
+to get into comfortable old clothes and to
+eat supper.</p>
+
+<p>Leo was sent to the nearest wine shop for
+a bottle of good red wine that the troop
+might drink to the joy of Natale’s return
+and the recovery of the money; also to the
+just discomfiture of all thieving peddlers.</p>
+
+<p>Long before the evening came to an end,
+a tired but most happy little boy had crept
+into the shadow and fallen asleep, with his
+head pillowed against Nonna’s knee.</p>
+
+<p>“I am glad thou art come back to us,
+Natalino,” she whispered in the softest
+Italian above the tangled brown curls,
+while the rest sang and made merry, “and
+if thy little legs will only grow as straight
+and as strong as my Antonio’s, and thy
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</span>heart remain as faithful to old Nonna, the
+saints forgive me if I care very much whether
+thou be acrobat or priest!”</p>
+
+<hr class="tb" />
+
+<p>For some reason known best to himself,
+but readily guessed by the clown and the
+rest of the older members of the circus, the
+swarthy peddler was not seen in Bagni di
+Lucca for many a day after. But Natale
+did not lose his dread of encountering the
+fierce eyes and the cruel knife until long
+after the circus troop had taken to the road
+again.</p>
+
+<p>Nothing in the world could have induced
+Mrs. Bishop, the English lady at Cutigliano,
+to touch the money returned with, what
+was to her, most astonishing promptness
+and honesty through Leo, one of the musicians.</p>
+
+<p>In the first place, the notes were very dirty,
+much more so, she was sure, than when she
+had paid them to the clown a little more
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</span>than a week before. Secondly, she would
+not reclaim money which had been once
+devoted to the cause of civilization and
+of education. If the “little ingrate” despised
+his opportunities and had finally
+returned to his “wallowing in the mire”,
+let the money which would have bought
+him for decency and for usefulness go with
+him. Thirdly&mdash;but this was not acknowledged
+even to Betty&mdash;the old lady’s heart
+had been touched by the tale Luigi the
+priest had come to tell her on the morning
+after the flight of the birdling. So her
+heart was not quite so hard as her words
+sounded, and she was in truth rather rejoiced,
+as well as very much relieved in
+mind, when Leo had arrived to tell of runaway
+Natale’s return to the troop in
+safety. Therefore, generously, Mrs. Bishop
+would not receive the money because it
+seemed to her no longer her own; surely
+Giovanni and Elvira and Nonna had kept
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</span>their part of the bargain in giving up the
+child, while Natale had not even been
+consulted in their plan.</p>
+
+<p>The roll of notes was therefore returned
+by Leo to Giovanni, with the foreign lady’s
+instructions that the money was to be spent
+in providing meat for broth for the children
+so long as it should last. There would still
+be plenty of cold water always, free as air,
+for daily baths along the roads of Italy, and
+Mrs. Bishop hoped that Sora Grazia’s
+ministrations in that line would not soon
+be forgotten by Natale, who for one short
+week had been a scrubbed little lad. (It is
+safe to say that they were not!)</p>
+
+<p>Along with the money, Mrs. Bishop sent
+a school primer to Natale, with the admonition
+that he would at least try to learn
+to read while jogging up and down the
+earth and upsetting his stomach in all
+heathenish sports.</p>
+
+<p>But Madame Cioche and Betty rejoiced
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</span>in open triumph over Natale’s freedom, to
+say nothing of the priest Luigi and the
+wise old gentleman who had in fact unwittingly
+opened the cage door for flight.</p>
+
+<p>Sora Grazia was a trifle glum for a day or
+two at finding her pains thrown away upon
+the sulky little protégé of the foreign lady,
+but as the month’s pay for his board and
+lodging had been in advance, and the
+nearly new clothes and shoes and cap were
+now thrown into the bargain by Mrs.
+Bishop, to repay her for her extra trouble,
+she too soon became content and even
+pleased with the ending of the rich lady’s
+scheme.</p>
+
+<p>So the bare front wall of the priest’s
+house in Cutigliano among the mountains
+has, as yet, no prospect of being adorned
+by a memorial tablet to a waif of all outdoors
+who was willing to be a great man in
+books and goodness.</p>
+
+<p>And Natale?</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</span></p>
+
+<p>Well, Natale is learning, better and better,
+how to turn his <i>capitomboli</i> over the dusty
+circus carpet, and he still feels Il Duca’s
+pulse with sorrowful apprehension to the
+tune of the “Dead March in Saul”&mdash;by
+night among the oil lamps.</p>
+
+<p>By day, he trudges along hot white roads,
+under the marvelous blue of Italy’s sky,
+with Niero and Bianco for company. Or,
+he lies on the ground at Nonna’s side under
+some spreading tree in the camping-out
+times, sometimes spelling out words in a
+dog-eared primer, oftener gazing past the
+tree tops at the cloud-ships sailing overhead,
+while Nonna tells of Antonio’s wonderful
+childhood.</p>
+
+<p>By and by, when Natale grows too large
+to do the dying-horse act, and little Tito,
+or Gigi takes his place, he will be dashing
+with the horses around the ring. And then,
+in the still further and sweeter by and by,
+when Antonio’s agile legs will perhaps have
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</span>begun to stiffen again, and the straight back
+to bend forward a little as he walks, who
+but Natale will be the shining star of the
+Circo Equestre, like another bespangled,
+pink-clad Antonio, with crisp brown curls
+and laughing eyes, and the nimblest,
+straightest legs in all Italy?</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
+
+<div class="adblock"><div class="chapter">
+<p class="center no-indent"><span class="smaller"><i>The story of a little patriotic Cuban girl</i></span></p></div>
+
+<div class="box"><p class="ph2">LITTLE CUBA LIBRE</p></div>
+
+<p class="center no-indent"><i>By</i> JANIE PRICHARD DUGGAN</p>
+
+<p class="center no-indent">Illustrated. 282 pages. 12mo. $1.35 <i>net.</i></p>
+
+<p>In all the big city of Havana there was no more patriotic
+little girl than Amada Trueno, daughter of one of the city
+gardeners. With all her heart she hated the Spaniards who
+ruled her beloved island of Cuba. “Little Cuba Libre” they
+called her when she stamped her foot and called the Spaniards
+enemies and tyrants. When she went to her cousin’s house
+in the country, although she played on friendly terms with
+the children of a Spanish planter, still her hatred of the oppressors
+slumbered. How the Cubans finally revolted, and
+how little Amada herself took part in that revolution, even
+to the extent of bearing arms, is told in this charming story.
+“Little Cuba Libre” contains faithful pictures of Cuban life
+and Cuban people, and while written especially for young
+readers, its fine qualities should also appeal to older ones.
+Besides being an interesting story of Cuban girlhood it is a
+depiction of the very spirit of patriotism.</p>
+
+<hr class="tiny" />
+
+<p class="center no-indent">LITTLE, BROWN &amp; CO., <span class="smcap">Publishers</span></p>
+
+<p class="center no-indent"><span class="smcap">34 Beacon Street, Boston</span></p></div>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
+
+<div class="adblock"><div class="chapter">
+<p class="center no-indent"><span class="smaller"><i>Real stories of three famous elephants</i></span></p></div>
+
+<div class="box2"><p class="ph2">THE ADVENTURES OF<br />
+MOLLIE, WADDY and TONY</p></div>
+
+<p class="center no-indent"><i>By</i> PAUL WAITT</p>
+
+<p class="center no-indent">Illustrated in color by Clara E. Atwood.</p>
+
+<p class="center no-indent">75 cents net.</p>
+
+<hr class="tiny" />
+
+<p>Mollie, Waddy and Tony are three of the most wonderful
+elephants in the world. Born in India, they have traveled
+all over Europe and our own America, showing their clever
+tricks to thousands of boys and girls. They were bought by
+the children of Boston and are now kept in the Franklin
+Park Zoo, where they will remain the rest of their lives.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Waitt writes of their adventures when they were
+traveling, and tells of some tricks they played which their
+keeper never taught them. Little Tony is the roguish one,
+and he is always getting into mischief. That clever little
+trunk of his pokes into all sorts of places where it doesn’t belong,
+and sometimes it takes Mollie, Waddy and Johann, the
+keeper, to make him behave as a proper little elephant should.</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+
+<p>“This is the most bewitching elephant story we ever read.
+It is the story of their travels through many countries. It is
+as good a story for boys and girls as any boys and girls will
+ever want to read.”&mdash;<i>Journal of Education</i>, Boston.</p>
+
+<p>“The story of ‘The Adventure of Mollie, Waddy, and
+Tony’ is one of the nicest that little people who like animals
+can read.”&mdash;<i>New York Times.</i></p></div>
+
+<hr class="tiny" />
+
+<p class="center no-indent">LITTLE, BROWN &amp; CO., <span class="smcap">Publishers</span></p>
+
+<p class="center no-indent"><span class="smcap">34 Beacon Street, Boston</span></p></div>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
+
+<div class="footblock"><div class="chapter">
+<p class="ph2 nobreak"><span class="smcap">Footnotes:</span></p>
+</div>
+
+<p><a id="Footnote_1" href="#FNanchor_1" class="footnote label">[1]</a> Pronounced Nah-tah´le.</p>
+
+<p><a id="Footnote_2" href="#FNanchor_2" class="footnote label">[2]</a> Mush of corn meal.</p>
+
+<p><a id="Footnote_3" href="#FNanchor_3" class="footnote label">[3]</a> “The little boy! The little boy!”</p>
+
+<p><a id="Footnote_4" href="#FNanchor_4" class="footnote label">[4]</a> Foreigners.</p>
+
+<p><a id="Footnote_5" href="#FNanchor_5" class="footnote label">[5]</a> Young prince.</p>
+
+<p><a id="Footnote_6" href="#FNanchor_6" class="footnote label">[6]</a> Somersaults.</p>
+
+<p><a id="Footnote_7" href="#FNanchor_7" class="footnote label">[7]</a> Little boy.</p>
+
+<p><a id="Footnote_8" href="#FNanchor_8" class="footnote label">[8]</a> Good morning.</p>
+
+<p><a id="Footnote_9" href="#FNanchor_9" class="footnote label">[9]</a> Inn.</p>
+
+<p><a id="Footnote_10" href="#FNanchor_10" class="footnote label">[10]</a> Darling.</p></div>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
+
+<div class="transnote"><div class="chapter">
+<p class="ph2 nobreak"><span class="smcap">Transcriber’s Notes:</span></p></div>
+
+<p>On page 4, Tesore has been changed to Tesoro.</p>
+
+<p>On page 71, up-stairs has been changed to upstairs.</p>
+
+<p>Illustrations have been moved to avoid interrupting the flow of
+paragraphs.</p>
+
+<p>All other spelling, hyphenation, and non-English dialogue have been
+retained.</p></div>
+
+<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LITTLE ACROBAT: A STORY OF ITALY ***</div>
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