When he went back to his house that evening, with his great net on his shoulder and swinging in one hand some fresh-water fish, he looked at the stone bench, which was empty of all except some fallen rose-leaves, and then anxiously, questioningly, in the face of his mother.

So he answered the regard.

“The girl is gone to Gianna’s custody,” she said rather harshly.  “Gianna will give her her supper, and will let her sleep in the loft.  With the morning we will see what we can do for her, and how she can be sped upon her way.”

Adone kissed her hands.

“You are always good,” he said simply.

“I am weak,” answered his mother, “I am weak, Adone; when you wish anything I consent to it against my judgment.”

But she was not weak; or at least only weak in the way in which all generous natures are so.

On the morrow Nerina was not sped on her way.  The old woman, Gianna, thought well of her.

“She is as clean as a stone in the water,” she said; “she has foul-smelling rags, but her flesh is clean.  She woke at dawn, and asked for something to do.  She knows nought, but she is willing and teachable.  We can make her of use.  She has nowhere to go.  She is a stray little puppy.  Her people were miserable, but they seem to have been pious folks.  She has a cross pricked on her shoulder.  She says her mother did it when she was a babe to scare the devil off her.  I do not know what to say; she is a poor, forlorn little wretch; if you like to keep her, I for my part will see to her.  I am old:  it is well to do a good work before one dies.”

Gianna was an old woman, half house-servant, half farm-servant, wholly friend; she had lived at the Terra Vergine all her life; big, gaunt, and very strong, she could do the work of a man, although she was over seventy years of age; burnt black by the sun, and with a pile of grey hair like the hank of flax on her distaff, she was feared by the whole district for her penetrating glance and her untiring energy.  When Gianna was satisfied the stars had changed their courses, said the people, so rare was the event; therefore, that this little wanderer contented her was at once a miracle and a voucher indisputable.

So the child remained there; but her presence troubled Adone’s mother, though Nerina was humble as a homeless dog, was noiseless and seldom seen, was obedient, agile, and became useful in many manners, and learned with equal eagerness the farm work taught her by Gianna, and the doctrine taught her by Don Silverio, for she was intelligent and willing in every way.  Only Clelia Alba thought, “Perhaps Gianna’s good heart misleads her.  Gianna is rough; but she has a heart as tender at bottom as a ripe melon’s flesh.”