“What about Senor Lathrop?” a laughing voice demanded.  “Oh, drat this language, I keep forgetting.”  He stopped and then said very slowly in Italian:  “Good morning, how are you this morning?”

“Oh, I am very well, and you,” Lucia replied, “you have been very good to take such care of Garibaldi.”

“Garibaldi?  I don’t understand,” Lathrop replied.

Lucia pointed to the goat and said slowly.  “That is her name.”

“Name!  The goat’s name Garibaldi!” Lathrop exclaimed, and added in English, “Well I’ll be darned!”

“Not just Garibaldi,” Lucia corrected him.  “Her name is ’The Illustrious and Gentile Senora Guiseppe Garibaldi,’ but we call her Garibaldi for short.”

Lathrop understood enough of her reply to catch the name.  He threw back his head and laughed uproariously.

“All that for a goat!  No wonder she was a good sport with a name like that to live up to!”

He stood for a long time looking at the poor, shaggy animal before him, then he laughed again and went into the convent.

“He is a funny man,” Lucia said wonderingly.  “Why should he laugh because of Garibaldi’s name?”

“Oh, he meant no disrespect,” Maria reasoned.  “Americans all laugh at everything.  The nurses are the same, they are always laughing.  If anything goes wrong and I want to stamp my foot, they laugh.”

Lucia was somewhat mollified.  “What is the news?” she demanded, “I have been up there in my little room for so long, no one would tell me anything.  Sister Francesca would smile and say, ’Everything is for the best, dear child,’ when I asked for news of the front, and I was ashamed to ask again, but you tell me.”

“Oh, there is nothing but good news,” Maria replied.  “We are gaining everywhere.  The night after the battle, some of our soldiers built a bridge over the river and crossed, and when the Austrians rallied for a counter-charge they were ready for them and took them by surprise.”

Maria paused, and her eyes filled with tears.  “And only think, Lucia, if you had not destroyed the bridge and warned the Captain of the beggar man, we might have been taken by surprise, and Cellino would be an Austrian village.  Oh, I tell you the ward rings with your praise.  The men talk of nothing else.”

“Nonsense, I did not do it alone.  How about your Roderigo?  He is the one who deserves the praise.  But tell me, how is my soldier of the pennies?  I am never sure that the Doctor tells me truly how he is.”

“Why do you call him ’your soldier of the pennies’?” Maria asked.  “His name is Captain Riccardi, and he is very brave.  Every one knows about him, and some of the boys say he is the bravest man in the Italian army.”

“Perhaps he is,” Lucia laughed, “but he is my soldier of the pennies, just the same, that’s the name I love him by.”

“But I don’t understand,” Maria protested, “did you know him before?”