People often spoke of her quiet loveliness until they saw her younger cousin.  Then their attention was apt to be diverted, for Maria’s delicate charms seemed pale beside Lucia’s southern beauty, and in the same manner her courage grew less.  Although she was three years older, Maria never questioned Lucia’s authority to lead.

When Lucia’s father had died, the kindly heart of Maria’s mother had prompted her to offer her home to his children, but Lucia had declined the offer.  She said she would undertake the support of old Nana and Beppi and herself.  There was considerable disapproval over her decision, but as was generally the case, Lucia had her own way.  Her method of wage-earning was a simple one.  Her father had owned a herd of goats and a garden, and the two had provided ample support for the needs of the family.  At his death Lucia, with characteristic selection, had given up the garden and kept the goats.

Every morning she milked them and carried the bright pails to town, where her aunt sold them at her little stall along with cheese and sausage.  The profits wore not great, but they wore enough.

“Is that the milk I brought in this morning?” Lucia asked incredulously as she approached the stall.

“No, no, my dear,” her aunt replied, shaking her head.  “You brought scarcely two full pails, and they were gone before you had reached the gate.  We have had a great day, so many soldiers, it is a shame that you cannot bring in more, for we could sell it.  Just see, we had to send to old Paolo’s for this, and it is not as rich as yours of course, for his poor beasts have only the weeds between the cobblestones to eat.”

“That is because he is a lazy old man and won’t take the trouble to lead his herd out on the slopes to graze,” Lucia replied.  She put her hands on her hips and swayed back and forth as she talked.  It was a little trait she had inherited from her mother, and one of her most characteristic poses.

“How well you look to-day!” Maria said, smiling.  “I have been wishing you would come, we are so busy—­see, here come a group of soldiers all together.  Will you help me?” She held out a dipper with a long handle, which Lucia accepted critically.

“I don’t like charging full price for this milk which is more like water,” she said.

“Nonsense, child, it is business, the soldiers know no difference; it is only your silly pride,” her aunt scolded.  She was a little in awe of her determined niece, and very often she was provoked at her.

“If you can’t bring us more milk, we must do the best we can,” she said meaningly.  “You used to bring us twice this much.”

Lucia shrugged her shoulders and tossed her head.  “I can bring no more than I bring,” she said, and turned her attention to the soldiers before her.

But the explanation did not satisfy her thrifty aunt.  She was no authority on goats, but she had enough sense to know that the supply of milk does not dwindle to one-half the usual quantity over night.  Still she did not voice her suspicions.