arrayed in the blue kirtle and scarlet bodice, on which the warm rays of the late sun fell with so much amorous tenderness.  Poor little Lilla!  A penknife would have made as much impression as her valorous blows produced on the inflexible, gnarled, knotty old stump she essayed to split in twain.  Flushed and breathless with her efforts, she looked prettier than ever, and at last, baffled, she resigned her ax to Vincenzo, laughing gayiy at her incapacity for wood-cutting, and daintily shaking her apron free from the chips and dust, till a call from her mother caused her to run swiftly into the house, leaving Vincenzo working away as arduously as ever.  I went up to him; he saw me approaching, and paused in his labors with an air of slight embarrassment.

“You like this sort of work, amico?” I said, gently.

“An old habit, eccellenza—­nothing more.  It reminds me of the days of my youth, when I worked for my mother.  Ah! a pleasant place it was—­the old home just above Fiesole.”  His eyes grew pensive and sad.  “It is all gone now—­finished.  That was before I became a soldier.  But one thinks of it sometimes.”

“I understand.  And no doubt you would be glad to return to the life of your boyhood?”

He looked a little startled.

“Not to leave you, eccellenza!”

I smiled rather sadly.  “Not to leave me?  Not if you wedded Lilla Monti?”

His olive cheek flushed, but he shook his head.

“Impossible!  She would not listen to me.  She is a child.”

“She will soon be a woman, believe me!  A little more of your company will make her so.  But there is plenty of time.  She is beautiful, as you said:  and something better than that, she is innocent—­think of that, Vincenzo!  Do you know how rare a thing innocence is—­in a woman?  Respect it as you respect God; let her young life be sacred to you.”

He glanced upward reverently.

“Eccellenza, I would as soon tear the Madonna from her altars as vex or frighten Lilla!”

I smiled and said no more, but turned into the house.  From that moment I resolved to let this little love-idye have a fair chance of success.  Therefore I remained at Avellino much longer than I had at first intended, not for my own sake, but for Vincenzo’s.  He served me faithfully; he should have his reward.  I took a pleasure in noticing that my efforts to promote his cause were not altogether wasted.  I spoke with Lilla often on indifferent matters that interested her, and watched her constantly when she was all unaware of my observant gaze.  With me she was as frank and fearless as a tame robin; but after some days I found that she grew shy of mentioning the name of Vincenzo, that she blushed when he approached her, that she was timid of asking him to do anything for her; and from all these little signs I knew her mind, as one knows by the rosy streaks in the sky that the sunrise is near.