Lucia Rudini | Page 2

care
of them, I promise, and if you like, I will pick the tenderest grass for
old crosspatch," he added grudgingly.
Lucia smiled in triumph, and from the pocket of her dress she pulled
out a small pink paper bag.
"Here you are then," she said; "and I won't be away very long. I am just
going to see Maria for a few minutes."
Beppi caught the bag as she tossed it, and lingered over the opening of
it. He wanted to prolong his pleasure as long as possible. Candy in war
times was a treat and one that the Rudinis seldom indulged in.
As if to echo his thoughts, Lucia called back over her shoulder as she
walked away, "Don't eat them fast, for they are the last you will get for
a long time."
Beppi did not bother to reply, but he acted on the advice, and selected a
big lemon drop that looked hard and everlasting, and set about sucking
it contentedly.
Lucia walked quickly over the grass to a small white-washed cottage a
little distance away. She approached it from the side and peeked

through one of the tiny windows. Old Nana Rudini, her grandmother,
was sitting in a low chair beside the table in the low-ceilinged room.
Her head nodded drowsily, and the white lace that she was making lay
neglected in her lap. Lucia smiled to herself in satisfaction and stole
gently away from the window.
The Rudinis lived about a mile beyond the north gate of Cellino, an old
Italian town built on the summit of a hill. Cellino was not sufficiently
important to appear in the guide books, but it boasted of two
possessions above its neighbors,--a beautiful old church opposite the
market place, and a broad stone wall that dated back to the days of
Roman supremacy. It was still in perfect preservation, and completely
surrounded the town giving it the appearance of a mediaeval fortress,
rather than a twentieth century village. Two roads led to it, one from
the south through the Porto Romano, and one from the north, up-hill
and from the valley below. It was up the latter that Lucia walked. She
was in a hurry and she swung along with a firm, graceful step, her head,
crowned by its heavy dark hair, held high and her shoulders straight.
The soldier on guard at the gate watched her as she drew nearer. She
was a pleasing picture in her bright-colored gown against the glaring
sun on the dusty white road. Roderigo Vicello had only arrived that
morning in Cellino, and Lucia was not the familiar little figure to him
that she was to the other soldiers. But she was none the less welcome
for that, after the monotony of the day, and Roderigo as she came
nearer straightened up self-consciously and tilted his black patent
leather hat with its rakish cluster of cock feathers a little more to one
side.
"Good day, Señorina," he said smiling, as Lucia paused in the grateful
shadow of the wall to catch her breath.
"Good day to you," she replied good-naturedly.
"You're new, aren't you? I never saw you before. Where is Paolo?"
"Paolo and his regiment go up to the front this afternoon," Roderigo
replied. "We have just come to relieve them for a short time, then we

too will follow."
Lucia nodded. "You come from the south, don't you?" she inquired,
looking at him with frank admiration; "from near Napoli I should guess
by your speech."
Roderigo laughed. "You guess right, I do, and now it is my turn to ask
questions. Where do you come from?"
"Down there about a mile," Lucia pointed, "in the white cottage by the
road."
Roderigo looked at the dark hair and eyes and the gaudily colored dress
before him, and shook his head.
"Now perhaps," he admitted, "but you were born in the south where the
sun really shines and the sky is blue and not a dull gray, or else where
did you come by those eyes and those straight shoulders?"
Lucia looked up at the dazzling sky above her and laughed.
"And I suppose that spot is Napoli," she teased. "Well, you don't guess
as well as I do, for I was born here and I have lived here all my life."
"'All my life,'" Roderigo mimicked. "How very long you make that
sound, Señorina, and yet you look no older than my little sister."
Lucia drew herself up to her full height and did not deign a direct reply.
"Fourteen years is a long time, Señor," she said gravely, "when you
have many worries."
"But you are too young to have many worries," Roderigo protested; "or
I beg your pardon, perhaps you have some one up there?" he pointed to
the north,