Lucia Rudini | Page 3

where the high peaks of the Alps were visible at no great
distance.
"No, not now," Lucia replied; "for my father was killed a year ago."

Roderigo was silent for a little, then he raised one shoulder in a
characteristic shrug.
"War," he said slowly. "We all have our turn."
Lucia nodded and returned almost at once to her gay mood.
"But you are still wondering how I got my black hair and eyes up here,"
she laughed.
"Well, I will tell you. My mother came from your beautiful Napoli, and
Nana, that is my grandmother, says I inherited my foolish love of gay
clothes from her. Nana does not like gay clothes, but my father always
liked me to wear them."
"Then your mother is dead too?" Roderigo asked respectfully.
"When I was a little girl, and when Beppino was a tiny baby. Beppi is
my little brother," Lucia explained.
Roderigo's eyes were shining with delight. There was something in
Lucia's soft tones that filled his homesick heart with joy. She was so
different from most of the girls from the north, with their strange high
voices and unfriendly manners. If she wasn't exactly from the south she
was near it. He wanted to sit down beside her and tell her all about his
home and his family, for he was very young and very homesick, but
Lucia decreed otherwise.
"Now do see what you have done," she scolded suddenly. "You have
kept me talking here until the sun is well down, and I will have to hurry
if I want to see Maria and return home before Nana misses me. So
much for gabbing on the high road with some one who should be
watching for suspicious spies instead of asking questions," she finished
with a provoking toss of her head.
Which sentence, considering that she had asked the first questions
herself, was unjust. Roderigo, however, did not seem to resent the
blame laid upon him. He did not even offer to contradict, but watched

Lucia until she disappeared around a corner a few streets beyond the
gate, and then he turned resolutely about and scanned the road with
searching determination, as if he really believed that the open, smiling
country about him might be concealing a spy.
When Lucia disappeared around the comer of the narrow street that led
to the market place, she stopped long enough to laugh softly to herself.
"The great silly! He took all the blame himself instead of boxing my
ears for being impertinent. A fine soldier he'll make! If I can scare him,
what will the guns do?" she said aloud, and then with a roguish gleam
of mischief in her eyes she hurried on.
The narrow side streets through which she passed were almost deserted,
but when she reached the market place it was thronged with people.
Every one was out to look at the new troops, and in the little square the
great white umbrellas over the market stalls were surrounded by
soldiers. Their picturesque uniforms added a gala note to the
commonplace little scene.
Lucia elbowed her way through the jostling, laughing men to a certain
umbrella, a little to one side of the open space left clear before the
church.
CHAPTER II
MARIA
A neatly-dressed, dumpy little woman in a black dress and shawl sat
beneath it, and behind a row of stone crocks beside her was a young
girl several years older than Lucia, who ladled out cupfuls of the milk
that the crocks contained, and gave them, always accompanied by a shy
little smile, to the soldiers in return for their pennies. She was Maria
Rudini, Lucia's cousin, a pretty, gentle-featured girl with shy,
bewildered eyes.
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