Lucia Rudini | Page 7

her shoes in her hand, she climbed gingerly down the
ladder past her sleeping grandmother and out to the shed.
"Good morning, Garibaldi, how are you this morning?" she said as she
patted the stocky little neck of her pet.
Garibaldi submitted to her caress with a condescension worthy of the
position her name gave her, and the other goats crowded to the open
door, eager to leave their cramped quarters.
"Not yet, my dears," Lucia said softly, "it isn't time. Here, Esther, I will
milk you first. You must all be good to-day, and Garibaldi, I don't want
you to go running away if I have to leave you with Beppi," she
continued. "You're nothing but goats, of course, but you know perfectly
well that we are at war, and that you are very important, and must do
your part. Stop it, Miss, none of your pranks, I'm in a hurry," she
chided the refractory Esther for an attempt at playfulness.
"There now, that's enough, I can't carry any more or I would. Two pails
only half full aren't much, but they help, I guess. Now if it won't rain
until I get there it will be all right, but I'll cover the pails to be on the
safer side." She found two covers and fitted them securely over the
pails. "Now children, good-by. Be good till I come back, and don't go
making any noise."
She paused long enough to give Garibaldi a farewell pat and then left
the shed closing the door behind her. She looked up uneasily at the
cottage, but everything seemed to be very still, so she picked up her
pails and started off at as brisk a pace as possible.
She followed the main road that looked unnaturally white and ghostly
in the pale dawn of the early morning. It was down hill for about a mile,
and traveling was comparatively easy at first, but when the road

reached the bottom of the valley it stopped and seemed to straggle off
into numerous little foot-paths. The broadest and most traveled looking
path Lucia followed, picking her way carefully for fear of stumbling
and thus losing some of the precious milk.
The path led up the other side of the valley. It was a steep climb, and
Lucia was tired when she reached the top. She sat down for a while to
rest before going on the remainder of the way. The next path that she
took turned abruptly to the right, and led up an even steeper hill to a
tiny plateau above. From it one could look down on Cellino across the
valley. When Lucia reached it she put down her pails in the shade of a
big rock and looked about cautiously.
Nothing seemed to stir. The guns were quiet and nothing in the
peaceful, secluded little spot suggested the close proximity of battle.
The only human touch in sight was a small scrap of paper, held down
by a stone on the flat rock above the pails.
Lucia was not surprised, for she had done the same thing every
morning for a week now. She unfolded it. As she expected, she found
four brightly polished copper pennies and the words, "Thanks to the
little milk maid," written in heavy pencil.
Lucia picked up the money and put it into her pocket, then with a
pencil that she had brought especially for the purpose she wrote, "You
are welcome, my friends; good luck!" below the message, and tucked
the paper back under the stone. Then with another curious look around,
which discovered nothing, she started back, this time running as fleet
and fast as any of her sure-footed little goats.
She reached home before either Nana or Beppino were awake, and
hurried to finish her milking. When the scant breakfast was over, she
was ready to start for town with her pails.
When she entered the market-place, it was to find a very different scene
from the one of the day before. The place was thronged with soldiers,
but they were not laughing and jesting; instead, little groups
congregated around the stalls and talked excitedly. Some of the old

women had covered their faces with their black aprons, and were
rocking back and forth on their chairs in an extremity of woe.
There was an unnatural hush, and men and women alike lowered heir
voices instinctively as they talked.
Lucia had seen the same thing many times before. She guessed, and
rightly too, that a battle was going on, and that news of some disaster
had reached the little town. She did not go at once to her aunt's stall,
but left her pails inside the big bronze door of the church, and slipped
quietly inside. The place was deserted, and the lofty