ITALY.
"SUPPOSE and suppose I could have such another funny dream," said Lucy.
"Mother Bunch, have you ever been to Italy?" and she put her finger on
the long leg and foot, kicking at three-cornered Sicily.
"Yes, Missie, that I have; come out of this cold room and I'll tell
you."
Lucy was soon curled in her chair; but no, she wasn't! she was under
such a blue, blue sky, as she had never dreamt of: clear sharp purple
hills rose up against it. There was a clear rippling little fountain,
bursting out of a rock, carved with old, old carvings, broken now and
defaced, but shadowed over by lovely maidenhair fern and trailing
bindweed; and in a niche above a little roof, sheltering a figure of the
Blessed Virgin. Some way off stood a long low house propped up against
the rich yellow stone walls and pillars of another old, old building,
and with a great chestnut-tree shadowing over it. It had a balcony, and
the gable end was open, and full of big yellow pumpkins and clusters of
grapes hung up to dry, and some goats were feeding round.
Then came a merry, merry voice singing something about _la vendemmia_;
and though Lucy had never learnt Italian, her wonderful dream knowledge
made her sure that this meant the vintage, the grape-gathering; and
presently there came along a little girl dancing and beating a
tambourine, with a basket fastened to her back, filled to overflowing
with big, beautiful bunches of grapes: and a whole party of other
children, all loaded with as many grapes as they could carry, came
leaping and singing after her; their black hair loose, or sometimes
twisted with vine-leaves; their big black eyes dancing with merriment,
and their bare brown legs with glee.
[Illustration: "Ah! Cecco, Cecco!" cried the little girl, pausing as she
beat her tambourine.
_Page 38._]
"Ah! Cecco, Cecco!" cried the little girl, pausing as she beat her
tambourine, "here's a stranger who has no grapes; give them here!"
"But," said Lucy, "aren't they your Mamma's grapes; may you give them
away?"
"Ah, ah! 'tis the _vendemmia_! all may eat grapes; as much as they will.
See, there's the vineyard."
Lucy saw on the slope of the hill above the cottage long poles such as
hops grow upon, and vines trained about hither and thither in long
festoons, with leaves growing purple with autumn, and clusters hanging
down. Men in shady battered hats, bright sashes and braces, and white
shirt sleeves, and women with handkerchiefs folded square over their
heads, were cutting the grapes down, and piling them up in baskets;
and a low cart drawn by two mouse-coloured oxen, with enormous wide
horns and gentle-looking eyes, was waiting to be loaded with the
baskets.
"To the wine-press! to the press!" shouted the children, who were
politeness itself and wanted to show her everything.
The wine-press was a great marble trough with pipes leading off into
other vessels around. Into it went the grapes, and in the midst were men
and boys and little children, all with bare feet and legs up to the
knees, dancing and leaping, and bounding and skipping upon the grapes,
while the red juice covered their brown skins.
"Come in, come in; you don't know how charming it is!" cried Cecco. "It
is the best time of all the year, the dear vintage; come and tread the
grapes."
"But you must take off your shoes and stockings," said his sister,
Nunziata; "we never wear them but on Sundays and holidays."
Lucy was not sure that she might, but the children looked so joyous, and
it seemed to be such fun, that she began fumbling with the buttons of
her boots, and while she was doing it she opened her eyes, and found
that her beautiful bunch of grapes was only the cushion in the bottom of
Mother Bunch's chair.