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 with cheese and
sausage. The profits wore not great, but they wore enough.
"Is that the milk I brought in this morning?" Lucia asked incredulously
as she approached the stall.
"No, no, my dear," her aunt replied, shaking her head. "You brought
scarcely two full pails, and they were gone before you had reached the
gate. We have had a great day, so many soldiers, it is a shame that
you cannot bring in more, for we could sell it. Just see, we had to
send to old Paolo's for this, and it is not as rich as yours of course,
for his poor beasts have only the weeds between the cobblestones to
eat."
"That is because he is a lazy old man and won't take the trouble to
lead his herd out on the slopes to graze," Lucia replied. She put her
hands on her hips and swayed back and forth as she talked. It was a
little trait she had inherited from her mother, and one of her most
characteristic poses.
"How well you look to-day!" Maria said, smiling. "I have been wishing
you would come, we are so busy--see, here come a group of soldiers all
together. Will you help me?" She held out a dipper with a long
handle, which Lucia accepted critically.
"I don't like charging full price for this milk which is more like
water," she said.
"Nonsense, child, it is business, the soldiers know no difference; it
is only your silly pride," her aunt scolded. She was a little in awe
of her determined niece, and very often she was provoked at her.
"If you can't bring us more milk, we must do the best we can," she said
meaningly. "You used to bring us twice this much."
Lucia shrugged her shoulders and tossed her head. "I can bring no more
than I bring," she said, and turned her attention to the soldiers
before her.
But the explanation did not satisfy her thrifty aunt. She was no
authority on goats, but she had enough sense to know that the supply of
milk does not dwindle to one-half the usual quantity over night. Still
she did not voice her suspicions.
Lucia and Maria were busy for the rest of the afternoon. Lucia's
flowered dress and brilliantly-colored bandana that she wore tied over
her head, were added attractions to Señora Rudini's stall, and the
soldiers from the south came and chattered and laughed.
[Illustration: "The soldiers came and chattered and laughed."]
"What a pity we have no more," Maria said as the last crock was
emptied, and they set about preparing to return home. "We could go on
selling all night now that Lucia is here."
"Well, it is high time to go home, I am tired," her mother replied
crossly. "Hurry with what you are doing."
Lucia was busy closing the big umbrella.
"It is late, I will have to hurry, or Beppi will have let all my goats
run away--he and his dreams. He is a lazy little one, but I can't bear
to scold him," she said. "He is too little to understand."
Her aunt nodded. "Let him dream, but if you are not careful, he will
be badly spoiled."
"No fear of that," Lucia replied, "while Nana has a word to say. She
is always for bringing him up properly, but little good it does. Now
we are ready, I will help you carry home your things, if you will let
Maria walk with me to the gate," Lucia bargained.
"Oh, she may I suppose, though she should be at home helping me prepare
the dinner. I suppose you have some secrets between you that an old
grayhead can't hear," she grumbled good-naturedly.
"Oh, yes a fine secret!" Lucia replied laughing, as she picked up the
greatest share of the burden and led the way.
Maria and her mother lived in an old stone house that had once been a
palace. It was hardly palatial now, but it was very picturesque. It
housed five families besides the Rudinis, and in spite of the many
lines of wash that floated from its windows, it still retained enough
of its old grandeur to be an interesting spot to the occasional tourist
who visited Cellino. Maria and her mother were very proud of this
distinction. It made up somewhat for the loss of their house, which
they had been forced to leave, when six months before Maria's two
brothers had gone off to fight.
The new quarters were not far from the market place and they soon
reached them. Their rooms were on the ground floor, and Lucia and
Maria made haste to drop what they were carrying and start off again at
a much slower pace for the gate. The sun was low in the west. It was
setting in a bank of golden clouds over the little river that ran
parallel with the west wall of the town. Lucia stopped to look at it.
"Rain to-morrow, I suppose, by the look of those clouds," she said, a
real pucker of concern between her eyes.
"And no wonder," Maria agreed, "with all this banging of guns one would
think it would rain all the time out of pity for so much suffering."
"Now, Maria, don't begin to cry," Lucia protested not unkindly. "It
will do you no good, and it will only make things look worse than they
really are."
"How can they?" Maria demanded, with more show of resentment than was
usual with her quiet acceptance of things. "Only this morning I sold
milk to such a sweet boy from the south. He had great sad, brown eyes
like yours, and he was very young and unhappy. His father and brother
were both killed, and now he is going."
"But perhaps he won't be killed," Lucia said practically. "Anyway, he
will get a chance to do a little killing first, and surely that is
enough to satisfy any one, or ought to be."
"Oh, Lucia you are cruel sometimes," Maria protested. "Who wants to
kill? Surely not these happy boys, and they don't want to be killed
either. It is all too terrible to think about, and you are an
unnatural girl to talk as you do. Why, I don't believe you have cried
once since the war began, even when the poor wounded were brought here,
and we saw their faces all shot away."
Maria's anger rose as she talked, and Lucia listened curiously. It was
something new for Maria to take her to task. Her mind flew back over
the past year, and she saw herself with her face buried in the grass
and her hands clenched, and remembered her furious anger and her vows
of vengeance, but she had to admit that her cousin was right; she had
shed no tears.
"We are not made the same way, I guess," she replied ruefully to
Maria's charges. "I cannot cry, I can only hate."
"But hate won't do any good," Maria protested feebly.
"It will do more than tears," Lucia replied shortly.
They continued their walk in silence, now and then nodding to an
acquaintance or bowing respectfully to the Sisters of Charity who lived
at the big Convent just outside the Porto Romano, and who came to town
to take care of the sick and cheer the broken-hearted. When they
reached the north gate Lucia stopped. Roderigo was still on duty, but
this time he did not pause in his brisk walk up and down to chat. He
never even glanced in the girls' direction.
Maria nodded towards him and whispered excitedly, "That is the boy I
was just now speaking of. Doesn't he look sad?"
"No, he looks quite cross," Lucia replied in a voice loud enough to be
overheard, and her eyes sparkled with mischief as she added, "I wonder
if he will let me through the gate to get home."
"May I pass, sir, please? I live a little beyond the wall, but I am
not a spy," she said with mock humility.
Roderigo blushed. A soldier does not like to be made fun of,
particularly when some one else is present.
"Pass," he said gruffly.
Lucia laughed provokingly.
"Good night, Maria," she said as she kissed her cousin. "Sweet dreams.
I may not be in very early in the morning, there is so much to do, you
know, but I will bring as much milk as possible," she finished. Then
without even a glance at Roderigo she walked through the gate and down
the wall.
When she had walked for a little distance she looked back. Maria and
the soldier were in earnest conversation. Maria in her timid way was
apologizing for her cousin's rudeness, and Roderigo was beginning to
have doubts of the superiority of Southern beauty over the Northern,
particularly when a gentle spirit was added to the charm of the latter.
Lucia did not know she was the subject of their talk. She shrugged her
shoulders and turned her thoughts to a more important question that was
puzzling her. It was, how to slip out of the house the next morning
without disturbing the already suspicious Beppi.