It was August 22, Miss Campbell's birthday, although she herself had
quite forgotten it, this being a celebration she was careful not to
remember.
The girls had been planning for a long time to give her a birthday
party. It was to be a surprise picnic wherever they happened to be
between Sacramento and San Francisco. It was Evelyn who chose the spot
for the party and who guided them to a lovely vineyard planted on
terraces up the side of a mountain with a little valley smiling at its
feet.
"The owners of the vineyard are Italians, all of them," said Evelyn,
"and you will certainly feel that you are in Italy when you get there.
They are so simple and adorable. And there is a kind of an inn where we
can stay. They call it the 'Hosteria.' Oh, you will love it, I know."
The picnic was to begin in the morning. Miss Helen, prepared for an all
day trip, was properly surprised when Billie turned the Comet into a
little mountain road running between grapevines now heavy with fruit.
Men and women were gathering the grapes in baskets, singing while they
worked.
At the top of the mountain was the tiniest little village imaginable,
all stucco houses on a dusty street with a church at one end. Next to
the church was the inn and standing at the door of the inn was the
landlord and owner of the vineyard, Pasquale.
"Buon giorno, Signorina," he cried. "I giva you the gooda welcome. I
have receive the letter of the Signorina. All isa prepared."
Across the entrance of the hosteria ran a legend printed in red letters
on a white background:
"MAN RETUNS TO HAPNES THIS DAY--AUGUS.
TWENTY-SEC. SIGNORA
ELEANORA CAMEL."
Miss Campbell read the inscription over twice before she could make out
its meaning.
"Absurd children," she cried delightedly, "you are giving me a birthday
party. I knew you were suppressing something with all your giggling this
morning. And here I had quite forgotten I was a year older to-day."
"Not a year older, dearest cousin, a year younger," cried Billie. "It
was Evelyn who knew about this fascinating little place, and we thought
we would entertain you here instead of at one of those tiresome hotels."
Pasquale rubbed his hands together and smiled broadly with his head on
one side.
"La Signora, she isa surprisa," he exclaimed, as pleased as a child.
He led the way to the back of the house, through a low-ceilinged room
paved with red tiles. At a small door at the end of the passage he
paused and placed his fingers on his lips with an expression so arch and
crafty that the girls laughed out loud in spite of his motions for
silence. Then he flung open the door grandly and placed his hand on his
heart, heaving a deep and dramatic sigh.
It was not to be expected that our tourists who had come through every
variety of scenery, grand, sublime and beautiful, should be very
enthusiastic now. But the Italian knew that he had something very fine
to show. Just as an old picture dealer knows when he has a good picture
and a good audience. The girls fairly danced on the grassy terrace
overlooking the exquisite little valley at the foot of the mountain. And
there, on the lawn, stood a table covered with a white cloth.
"The ladies willa eat breakfast at what time?" asked Pasquale. "The
festa, she commenca at two. You willa come--not so?"
"Oh, yes, we will see all of it, Pasquale," replied Evelyn.
Pasquale lingered.
"The ladies willa pardon. They have no objec to two others who also eta
here?"
But the ladies were not in the humor to object to anything. They were
too much engaged in admiring the little valley and the olive grove
opposite which clung to the hillside like a soft gray mist.
"It's just like a little Italy," cried Billie, enthusiastically. "It
looks like Italy. The people are all Italians and so are the houses and
the terraced vineyards. Isn't it sweet?"
"Wait until you see the festa," said Evelyn, "and Pasquale's daughter,
Lucia. She is out now gathering grapes with the others, I suppose."
Pasquale now appeared bearing a big soup tureen, followed by a graceful
young Italian boy who carried a dish of grated cheese. There were plates
of ripe olives on the table and in the centre a pyramid of fresh figs
and grapes. How charming it all was! Down in the vineyard below came the
sound of singing, which grew louder as the young men and girls climbed
the mountain to the village.
They were very happy and jolly, and Miss Campbell made a little speech.
"Sweet, lovely girls," she said, "do you know how very dear you are to
me? We have been through so much together, through so many, dangers
which we will forget, and pleasures which we shall always remember; up
hill and down dale--across mountains--"
"And prairies," suggested Nancy.
"Yes, across these interminable prairies, that I feel, now that we are
coming to the end of it all, how lonesome I am going to be without you.
I hope you will all marry, my dears. There is no one in the world so
lonely as a spinster--"
Evelyn's face flushed. The subject of marriage was a painful one to her,
because, although she had written twice to Daniel, not one word had she
received from him since she left Salt Lake City. And deep in her heart,
she was wholly and utterly miserable. No one but Billie noticed the
tears that glistened in her eyes, and under the table, the two girls
clasped hands for a moment.
"--a spinster past middle age," went on Miss Campbell, looking so
charming and appealing that the girls were obliged to rush from their
seats and embrace her.
And in the midst of this scene of affection, comes Pasquale, smiling
affably, and bearing an immense bouquet of roses.
"For La Signora Cam-el," he said. "A gen-man presents with compliments."
"But who--what gentleman?" demanded Miss Campbell.
"I cannot say, Signora. They are of Sacremen'--these roses here. They
came thisa morning by express, in the diligenza from the valley."
"Where is the gentleman?" asked Billie.
Pasquale shrugged his shoulders almost to his ears and spread his hands
out apologetically. Then he disappeared into the inn and presently
returned with bouquets for each of the girls. Evelyn's was as large as
Miss Campbell's, of roses, and the younger girls were smaller bunches of
heliotrope, which gave out a delicious fragrance.
"Is he here at this inn?" demanded Nancy, burning with curiosity.
"No, signorina, the gentleman, he coma after the flowers."
"Mystery of mysteries," exclaimed Miss Campbell. "Who can it be?"
"It's just like Mr. Ignatius Donahue," said Elinor.
"It's more like papa," put in Billie.
Evelyn would have liked to add--"It's more like Daniel," but she could
not bring herself to mention his name when he had treated her so coldly.
"How did anyone know we were here?" asked Miss Campbell.
"The hotel clerk knew," replied Billie, "because we asked him about the
road."
At last, after finishing off with fruit and cheese and cups of black
coffee, the delicious birthday luncheon reached an end, like all good
things, and the ladies went forth to see the festa.
Down the street came some forty young men and girls singing a wild
Sicilian pastorale, each verse of which ended in a weird turn. Many of
them were crowned with grape leaves, like Bacchanalian dancers, and some
of them carried baskets filled with the fruit. It was the end of the
grapecutting season, and each year, Pasquale, the great man of the
village, gave a festa at this time.
In front of the inn was a long narrow table whereon stood jugs of wine,
plates of cold meats and ripe olives, dear to the heart of every true
Italian. The table fairly groaned under the weight of food--cheeses and
long loaves, salads, figs, oranges and grapes.
A gentle old priest with a humorous, kindly smile, came out of the
church and welcomed the motorists.
"You will enjoy the festa," he said. "It is a pretty sight not often
seen out of Italy."
The feasting and singing lasted until late in the afternoon. Then the
dancing began in the yard of the inn. Pretty Lucia, Pasquale's daughter,
and a young man with fierce black eyes, danced a tarentella together and
another man and woman danced a Sicilian dance wilder even than the
tarentella. Finally everybody began dancing and the girls joined in,
leaving Miss Campbell and the old priest seated in a pergola at the side
of the house, absorbed in an interesting conversation.
As darkness descended torches were lit, but it was difficult to
distinguish faces and no one noticed two men in dark slouch hats drawn
well over their faces who mingled with the crowd. Evelyn Stone, standing
alone on the outskirts of the crowd, watched her four friends waltzing
among the dancers.
"How much happier Lucia is than I am," she was thinking. "How I wish I
had been born just a simple peasant girl. Money means so little in
comparison."
But her reflections were rudely interrupted. A black scarf was thrown
over her head and she was lifted off her feet and carried out of the
circle of light into the darkness.
Owing to the unusual festivities, supper for the guests at the inn was
very late that evening, and not until well past eight o'clock did
Pasquale announce that the ladies would be served on the terrace.
"Where is Evelyn?" asked Miss Campbell anxiously when they had gathered
around the table.
"Perhaps she has gone off with Lucia," suggested Billie.
But Lucia was waiting on the table and had not seen her. Pasquale sent a
boy scurrying around to search for her while the others ate their
supper. They were quite sure she had wandered off with some of the
villagers whom she had known before.
Night deepened and the moon came up, flooding the valley with its golden
rays. It was very chilly, and they put on their ulsters and sat in a row
on the terrace, waiting. From the inn yard came the sound of music and
the beat of the dancers' feet on the hard ground.
At last the waiting grew unbearable. Miss Campbell went to confer with
the old priest next door and the girls hurried down the village street
to search for their friend from house to house. Men were sent down the
mountain road to the valley below. Others hunted through the vineyard.
Somewhere in the village a clock struck midnight. The music ceased. The
dancers crept off to bed, cold and tired.
The Motor Maids climbed upstairs to their small bedrooms under the
eaves.
Nothing could be done until morning, the priest said. And while it
seemed impossible to sleep, they agreed they must take some rest.
Tired out with the long day, they did sleep however, and the sun was
high in the heavens before they waked.