"Let him alone," said Olaf, at last. "He has gone clean daft over a picture no bigger than my hand!"
Indeed, he and Viola had enough to talk about, for they had had no correspondence during their absence, as Viola could not write.
"I have had a strange proposition made to me," said Olaf. "Before selling my wares, who should I stumble upon but your Signor and Signora. The Signor recognized me at once, and made friendly inquiries about you. The Signora was, at first, very haughty and distant; but after a while became more gracious, and spoke of you in a way that made me proud of you. She says she is out of health, and sad, and lonely; and that if we would all come to their villa, near Rome—you to be to her what you once were, and I his valet—they would make it a great object to us."
"And I suppose our children count for nothing," said Viola, indignantly.
"Yes; they seemed to think the children could stay with their grandparents. But isn't it a pity now that we could not go just for a time, and earn money to educate the boy?"
"Olaf, I am ashamed of you," said Viola. "Leave our children, and go and live in that idolatrous land!"
"But you hate so to spin."
"I adore spinning."
"And the bark-bread is so nauseous to you."