All along the road, and upon each hillside, we had passed the great chestnut trunks, gnarled, knotted, and twisted; some splendid ruins, black and mossy, some in the prime of life; and now, looking back upon the village, it seemed embosomed in chestnuts, part of it hid by the richness of the pale green leaves, just in leaf.
Bocognano is a very straggling village, there being four or five distinct little hamlets straying among the embowered hills.
It is famous for being the abode of chestnut trees and of bandits.
A fine stone bridge spanned the wide torrent of the Gravona river about a mile from the village, shaded by trees; and here we sat and rested, watching the passers-by.
They were all shy and retiring, wanting village audacity, even the boys.
Two pretty little fellows were catching lizards, and talked in whispers until we were some yards beyond them, regarding us with awe-struck eyes; and some little girls, laden each with a basket of wood from the hill-side, and who sat likewise to rest upon the stone coping, utterly refused to be sketched, dodging my pencil successfully, and occasionally covering their faces with their hands.
Then came past a group of bare-footed merry-voiced women, strong as horses, and upright as poplars, each carrying her load of wood upon her head, and hurrying on to the village with only a glance in our direction; and lastly, a sweet-faced girl of about fifteen, with a look of patient depression upon her olive-coloured face touching to see.
She was carrying a heavy load of wood upon her head; her dress was neat, and tucked up almost to her knees, showing the pretty brown legs and round feet; and the white handkerchief over her shoulders, as well as the one upon her head, was clean and tidy. She seemed very tired, and flung down her load beside the bridge hastily, sitting down; but immediately her busy fingers took some knitting out of her pocket, not allowed for a moment to be idle. She had no objection to our trying to sketch her, but when we spoke to her, raised her serious pathetic brown eyes to ours with a puzzled shake of the head; and it was impossible to hold a conversation with her.
The thunder was rolling grandly overhead as we turned homewards, passing on our way a small cottage, before the door of which stood a sulky, evil-faced boy. Apparently this youth objected to the intrusion of foreigners on his native soil, or the storm had soured his temper; for we had not gone many yards further, before a good-sized stone came after us, hitting No. 3 pretty sharply on the shoulder. As might have been expected, our assailant was a coward, and retired within his doorway on our looking back.
The next day as we passed the cottage I related the incident to Antonio with some indignation.