"What? no longer a sugar plum?" said Anania, sipping the coffee from the antique gold sprigged cup and thinking of Aunt Varvara.

"Ah, my dear! forgive me. I always think of you as a little boy. Do you remember the first time you came from Cagliari? Yes, little Margherita was at the window watching for you. Doesn't the moon watch for the sun?"

Anania set the cup on the window ledge. He breathed hard. How happy he felt! How blue was the sky, how sweet the air! What grandeur in the silence of humble things, in the air not yet stirred by the turmoil of civilization. Even Aunt Nanna no longer seemed horrible; under the unclean exterior of that poisoned body, palpitated a warm heart, a poetic soul.

"Listen to those lines!" cried Anania, and he recited gesticulating—

Ella era assisa sopra la verdura Seated she was upon the
verdure fair
Allegra; e ghirlandetta avea All joyous; and a wreath had
contesta: fashioned;
Di quanti por creasse mai natura To paint the radiant vesture
she did wear
Di tanti era dipinta la sua vesta Each flower that blooms its
brightest hues had shed.
E come in prima al giovin pose When of the youth's advance
cura she first was ware
Alquanto paurosa alzò la testa: With motion half of fear she
raised her head,
Poi con la bianca man ripreso il Then lifting her robe's hem
lembo with one white hand,
Levossi in piè con di fior pieno She rose, and so with
un grembo. flower-filled lap did stand.

Nanna listened without understanding a word. She—opened her lips to say—to say—At last she said:—

"I've heard that before."

"From whom?" cried Anania.

"From Efès Cau."

"Liar! Now away with you at once, or I'll beat you. No, wait a minute! tell me everything that has happened at Nuoro this year."