Nonna had told him to be sure and see the saints, if possible, so he went into the dark old church and sat down on a low chair to wait for the procession to return. He knew that San Lorenzo and Sant’ Aurelio would surely be brought back to spend the night in the church, perhaps in front of the candle-lighted altar, and he wished to please Nonna. It was dark and quiet in his corner under the organ gallery, and it was a very easy and natural thing for a tired little boy to fall asleep in that quiet place.
When the procession returned after half an hour, it was without the blare of trumpets and the crash of organ music, though for a long while shuffling feet passed in and out. This continued until everybody had looked at the two saints robed in costly garments and reposing now at full length on their satin cushions within their caskets of glass set before the altar. Many touched the rich cloths draping the caskets with reverent fingers, and pressed kisses on the cold glass before passing out into the radiant sunset light.
When Natale waked, the church doors were still open, but only one light swung before the high altar, and there was no trace anywhere of dead saint or living soul. He groped his way among the disarranged chairs and benches quite to the altar rail, but even the empty biers had been borne away to some inner recess of the church, so, with a dread that he had overslept awaking in his mind, Natale found his way out of the church again.
The purple bloom of evening was creeping up the mountain sides, and a star glowed in the sky. Just above the mountain line in the west the crescent moon hovered, as if uncertain over which side to sink. The dread in Natale’s mind had nothing to do with saints or dark churches. On awaking, his first sensation had been a fear that he might have missed the afternoon performance in the beloved tent, and now, standing outside the church in the dusk, he knew that he had missed it!
With a sob in his throat he turned his face from the telltale sky, and fled through the village down to the field. When he reached the wagon,—for he would not go to the tent, quiet now and unlighted,—the first words he heard came from Olga:
“Have you not heard, Natalino? Giovanni has lost a hundred francs! Somebody stole them when he changed his coat in the little tent. Yes, I know you were not there! We wondered where you could be!”
CHAPTER V
A GIFT FOR THE CIRCUS
Natale held his breath with horror. One hundred francs lost! And he not at hand to hear of it, to help look for the money, among the very first? He could not ask Olga how it had happened, because his heart was almost too disappointed and sore for words. He sat down on the wall, with his back toward the tent, and waited for her to tell all about the loss, although he was not at all certain that she would condescend to do so. In fact, she said not a word more, but stood in front of Natale, wondering not a little at his unusual quiet.
“You are sulky!” she exclaimed finally, “and Giovanni is very angry with you. So am I, for I had to feel Il Duca’s pulse, and I did not like it at all. Suppose he had kicked me, seeing that it was not you.”
“Il Duca was dead!” Natale retorted, with a twinkle in his eye, if only Olga could have seen it. “He would not know you from me!”