The boy dared not take time to count them all. The fierce ogre asleep under the tree might rouse at any moment and find the pocketbook gone. Away, away, he must fly, on and on toward the Bagni di Lucca, even though evening was at hand, and a gray blanket of cloud threatened to hide the coming stars. So the little feet twinkled away through the dust, Natale’s heart now heavy with the dread of what was behind, now light with the joy of what might be ahead. As the warm dusk fell, it seemed safe to walk again, although every sound from behind made Natale’s heart seem to leap into his throat. Indeed, it seemed pretty much to stay in his throat, until, by and by, he came upon some one who was to give him most welcome news.
He had traveled half a mile farther, and still it was not yet dark when he sighted a cluster of houses ahead and heard cheerful human voices. Coming up to the first house, he found a pretty, plump young mother on her doorstep, cuddling a nursling on her breast. From across the road and about the house came busy sounds of sheep and cows being housed for the night in their thatched pens, and nobody seemed at leisure except the laughing woman with the crowing baby in her arms.
On plying the woman with his usual question, Natale learned that the end of his pilgrimage was indeed “just down the road a little distance”, although, on such short legs as his, the woman added thoughtfully, it might take two hours more of brisk walking to reach even the big circus tent, standing on the outskirts of the Bagni all the past week.
Ah! and was the circus still there?
Of that the woman could not speak certainly, as some passer-by had mentioned only the day before that but one or two more performances were to be given before the circo moved on to Lucca. She herself had wished to go to see the wonderful Antonio Bisbini, also the little Olga who had no more fear of a great horse’s hoofs than she herself of her baby’s brown toes. But how was a woman to leave her house and the tired men folks, to tramp down the hill and up again at night, with a heavy baby in her arms? Was the little boy hoping to reach the tent in time for the night’s exhibition?
Natale’s heart had thrilled at the mention of Antonio’s magic name, and his spine straightened and his head was lifted with the pride of conscious relationship with the hero of the circus. He gave but a thought now to Olga’s usurpation of his place in the ring. For was he not returning to his own again, with the stolen pocketbook in the breast of his blouse? What a welcome there would be for him now!
“Well, good night, bimbo, if you will go, and may you enjoy seeing the riding in the tent!” the woman called to him, looking wistfully after the little figure plodding away, after a polite return of her farewell.
Natale’s heart was carefree now, as he limped lamely onward to the tune of the “Dead March,” humming the air as he went.
The road had been growing more level for some hours as it entered the valley, and the river flowed more still and deep. The hush of night gathered under the trees, and the birds and insects went to rest or noiselessly crept from their haunts about vine and root, intent upon the business of the hour.
As signs of the famous Baths of Lucca began to appear at certain curves in the road, Natale became possessed of but one idea. Down the river he began to see the lights of the town, and he even thought he heard the notes of band music, which, in truth, were wafted to his ears from the terrace of the Casino. His head was full of plans of stealing into the tent, and for at least this last night at Bagni di Lucca, playing his own part in the dying-horse act. He would not take precious moments now for practicing a somersault or wheel, as he went along, but it was easy to rehearse the dialogue over the dying brute—if only his tired, tired legs could keep the road, and his aching eyes find the old yellow tent set up somewhere among the trees.