“But are you sure he is quite dead?” And Giovanni’s voice faltered with sudden fear, as he gazed at Natale’s small, dusty figure kneeling at the horse’s head, with Oh! such a world of pleading in his dark eyes and folded hands.
“Quite dead!” wailed Natale.
“Get up and feel his pulse, boy. If there is any pulse he is not dead!” Giovanni spoke fiercely, but there was no frown upon his face.
And so the farce went on as usual, to the end, while Olga, with pouting lips, slipped behind the curtain again and joined the others who were, every one, peeping in to see little Natale do his beloved dying-horse act.
The little girl had come to enjoy her bit of acting with Giovanni and Il Duca, for kneeling with folded hands and sobbing breath was a pretty attitude, always loudly applauded, and she no longer feared that Il Duca would lift his faithful hoof against her. But now, here was Natale back again, and his shrill little voice going over the silly replies to the clown in his own, old way. Well, it would be rather nice, after all, to have Natale again, and she would not fuss about it as there were so few things he could really do, while she was learning new feats already, and would soon be riding Tesoro bareback around the ring.
A perfect storm of applause succeeded the end of the dialogue, when Il Duca scrambled to his feet, and the tent was filled with cries for a repetition of the scene. But Giovanni turned swiftly and lifted Natale to the horse’s back, only in time to prevent the child’s falling to the ground, as if stunned by the noise of the shouting. Out of the ring and through the smaller tent to the open air beyond Il Duca pranced proudly, with Giovanni at his bridle, holding Natale in his place with his free hand.
Outside, they laid the child down on the warm ground in the dim light, and Arduina brought a cupful of water and bathed his face, while Olga stood by, and Antonio and Elvira went back to help Giovanni with his table-leaping inside.
“He is not dead, is he, Arduina?” Olga asked in a frightened voice. “Feel his pulse as we do Il Duca’s!”
“Hurry and call Nonna!” the older girl urged nervously. “We shall have to go in, the very next thing after this, and Nonna will know what to do.”
So when Natale next opened his eyes, the light of a sputtering candle showed him the gray head of dear Nonna bent over him. He lay on a small mattress in a corner, and the smoke-stained ceiling of the house-wagon shut out the sky.