Marta knew how to take care of a child. Her English face shone with pleasure as she washed Pappina, combed her hair, and dressed her, clean and rested, for breakfast.
This home was poor. The furnishings were little better than those of Pappina's own, but it was clean. Pappina looked about the room.
"I like it," she said.
She had just finished the simple breakfast Marta served when Guiseppe appeared, frowning, in the doorway.
The gladness went out of Marta's eyes as though a cloud had passed before the sun.
Pappina noticed his scowl and was half frightened for a moment. She clung close to Marta, waiting for Guiseppe to speak.
From under his heavy, shaggy eyebrows he stood silently studying the face of the black–eyed child. Pappina flushed under his scrutiny. She wanted to cry, but she was not lacking in spirit and she did not mean to let him know that he frightened her.
"Signor, why don't you say good–morning to Pappina?" she asked. "I shan't like you if you look so cross."
Guiseppe was surprised at the speech and pleased at her courage. Most children ran away from him when he scowled and looked fiercely at them, as he knew he had looked at Pappina. To Maria's astonishment he burst into a hearty laugh.
"I'm good and I'm cross, bambina. I'm clouds and I'm sunshine. Sometimes I'll be kind. Sometimes, maybe, I'll beat you."