"Oh, Signor Guiseppe," she exclaimed, all her anger forgotten, "look at me, quickly! I am Pappina Pierno. You wouldn't know it, but I am really and truly the same little girl. Do I look well? Are you proud of me? Do you like my red dress? Will every one know it is new—and my shoes, too?"
She plied him with a hundred questions all at once, it seemed to Guiseppe, who had never before had a child in his home. He did not even like children, and yet he felt a delight in having this impetuous little beauty dash at him and in her excitement nearly knock him off his chair.
"Bella bambina!" he exclaimed involuntarily, while good Marta smiled at the sight.
All was now in readiness. Guiseppe, Marta and Pappina, with the Punchinellos, were off.
For years Guiseppe and Maria had not walked side by side. Guiseppe had a way of going ahead, letting Marta follow like a faithful dog after his master. To–day, as usual, Guiseppe took the lead, striding through the network of lanes and streets certain that Marta with Pappina was close at his heels. But everything was so new to Pappina that progress was slow.
Every minute she would beg Marta to stop while she feasted her eyes on the wonders of the shop windows; and Marta was torn between her desire to please the child, who had already brought so much pleasure into her hard life, and her desire to avoid angering Guiseppe.
"Oh, Marta, can't you wait just a minute to see these pretty things?" Pappina would exclaim, stopping at a jeweler's.
"Not to–day, carina—another day. Now we must hurry."
"But just to see these pictures—"
"No, carina, look! Guiseppe is far ahead. It is there at the bend of the street by that statue that he always stops when he plays on the Toledo."