Guiseppe had kept Pappina singing and dancing all day, till it would seem her throat and feet must surely both give out. Marta dared not interfere. "Will the day never end?" she kept asking herself. She rejoiced when the festivities began to wane, when the streets became deserted, when one by one the lights went out.
"Well," said Guiseppe, looking about him, "seems as if every one but us has gone. I suppose we shall have to get along and find a place to sleep."
"Is there not money enough—can we not afford to remain in Cava over night, to have beds?" Marta timidly asked. "The ground is so hard for the child," she added.
"Marta, you have less sense every day," was Guiseppe's angry reply. "Bed for the child, eh? Next thing you'll be wanting me to carry around a cradle for her to sleep in. You'll want her to ride in a carriage. Aren't the nights warm and pleasant? The ground is good enough for me to sleep on; it's good enough for you; and it's good enough for the child."
Marta made no further appeal, but taking Pappina in her arms carried her where Guiseppe led.
"I've had a happy day. Oh, I liked the lights, the music and the people, but I'm so tired," Pappina told Marta as she laid her head on her improvised pillow and went at once to sleep.
Guiseppe took out his greasy pouch, and chuckled as he counted time and again his gains.
"It's been a good day, Marta, the best I've ever had. Per bacco, how she sang the Ave Maria! A good day." He patted his money bag. "A good day. Good–night, Marta."