"Stop, we are ready," cried Guiseppe, handing the beads to Pappina. She fastened the string around her neck, took up her tambourine, and sang.
True little Neapolitan, in her delight over the new necklace she sang and danced with such spirit that even Guiseppe was surprised. The tourists, having paid well for Pappina's songs, went on their way.
"That pretty lady in blue," said Marta as the travelers departed, "was wondering if we treat you well, Pappina. She said she wished she could speak Italian and find out if you are our own child, and if you are happy in your life, or only singing to keep from being beaten, as so many little singers have to do."
Pappina laughed merrily.
"Why didn't you tell her that I always love you, Marta?" she cried. "And sometimes I love Guiseppe."
She went to Guiseppe and reaching up on her tiptoes, patted his cheek.
"Caro Guiseppe," she said, "I love you to–day because you gave me the beads. Perhaps to–morrow I shall hate you, and—really, Guiseppe—I can't help it. Sometimes you're so mean I could kill you, but to–day, Guiseppe," fondling her beads, "I love you almost as well as I do Marta."
Pappina's words and little caress pleased Guiseppe, but he let neither her nor Marta see his pleasure. He took up the Punchinellos, merely saying: "I guess we'll be moving."
It was a happy little group that continued its way toward Salerno. Pappina took off her beads every few minutes to admire them.
"How good you are, Guiseppe!" she repeatedly said to him. Her happiness brought a smile to Guiseppe's hard face.