"I'm going to watch them," she whispered softly to Marta. "I'll be back soon, Marta."
Marta shook her head.
"You had better not go, carina," she answered. "Guiseppe may not like it if he awakens and finds you gone."
"I won't run away," the child persisted. "Truly, Marta, I'll be back soon. I'm happy now, Marta; tell Guiseppe so, and that I'll surely be back in a little while. Perhaps I'll be back before he wakes up. It's all right for me to go, isn't it, Marta?"
"Go, but don't stay long, carina."
Pappina was so accustomed to carry her tambourine everywhere she went that from force of habit she took it with her this morning. Her dress was shabby from hard wear, but her eyes were gloriously bright as she lifted them to smile into the faces of the fine ladies and gentlemen down for their early morning swim.
They noted the abundant life that shone from her eyes, the unconsciousness of her manner. The worn frock only added charm to her looks, contrasting with her loveliness as she stood near the throng, not daring to approach.
It was her shyness that brought to her the attention of these foreigners, who had grown accustomed to being followed by children begging for money or ready to sing for soldi. A group on the beach watched her, lost in admiration.
"Have you ever in all your life seen such eyes?" It was an American lady who spoke. "Talk to her; see what she is here for. She has her tambourine; is she a wandering minstrel, do you think? Or don't they have such things in Italy?"