"The folks I saw were as lean as their own turkeys, and I can't say no further than that. I tried to sell 'em some of my salve; told 'em 'twould heal the skin where 'twas broke with the bones comin' through, but they was past jokin' with.
"I tell you, child, Rome is the—Why, what's the matter?" The good woman stopped suddenly, for Narcissa was trembling all over, and her face shone white in the dim, half-lighted room.
"I—I don't understand you!" she cried wildly. "There's some mistake; you went to the wrong place, and never saw Rome at all. Look here!" and she led the way swiftly across the hall, into the other room, the room into which she had taken Romulus Patten the day before. She almost ran up to the picture, and motioned the pedlar, with an imperious gesture, strange in so gentle a creature, to look at it. "That is Rome!" cried Narcissa. "You went to the wrong place, I tell you. This—this is Rome!"
The woman drew out a pair of spectacles, and fitted them on her nose with exasperating deliberation. She took a long look at the picture, and then turned to the trembling girl, with a kind light of pity in her eyes struggling with amusement.
"You poor—deluded—child!" she said at length. "Who ever told you that was Rome, I should like to know?"
"But it says so!" cried Narcissa. "Can't you read? 'Rome.' There it is, in plain letters; and I—don't—" she wanted to say "I don't believe you!" but the blue eyes that met hers steadily showed nothing but truth and kindness.
"So it is Rome, dear!" said the pedlar, speaking now very gently. "But it's ancient Rome, over in Europe; Italy, they call the country. Where the ancient Romans lived, don't you know? Julius Cæsar, and all those fellers who cut up such didoes, hundreds of years ago? Don't tell me you never went to school, nor learned any history."
"I—I went for a spell!" Narcissa faltered. "I had to leave when I was fourteen, because I was wanted to home, and we hadn't only got to the Battle of Lexington in history. I did hope to learn about the Revolution, to home, but father's wife didn't think much of readin', and she burned up the book."
There was a silence, and then the good-natured pedlar began fumbling in her bag.
"It's a livin' shame!" she cried indignantly. "Here—no, it ain't, neither. Well! I did think, much as could be, that I had two or three little books here, and I should have been pleased to give you one, dear, just for keeps, you know. But they don't seem to be here. Well, never mind! I was goin' to ask if you wouldn't like this piece of yeller ribbon you seemed to take to. It's a real good piece, and I should be pleased—I declare, child, I do feel bad to have spoiled your pretty notion of Rome. I s'pose you thought likely you'd go there some day, hey? well, well! sit down, and let me put this ribbon on your hair. You no need to be scairt of me. I act kind o' wild sometimes, like I did with your uncle, but it's four parts fun. I'm well known up our way, and anybody'll tell you I come of good stock, if I am crazy enough to wear sensible clothes, that don't hender me walkin' nor settin'. Mis' Transom, my name is. And he called you Narcissy, didn't he? Why, I had a cousin once, name of Narcissy; it's not a common name either, and I allers thought it was real pretty. Set down here, dear, and let's talk a spell."