"What have we to wait for?" enquired the curato. "There is some one coming, who wants to go to Capri. With your permission. Padre. We shall not go a whit the slower. It is a slight young thing, but just eighteen."
At that moment the young girl appeared from behind the wall that bounds the winding path.
"Laurella!" cried the priest, "and what has she to do in Capri?"
Antonio shrugged his shoulders. She came up with hasty steps, her eyes fixed straight before her.
"Ha! l'Arrabiata! good morning!" shouted one or two of the young boatmen. But for the curato's presence, they might have added more; the look of mute defiance with which the young girl received their welcome, appeared to tempt the more mischievous among them.
"Good day, Laurella!" now said the priest; "how are you? Are you coming with us to Capri?"
"If I may. Padre."
"Ask Antonio there, the boat is his. Every man is master of his own, I say; as God is master of us all."
"There is half a carlin, if I may go for that?" said Laurella, without looking at the young boatman.
"You need it more than I;" he muttered, and pushed aside some orange-baskets to make room: he was to sell the oranges in Capri, which little isle of rocks, has never been able to grow enough for all its visitors.