and my daughter-in-law sold him that amongst others."

Then we talked about her illness. She said she felt a little stronger since taking our meat broth daily; and then she sighed, "Ah! I thought a little while ago, when I felt so tired, that God Almighty was going to let me rest, but it is clear He does not want me yet. I am not much use in this world either, except to keep Pippo from worrying his mother, but it is more than my poor crooked body is equal to. There! God will call me when He wants me, if He ever does want such a useless old thing as I."

The mother said some soothing words to her, while I sat thinking how strange a thing duty is, and how to our eyes this saving such a life for prolonged suffering seemed but a doubtful good. When we left she asked if she might kiss the signora's hand in token of her gratitude. The mother stooped and kissed the withered old face in loving heartiness. The poor soul started up, her face flushing, and caught her visitor's hand in both hers, "God bless you!" she cried; "the angels shall kiss you in heaven for that"-then she sank back on her pillow murmuring, "To kiss me on the lips! just as if I were a friend, and she loved me!-perhaps God may want me after all!"

We crept away with tears in our eyes, and the conviction in our hearts of how much happiness and good love and fellow-feeling may work in bringing the various classes of the world into true brotherhood.

CHAPTER XVIII.

CLOTHO'S HIGH BREEDING.

July 13.-The brightest of the Fates, whitehaired Clotho, has to-day shown her descent from a highly civilized race. Yesterday, as she sat at our gate spinning her white wool, and talking of her children and grand-children to me, she was seized with one of her fits of coughing, which left her quite exhausted.

I ran in for a glass of wine to restore her strength afterwards, which very much pleased the rosy-faced grandmother.

This morning, as we were at work on the pillared loggia looking on the blue mountains, Clotho was announced as having asked for the "Signora con il viso gioiale." By that complimentary description of the lady with the merry face, we understood that she wanted me, and I went to receive her. Clotho was waiting in the courtyard, for she declined to intrude into the house. There she stood, her elf locks blown about in the summer breeze,

her distaff stuck into her apron string and resting idle on her shoulder, and one hand hid ostentatiously under her apron. On my approach she smiled a hearty greeting, and pulling out the hidden hand she displayed a bunch of the very largest strawberries mountain latitudes can produce, and gave them to me with the air of a queen bestowing a return favour on a subject. Pleased by my admiration, she said, "Yes, they are the largest I ever saw, and I thought no one else here deserved them so well as you; so I hid them from everybody to bring them safe to you, signora."

With that the idle spindle began to whirl, and Clotho walked off; having relieved her high soul of the weight of an unrequited favour, she felt a free woman again.

Though

She is a very independent creature. living with her son Pietro, who has a grown-up family and is well able to support her, Clotho feels it incumbent on her to assist the household. She has for years been the procaccia or carrier between Piteglio and San Marcello, and every Saturday she may be seen trotting off with her laden baskets for her five mile walk, with all the strength of her eighty years. The rest of the week she gives her time to spinning wool for her three pretty grand-daughters to weave and knit.

CHAPTER XIX.

ROSA'S BABY.

July 16-It may interest mothers to know how the ceremonies of births and baptisms are conducted in the Apennines, minus the paraphernalia of monthly nurses, doctors, etc., etc. Our friend Rosa, the wife of Fiore Andrucci, and mother of pretty little Gianni, has for several days looked very weary and unfit for her work, as she carries her pails of water from the spring, and kneels on the wet stones to wash her linen in the brook. This morning she was washing linen, and after that helped her husband to load a cart of wood; at ten o'clock she returned home.

At half-past twelve a gay christening party passes our gate on its way to the church of Piteglio. There are Giulio and the pretty Estere, Pietro's youngest daughter, in their most festal of dresses. Giulio walks before with a yellowish waistcoat, dazzling blue necktie, and the whitest of shirt sleeves. His coat is slung over his left

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