e way. The next path that
she took turned abruptly to the right, and led up an even steeper hill
to a tiny plateau above. From it one could look down on Cellino across
the valley. When Lucia reached it she put down her pails in the shade
of a big rock and looked about cautiously.

Nothing seemed to stir. The guns were quiet and nothing in the
peaceful, secluded little spot suggested the close proximity of battle.
The only human touch in sight was a small scrap of paper, held down by
a stone on the flat rock above the pails.

Lucia was not surprised, for she had done the same thing every morning
for a week now. She unfolded it. As she expected, she found four
brightly polished copper pennies and the words, "Thanks to the little
milk maid," written in heavy pencil.

Lucia picked up the money and put it into her pocket, then with a
pencil that she had brought especially for the purpose she wrote, "You
are welcome, my friends; good luck!" below the message, and tucked the
paper back under the stone. Then with another curious look around,
which discovered nothing, she started back, this time running as fleet
and fast as any of her sure-footed little goats.

She reached home before either Nana or Beppino were awake, and hurried
to finish her milking. When the scant breakfast was over, she was
ready to start for town with her pails.

When she entered the market-place, it was to find a very different
scene from the one of the day before. The place was thronged with
soldiers, but they were not laughing and jesting; instead, little
groups congregated around the stalls and talked excitedly. Some of the
old women had covered their faces with their black aprons, and were
rocking back and forth on their chairs in an extremity of woe.

There was an unnatural hush, and men and women alike lowered heir
voices instinctively as they talked.

Lucia had seen the same thing many times before. She guessed, and
rightly too, that a battle was going on, and that news of some disaster
had reached the little town. She did not go at once to her aunt's
stall, but left her pails inside the big bronze door of the church, and
slipped quietly inside. The place was deserted, and the lofty dome was
in dark shadow. Long rays of pale yellow light from the morning sun
came through the narrow windows and made queer patches on the marble
floor. In the dim recesses of the little chapels tiny candles
flickered like stars in the dark.

Lu