a sad,
half-frozen look. One and all longed for the warm winds of spring and
the summer heat they loved. It was bad enough for those who had warm
clothes and plenty of polenta, but for the poor life was very hard
those cold wintry days.

In a doorway of a great house, in one of the narrow streets, a little
boy of eight was crouching behind one of the stone pillars as he tried
to keep out of the grip of the tramontana. His little coat was folded
closely round him, but it was full of rents and holes so that the thin
body inside was scarcely covered, and the child's blue lips trembled
with the cold, and his black eyes filled with tears.

It was not often that Filippo turned such a sad little face to meet the
world. Usually those black eyes sparkled with fun and mischief, and the
mouth spread itself into a merry grin. But to-day, truly things were
worse than he ever remembered them before, and he could remember fairly
bad times, too, if he tried.

Other children had their fathers and mothers who gave them food and
clothes, but he seemed to be quite different, and never had had any one
to care for him. True, there was his aunt, old Mona Lapaccia, who said
he had once had a father and mother like other boys, but she always
added with a mournful shake of her head that she alone had endured all
the trouble and worry of bringing him up since he was two years old.
'Ah,' she would say, turning her eyes upwards, 'the saints alone know
what I have endured with a great hungry boy to feed and clothe.'

It seemed to Filippo that in that case the saints must also know how
very little he had to eat, and how cold he was on these wintry days.
But of course they would be too grand to care about a little boy.

In summer things were different. One could roll merrily about in the
sunshine all day long, and at night sleep in some cool sheltering
corner of the street. And then, too, there was always a better chance
of picking up something to eat. Plenty of fig skins and melon parings
were flung carelessly out into the street when fruit was plentiful, and
people would often throw away the remains of a bunch of grapes. It was
wonderful how quickly Filippo learned to know people's faces, and to
guess who would finish to the last grape and who would throw the
smaller ones away. Some would even smile as they caught his anxious,
waiting eye fixed on the fruit, and would cry 'Catch' as they threw a
goodly bunch into those small brown hands that n