grain.

They stopped to rest in the field of San Giovanni, which divides the
territory of Subiaco from that of Jenne. The Blessed Lawrence, now left
far behind, all white under the rocks which are the colour of iron,
looked down upon them from on high. Rays of sunshine, breaking through
the clouds, gilded the hills, and the little party, remembering the arid
hillside of Jenne, had just started forward again, when they met the
doctor from Jenne, who recognised Maria, having seen her some time
before at the house of his colleague at Subiaco. He bowed, and smiling,
reined in his mule.

"You are on the way to Jenne? Are you going to see the Saint? You will
find many people there to-day." Many people! This was disappointing to
Noemi, who feared she would not be able to speak quietly with Maironi.
The Selvas were curious to know all about it. Why so many people?
Because they want the Saint at Filettino, they want him at Vallepietra,
they want him at Trevi, and the women of Jenne intend to keep him for
themselves.

"And all to give me a rest!" the doctor added. "And to give the chemist
a rest also, for now the Benedictine is the doctor, and his tunic is the
chemist!"

He told them that to-day people were coming from Filettino, from
Vallepietra, and from Trevi, to treat with Jenne concerning some means
of dividing the Saint among all those towns, "Who knows but what they
may come to blows!" At any rate the _carabinieri_ were already stationed
at Jenne.

"You call him 'the Saint' also?" said Maria.

"Oh, yes!" the doctor answered, laughing. "They all call him that, all
save those who call him 'the Devil,' for at Jenne some do so already!"

How astonishing! This was news to them! Who called him "the Devil," and
why?

"Ah!" and the doctor put on the knowing look of one who is well
informed, but does not intend to tell all he knows. "Well," said he,
"there are two priests from Rome staying at Jenne for a holiday, two
priests, two priests--! They are very clever! They have not told me what
they think of the Saint, but, at any rate, the parish priest's ardour
has cooled considerably, and it has been the same with others. Those
priests are workers. You do not see it, but they are at work all the
time. They are insects--I say it without intending to speak ill of them,
indeed in this case their action may even be praiseworthy! They are
insects, which, when they wish to kill a plant, do not touch the fruit,
the flowers, the l