part of the
home as the olive grove near by, or the long, shaded walks he loved so
well. Barnaba's hair was as straight as ever, and his white collar grew
crumpled sooner than it ought, and he looked as if he belonged somewhere
else. Observing people wondered sometimes, but only a little, and
Barnaba's brothers would have told you he was a shy, good boy, and his
father would have said the same, and I dare say Barnaba himself might
have replied a little in like manner, had he replied at all. But Barnaba
did not talk much. He read, and dreamed, and walked in the woods.
Sometimes at evening he would take off his cap, and the wind would blow
his hair, and a light would burn in his eyes, and you would have
thought, "Barnaba will do something surely." But he never did.

It was in the summer time, twelve years later than the play time, that
Henrighetta came again to the villa. It was a little dull for her, for
all the boys were away from home but Giuseppe and Barnaba. Giuseppe was
older and angelic. He went to see the poor, and he had written a
beautiful book about the Cross, and he slept in a little room on a hard
bed, and said his prayers a great deal. His brothers would cross
themselves often in speaking of him. "Giuseppe is a holy man," they
would say. There was a verse in Giuseppe's book that Barnaba loved. He
said it often to himself. It was this: "There is a road, and the name of
it is Patience; the flowers that grow by it are few, but they are very
sweet; and if you pluck them and weave them into a crown, the fragrance
shall last for ever."

Barnaba was in the woods one day, saying these words softly to himself,
when the lady Henrighetta approached. She was dressed all in white, and
Barnaba thought her very beautiful and proud. Yet she spoke so sweetly
to him. "Are you not my old friend Barnaba?" she asked. Had he been
patient, and had he plucked one of the rare sweet flowers? It seemed so,
truly. She spoke so sweetly, and she smiled at him, and she seated
herself by him. "I am going to make a wreath for myself," she said,
"while my father talks to your brother near by, and you shall get me
flowers and tell me about your brothers--where you all are and what you
are doing." Such dainty commands! How Barnaba flew for the flowers! How
oddly he looked with his long hair flowing, and his eager hands
clutching up the sweetest herbs, and grasses, and blossoms, all for her.
"May I make your wreath?" he said, for Barnaba knew