picking tiny, pink-tipped daisies and blue
succory blossoms growing in the moist green grass. From high on a
distant hillside, among his nibbling sheep, the shepherd watched.

Giacomo presently stopped talking and fed the invalid the soup and part
of the wine he had brought. He knew too much, as a wise Italian, to
give a sick man bread and beef. Then he made promises of blankets, and
of more soup to-morrow, tucked the invalid up again, and prepared to go
home. On the way down the hill he was explosive in his excitement;
surely the Signorina must understand such vehement words.

"The sheep are Count Gianelli's sheep," he shouted. "I knew the sheep
before, and there isn't a finer flock on the hills. This man is from
Ortalo, a day's journey. The Signorina understands?"

She smiled, the reassuring smile that covers ignorance. Then she came
nearer, and bent her tall head to listen.

"His name is Antoli," said Giacomo, speaking more distinctly. "Four
days ago he fell ill with fever and with chills. He lay on the ground
among the sheep, for he had only his blanket that the shepherds use at
night. The sheep nibbled close to him, and touched his face with their
tongues, and bit off hairs from his head as they cropped the grass, but
they did not care. Sheep never do! Ah, how a dog cares! The
Signorina wishes to hear the rest?"

Daphne nodded eagerly, for she had actually understood several
sentences.

"The second day he felt a warm tongue licking his face, and there were
paws on his breast as he waked from sleep. It was a white dog. He
opened his eyes, and there before him was a Signorino, young, beautiful
as a god, in a suit of brown. Since then Antoli has wanted nothing,
food, nor warm covering, nor medicine, nor kind words. The Signorino
wears his sheepskin coat and tends his sheep!"

Giacomo's voice was triumphant with delight as he pointed toward the
distant flock with the motionless attendant. The girl's face shone,
half in pleasure, half in fear. "Beautiful as a god" was more like the
Italian she had read in her father's study in New York than were the
phrases Giacomo and Assunta employed for every day. She had
comprehended all of her companion's excitement, and many of his words,
for much of the story was already hers.

"Giacomo," she said, speaking slowly, "are the gods here yet?"

The old peasant looked at her with cunning eyes, and made with his
fingers the sign of the horn that wards off