nformer was
convinced would end the projected intrigue of the young gondolier, then
and there and for all time, Vittorio laughed so loud and so long, and
so merrily, that he lost, in consequence, two fares to San Giorgio, and
came near being reprimanded by the Gastaldo for his carelessness.

That was why late one afternoon (I was painting the sunset glow) just
as Loretta reached the edge of the quay on her way home, a young
fellow, in white duck with a sash of dark red silk binding and hanging
from his waist and a rakish straw hat tipped over his handsome face,
shot his gondola alongside mine and leaned over to whisper something in
Luigi's ear. And that was why the girl in her long black shawl stopped,
and why Luigi immediately changed gondolas and made for the quay, and
why they all talked together for a moment, the girl flashing and the
boy beaming, and that was why, too, they all three disappeared a moment
later in the direction of the high rookery where lived the baffled,
love-sick Francesco, his anxious father, the much-talked-about mother,
and the Rose of the Shipyards.

In a garden where the soil is so rich that a seedling of five--a mere
slip--blooms into flower before a foolish old painter can exhaust the
subjects along the canal, it is not surprising that a love affair
reaches its full growth between two suns. Not since the day she had
tumbled into the canal had she gone so headover-heels--both of them.
Nor did Luigi pull them out. He helped in the drowning, really.

He was talking to himself when he came back--a soft light in his eyes,
a smile lingering around the corners of his up-turned, grizzled
mustache.

"It is good to be young, Signore, is it not?" was all he said, and at
once began bundling up my traps.

Before the week was out,--nay, before the setting of two suns--every
gossip along the Riva--and they about covered the population--had
become convinced that Loretta was lost to the Quarter. Unless a wedding
ring was to end it all Vittorio would never be so bold in his
attentions to Loretta, as to walk home with her nights and wait for her
mornings.

Luigi shook his head, but he did not help the gossips solve the
problem. He had had trouble enough already with Vittorio's father.

"A common wench from the yards, I hear, Luigi!" he had blazed out--"and
you, I understand, brought them together--you,--who have been my friend
for--"

"Stop, Borodini! Not another word! You are angry, and when you ar