e flag.

"Buon' giorno, Ser Baldassare!" shrilled La Testolina, plump and
black-eyed leader of mischief.

"Giorno, giorno, La Testolina," growled the old man.

Vanna, very busy, grew as red as a rose. The others knelt back on their
heels; compliments of a homely sort flew about, sped on by flashing
teeth. Baldassare's own were black as old channel-posts in the Lagoon,
but in tongue-work he gave as sharp as he got. Then a wicked wind blew
Vanna's hair like a whip across her throat, fit to strangle her. She had
to face the day. Baldassare pondered her straight young back.

"When Vanna's a nun she'll have no more trouble with her hair," quoth La
Testolina, matchmaker by race.

"When Vanna's a nun the river will be dry," said Vanna from between her
elbows.

"When Vanna's a nun the river, on the contrary, will be in flood." This
from Baldassare.

"Hey! what's this?" Caterina cried; and Nonna pinched her arm.

"Adige will go crying that she comes no more to dip her arms," said the
old man, with the utmost gravity and a broad grin. The women screamed
their delight, slapped their knees, or raised witnessing hands to
heaven; La Testolina caught Vanna round the waist and gave her a
resounding kiss.

"Compliments, my little Vanna, compliments!" Her voice pealed like a
trumpet.

"Vi ringrazio, signore," said Vanna under her breath, and La Testolina
held up a tress of her long hair to the light.

"When Vanna's a nun you would bid for that, eh, Baldassare?"

"I will bid for whatever she will sell me," says he, with a blink.
Whereupon the matchmaker made no more music. The scent was too hot for
that.

Yet for all his adventuring he got little reward; she turned him no more
than the round of her cheek. Vanna never stayed her work, and he,
ordinarily a silent man, paid no more compliments--yet ceased not to
look.

Going up the street at dinner-time, he made his bid. He limped by the
tall girl's side without speech from either; but at the door he looked
up queerly at her and pinched her ear.

"Go in and feed the youngsters, my chuck," said he; "I know where to
meet Don Urbano, and please Madonna you shall feed your own before
long."

"Yes, Ser Baldassare," says pretty Vanna in a twitter.

The conference between the high contracting parties was wordy, bristled
with the gesticulations of two pair of hands, and was commented on by
all the guests in the "Fiore del Marinajo." The girl, said Don Urbano,
was the very pri