turquoise, are to this day in the Treasury. Crutches have
been cast before them, hearts innumerable burn about them. When she had
finished she sat a little while with her white cheek against her hand,
whispering words in an unknown tongue (they said, who knew no baby
language) to the child on her lap. He lifted up a little hand, and, "Eh,
my son, my son," she said, "wilt thou take of me?" Then she gave him
the breast, while not a soul said anything but prayers for half an hour.

When the child slept the Lady folded up her dress, covered him with her
cloak, and rose up in their midst.

"Only the poor love the poor," said she, in those low tones which all
Verona came to know by heart, "and only they who have little to eat give
to them that have less. My little son will bless you for your charity;
and I, good friends, will pray my Master to reward you when He comes.
_Addio, addio_, be with God."

Then she would have gone and left them crying had not Robaccia, the
blowsy wench and good-for-naught, wailed aloud and caught her by the
knees.

"Mother, mother, mother!" whimpered this hardy rascal, "bless me a
little more than the others, a very little more! I am bad--eh, God, I am
vile, enough!--but I will never let thee go save thou kiss me."

You could have heard the roomful of them catch breath together.
Crucciacorda, the other woman, laughed horribly; the shepherd made a
step forward to drag the slut away. But no! The light seemed to swell
and grow towards that point where it threatens to be music, so charged
with messages it is--it came undoubtedly from the heart of the Lady
through her smile. For smile she did, as sweetly, as tenderly, as a
breaking cloud. The sun of her smile was like a clean breath in the
stivy den; and, behold, she took Robaccia by the hand and lifted her up,
she encircled her with a mothering arm, and drew her close to her own
breast. Her lips touched the bad girl's cheek, lingered for a moment
there, wistfully withdrew; and Madonna of the Peach-Tree, none staying
her now, went out into the dead street, and was seen no more of that
company.

The sun at noon looked down upon Verona at peace, upon her citizens at
their prayers. Never was such a scene in the stormy little city before.
All the bells of all the churches pealed all day--with no lack of arms
to pull them. Men and women ran to and fro kissing whom they met, with a
"Save you, brother!" "Save you, sister! well met, well met!" The Grey
Br