ce were not always a moral spectacle in those times,
and Tessa's terror at being lost in the crowd was not wholly
unreasonable.

When they reached the Piazza d'Ognissanti, Tito slackened his pace: they
were both heated with their hurried walk, and here was a wider space
where they could take breath. They sat down on one of the stone benches
which were frequent against the walls of old Florentine houses.

"Holy Virgin!" said Tessa; "I am glad we have got away from those women
and boys; but I was not frightened, because you could take care of me."

"Pretty little Tessa!" said Tito, smiling at her. "What makes you feel
so safe with me?"

"Because you are so beautiful--like the people going into Paradise: they
are all good."

"It is a long while since you had your breakfast, Tessa," said Tito,
seeing some stalls near, with fruit and sweetmeats upon them. "Are you
hungry?"

"Yes, I think I am--if you will have some too."

Tito bought some apricots, and cakes, and comfits, and put them into her
apron.

"Come," he said, "let us walk on to the Prato, and then perhaps you will
not be afraid to go the rest of the way alone."

"But you will have some of the apricots and things," said Tessa, rising
obediently and gathering up her apron as a bag for her store.

"We will see," said Tito aloud; and to himself he said, "Here is a
little contadina who might inspire a better idyl than Lorenzo de'
Medici's `Nencia da Barberino,' that Nello's friends rave about; if I
were only a Theocritus, or had time to cultivate the necessary
experience by unseasonable walks of this sort! However, the mischief is
done now: I am so late already that another half-hour will make no
difference. Pretty little pigeon!"

"We have a garden and plenty of pears," said Tessa, "and two cows,
besides the mules; and I'm very fond of them. But my father-in-law is a
cross man: I wish my mother had not married him. I think he is wicked;
he is very ugly."

"And does your mother let him beat you, poverina? You said you were
afraid of being beaten."

"Ah, my mother herself scolds me: she loves my young sister better, and
thinks I don't do work enough. Nobody speaks kindly to me, only the
Pievano (parish priest) when I go to confession. And the men in the
Mercato laugh at me and make fun of me. Nobody ever kissed me and spoke
to me as you do; just as I talk to my little black-faced kid, because
I'm very fond of it."

It seemed not to have enter