persons in particular, for their costume was evidently
made up of cast-off garments that had seen better days. Their faces,
though, were dark and thin, and there was a southern fire in the eyes
of the younger man as he said at once in tolerable Swedish, "Pietro
here is tired. He cannot get any further, miss. I told him he could
not hold out for this trip, but come he would, and I had to let him.
Perhaps he could sit down somewhere a few moments and get a glass of
milk or something like that."

"He looks very tired," said Alma. "Go that way to the kitchen, and I
will see that you have something to eat."

The colonel, hearing voices, came out at the moment. He saw at once
that the men were Italians, and addressed them in their own language.
The eyes of the one who had spoken flashed with pleasure, and a light
came into the face of his companion, who now said in Italian, "I have
been very ill. It is too cold for me up here. No summer, no summer!
The north killed my wife long ago, and I suppose it has killed me. I
knew this man when I was here before. I only met him again yesterday.
He knows where the house is I want to find. I left my boy there, a
baby, and I want to know if he is alive. It was Francesca's baby, and
she loved it before she went wrong," and he touched his forehead
significantly.

The colonel looked meaningly at Alma, whose eyes were wide with intense
interest, for she had understood enough to follow the conversation.

The colonel took the hand of the old man kindly, and said,--

"You must rest here a little, and then we will talk together."

When Pietro was refreshed by rest and food the colonel sat down beside
him, and told him all about the happy life Nono had had at the cottage,
and how he had made the snow statue of the princess, and was now far
away in Italy, learning to be perhaps a great sculptor himself.

The tears rolled slowly down the old man's cheeks as he listened. "It
is good to hear, Enricho," he murmured, addressing his companion; "but
I am too late, as you see."

"Can't we keep him here, and take care of him? He is our Nono's
father, of course, papa," said Alma, much moved.

Alma had truly received into the inner chamber of her heart the
heavenly Guest, and she was eager to share all with his humbler
brethren.

"Where shall we put him?" said the colonel thoughtfully.

"In the little room in the wing, where the painters slept last summer,"
answered Alma promptly. "