Chapter 3 BEFORE DAYBREAK

Lucia found Beppi asleep in the grass, curled up in the same position that he had been in earlier in the day. One of his little hands had tight hold of the precious pink bag, and a sticky smile of blissful content turned up the corners of his full red lips.

Lucia looked at him and shook her head. There might have been twenty-seven instead of seven years between them, for there was something protective in her expression.

"Little lazy bones, asleep again!" she said, shaking him gently.

Beppi stirred, one eye opened, and then with a sudden rush of memory he sat up and began excitedly: "I just this minute fell asleep, just this very second, truly, Lucia! I have watched the goats, oh, so carefully, and they have not stirred,-see there they are only a little farther away than when you left. I only closed my eyes because I thought I might go on with that nice dream, but I didn't," he finished sorrowfully.

Lucia laughed.

"Look at the sun," she pointed. "It is late, you should have driven the goats home long ago. But I knew you would go to asleep after you ate up all the candy, such a naughty little brother that you are. What kind of a soldier would you make, I'd like to know, dreaming every few minutes? Come along, get up,-we must hurry back to Nana, or she will be worried."

She took his hand and together they drove the goats before them to the cottage.

[Illustration: "Together they drove the goats before them."]

Nana Rudini was waiting for them at the door. She was a little, wrinkled-up, old woman with bright blue eyes and thin gray hair. She spoke very seldom and always in a high querulous voice.

"So you're back at last, are you?" she greeted, when the children were within hearing. "Supper's been on the stove for too long. What kept you?"

"Very busy day, Nana," Lucia spoke in much the same tone she had used towards Beppi. "I had to help Aunt and Maria at market. More troops have arrived and the streets are crowded."

"Oh, sister, you never told me that!" Beppi said accusingly. "Where are they from?"

"The south mostly," Lucia replied, "fine soldiers they are too, if you can judge by their looks."

"Which you can't," old Nana interrupted shortly. "Stop your talking and come in to supper."

"Right away," Lucia promised, and hurried off to shut up her goats in the small, half-tumbled-down shack at the back of the cottage.

Supper at the Rudinis consisted of boiled spaghetti, black bread and cheese, with a cup full of milk apiece. It was not a very tempting meal, but Lucia was hungry and ate with a hearty appetite.

After the three bowls had been washed and put away in the cupboard, she helped her grandmother undress, and settled her comfortably in the green enameled bed with its brass trimmings, that occupied a good part of the small room. Lucia's mother had brought it with her from Naples, and it was the most cherished and admired article of furniture that the Rudinis owned.

"Are you comfortable, Nana?" Lucia inquired gently, as she smoothed the fat, hard pillows in an attempt to make a rest for the old gray head.

"Yes, go to bed, child," Nana replied, and without more ado she closed her eyes and went to sleep.

Lucia climbed up the ladder to the loft, and was soon cuddled down beside Beppi in a bed of fresh straw. Though she persisted in her determination that her grandmother sleep in state in the best bed, she herself preferred a simple and softer resting place.

"Tell me a story," Beppi demanded; "not about fairies and silly make believes, but about soldiers."

"But there are no pretty stories about soldiers, Beppino mio," Lucia protested.

"Who wants pretty stories!" Beppi replied scornfully. "I don't-tell me an exciting one about guns and war."

"Very well I'll try, but be still," Lucia gave in, well knowing that she would not have to go very far.

"Once upon a time," she began, "there was a soldier. He had very big eyes, and he came from the south where the sun is very warm and the sky and the water are very, very blue."

"Was he brave?" Beppi interrupted sleepily.

"Oh, yes, he was very brave," Lucia replied hurriedly, "very brave, and he loved his country more than anything else in the world."

She waited but Beppi's voice commanded.

"Go on, don't stop."

"Well, one day he was sent to guard a gate of a city, and he walked up and down before it with his gun on his shoulders, and no one could pass him unless it was a friend."

She paused again. Beppi was breathing regularly.

"Old sleepy head!" Lucia whispered, and kissed him tenderly.

The story was not continued and before many minutes she was fast asleep herself.

It was an hour before sunrise when she awoke. The air that found its way into the little attic was damp and chill. Lucia crept out of bed, being very careful not to disturb Beppi, and slipped hurriedly into her clothes. With her shoes in her hand, she climbed gingerly down the ladder past her sleeping grandmother and out to the shed.

"Good morning, Garibaldi, how are you this morning?" she said as she patted the stocky little neck of her pet.

Garibaldi submitted to her caress with a condescension worthy of the position her name gave her, and the other goats crowded to the open door, eager to leave their cramped quarters.

"Not yet, my dears," Lucia said softly, "it isn't time. Here, Esther, I will milk you first. You must all be good to-day, and Garibaldi, I don't want you to go running away if I have to leave you with Beppi," she continued. "You're nothing but goats, of course, but you know perfectly well that we are at war, and that you are very important, and must do your part. Stop it, Miss, none of your pranks, I'm in a hurry," she chided the refractory Esther for an attempt at playfulness.

"There now, that's enough, I can't carry any more or I would. Two pails only half full aren't much, but they help, I guess. Now if it won't rain until I get there it will be all right, but I'll cover the pails to be on the safer side." She found two covers and fitted them securely over the pails. "Now children, good-by. Be good till I come back, and don't go making any noise."

She paused long enough to give Garibaldi a farewell pat and then left the shed closing the door behind her. She looked up uneasily at the cottage, but everything seemed to be very still, so she picked up her pails and started off at as brisk a pace as possible.

She followed the main road that looked unnaturally white and ghostly in the pale dawn of the early morning. It was down hill for about a mile, and traveling was comparatively easy at first, but when the road reached the bottom of the valley it stopped and seemed to straggle off into numerous little foot-paths. The broadest and most traveled looking path Lucia followed, picking her way carefully for fear of stumbling and thus losing some of the precious milk.

The path led up the other side of the valley. It was a steep climb, and Lucia was tired when she reached the top. She sat down for a while to rest before going on the remainder of the way. The next path that she took turned abruptly to the right, and led up an even steeper hill to a tiny plateau above. From it one could look down on Cellino across the valley. When Lucia reached it she put down her pails in the shade of a big rock and looked about cautiously.

Nothing seemed to stir. The guns were quiet and nothing in the peaceful, secluded little spot suggested the close proximity of battle. The only human touch in sight was a small scrap of paper, held down by a stone on the flat rock above the pails.

Lucia was not surprised, for she had done the same thing every morning for a week now. She unfolded it. As she expected, she found four brightly polished copper pennies and the words, "Thanks to the little milk maid," written in heavy pencil.

Lucia picked up the money and put it into her pocket, then with a pencil that she had brought especially for the purpose she wrote, "You are welcome, my friends; good luck!" below the message, and tucked the paper back under the stone. Then with another curious look around, which discovered nothing, she started back, this time running as fleet and fast as any of her sure-footed little goats.

She reached home before either Nana or Beppino were awake, and hurried to finish her milking. When the scant breakfast was over, she was ready to start for town with her pails.

When she entered the market-place, it was to find a very different scene from the one of the day before. The place was thronged with soldiers, but they were not laughing and jesting; instead, little groups congregated around the stalls and talked excitedly. Some of the old women had covered their faces with their black aprons, and were rocking back and forth on their chairs in an extremity of woe.

There was an unnatural hush, and men and women alike lowered heir voices instinctively as they talked.

Lucia had seen the same thing many times before. She guessed, and rightly too, that a battle was going on, and that news of some disaster had reached the little town. She did not go at once to her aunt's stall, but left her pails inside the big bronze door of the church, and slipped quietly inside. The place was deserted, and the lofty dome was in dark shadow. Long rays of pale yellow light from the morning sun came through the narrow windows and made queer patches on the marble floor. In the dim recesses of the little chapels tiny candles flickered like stars in the dark.

Lucia looked about her to make sure that she was alone, and then walked quickly to one of the chapels and dropped four shining copper pennies into the mite box that stood on a little shelf beside the altar. She stayed only long enough to say a hasty little prayer, and then hurried out again into the sunshine. The clouds of the night before and the mist of the early morning had disappeared, and the market-place was bathed in warm golden sunshine.

Lucia picked up her pails and hurried to her aunt's stall.

"Well, you are late," Maria said. "We thought you had stubbed your toe and spilled all the milk."

"And only two half-full pails again," Se?ora Rudini grumbled. "But no matter, we can get more from old Paolo. Have you heard the news?" she asked abruptly.

"No," Lucia replied indifferently. "What is it?"

"A big gain by the enemy. They have taken thousands of our men, and they say we may be ordered to leave Cellino at any minute."

"Think of it! They are as near as that!" Maria said excitedly. "Oh if we must move, where can we go to? I am so frightened."

"Nonsense," Lucia spoke shortly. There was an angry gleam in her big eyes and her cheeks flushed a dark red.

"Leave Cellino, indeed! The very idea! Since when must Italians make way for Austrians, I'd like to know?"

"But if the enemy are advancing as they say," Maria protested nervously, "we will either have to leave, or be shelled to death by those dreadful guns."

"Or be taken prisoners, and a nice thing that would be," her mother added. "No, if the order to evacuate comes we must go at once. There will be no time to spare. Other towns have been captured, and there is only that between us."

She pointed to the zigzag mountain peaks so short a distance beyond the north gate. As if to give her words weight, a heavy thunder of guns rumbled ominously.

Maria shuddered. "There, that is ever so much nearer. Oh, I am frightened,-something dreadful is happening over there just out of sight."

"Silly! those are our own guns. Ask any of our soldiers," Lucia said.

"Here comes your guard, the handsome Roderigo Vicello, maybe he can tell us. Good morning to you!" she called gayly and beckoned the soldier to come to them.

"I hope you are well this morning," Roderigo said respectfully, bowing to Se?ora Rudini.

"Oh, we are well, but very frightened," Maria replied, trying hard to imitate her cousin's gaiety.

"Maria thinks that the guns we heard just now are Austrian, and I have been trying to tell her that they are Italian. Which of us is right? You are a soldier and ought to know."

"Our guns, of course. They have a different sound," Roderigo explained impressively.

He had never been any nearer to the front than he was at this moment, but he spoke with the assurance of an old soldier, partly to quiet Maria's fears, but mostly to still his own nervous forebodings. It would never do to let the little black-eyed Lucia see that he was even a little afraid.

"There, what did I tell you!" Lucia was triumphant. "I knew, but of course you would not believe me. Now perhaps you will tell her that we will not have to run away at a minute's notice, too?"

She turned to Roderigo, but eager as he was to display his importance he could not give the assurance she asked. The little knowledge that he had, made him think that the evacuation was very likely to occur at any day.

He covered his fears, however, by replying vaguely: "One can never be sure. War is war, and perhaps it may be necessary, as well as safer, for you to leave for the time being."

Lucia looked at him narrowly.

"What makes you say that?" she demanded. "Have you heard any of the officers talking?"

"No, but this morning's news is very bad. We have our orders to be ready to start at any moment."

"Oh!" Maria caught her breath sharply, and her eyes filled with tears as she looked at Roderigo shyly.

He saw the tears in surprise, and a contented warmth settled around his heart. He looked half expectantly at Lucia. Surely, if this calm, shy girl of the north would shed a tear for him, she with the warm blood of the south in her veins would weep. But Lucia's eyes were dry, and the only expression he could find in them was envy. He turned away in disgust. He did not admire too much courage in girls, for he was very young and very sentimental, and he enjoyed being cried over.

A bugle sounded from the other end of the street, and in an instant everything was in confusion. The soldiers hurried to answer, and the people crowded about to see what was going to happen.

Lucia, eager and excited, snatched Maria's hand and pulled her into the very center of the crowd. An officer, with the bugler beside him, read an order from the steps of the town hall, an old gray stone building that had stood in silent dignity at the end of the square for many centuries.

The girls were not near enough to hear the order, but they soon found Roderigo in the excited mass of soldiers, and he explained it to them.

"We are to leave for the front at once," he cried excitedly. "We have not a moment to spare. Tavola has been captured by the enemy, and our troops are retreating through the Pass."

"The Saints preserve us!" Se?ora Rudini covered her face with her apron and cried. "My sons! My sons! Where are they, dead or prisoners?"

"No, no, they are safe," Lucia protested. "They are with the Army. Don't worry, when the re?nforcements reach them they will go forward again."

But her aunt refused to be comforted. Everywhere in the street women were calling excitedly, and a number of them besieged the officers for information.

The soldiers hurried to their billets and got together their kits. The square buzzed and hummed with excitement and the guns kept up a steady bass accompaniment.

The bugle sounded a different order every little while. Some of the more prudent women went home and began packing their household treasures, but for the most part every one stayed in the market-place and argued shrilly.

"Come!" Lucia exclaimed, catching Maria's hand. "We can watch them march off from the top of the wall by the gate."

They ran quickly through the side streets, and by taking many turns they at last reached the broad top of the wall, which they ran along until they were just above the north gate.

"Here they come!" Maria exclaimed. "I can hear them."

The paved streets of the town rang with the heavy tramp, tramp of men marching, and before long they appeared before the gate. The order to walk four abreast was given. The men took their places, and then at a brisk pace they marched through the old gate, a sea of bobbing black hats and cock feathers.

The townspeople followed to cheer them excitedly. Lucia and Maria leaned dangerously over the edge of the wall in their attempt to recognize the familiar faces under the hats.

The soldiers looked up and called out gayly at sight of Lucia. She had taken off her flowered kerchief and was waving it excitedly. The wind caught her dark hair and blew it across her face, and her bright skirts in the sunshine made a vivid spot of color against the stone wall. The men turned often to look back at her as they marched along the wide road.

Maria did not lift her eyes from the sea of hats beneath her. She was waiting for one face to look up. At last she had her wish. Roderigo's place was towards the end of the column; when he walked under the gate he looked up and smiled. It was a sad smile, full of regret.

Without exactly meaning to, Maria dropped the flower she was wearing in her bodice. Roderigo caught it and tucked it, Neapolitan fashion, behind his ear, then he blew a kiss to Maria and marched on.

Lucia watched the little scene. She was half amused and half contemptuous. Her little heart under its gay bodice was filled with a fine hate that left no room for pretty romance.