arned ones, he put up his tiny hand with a wan smile and
stroked her cheek.

"We will go to San Donato, Zuanino mio," she said caressingly, as he
nestled closer, "and I have _thee_, my bimbo!"

She put the little one gently down as they entered the triangular field
where the grass grew green and long--whiteness of sand gleaming in
irregular patches between the clumps of coarse blades; but to her this
poor turf was something precious associated with that island sanctuary,
restful and strange, and she drew a long breath with a sense of
suppressed pleasure; for sometimes the water, with its shimmering,
uncertain surfaces, wearied her, and unconsciously she craved something
more positive.

The child, with uncertain steps, tottered toward the standard of San
Marco, which floated proudly from the staff that rose from the rude
stone pillar in the center of the campo, where other little ones were
playing; in the corner by the well groups of women, from the cottages
that bounded the campo on one side, were waiting to draw water for the
evening meal, putting down their jugs and going first into the Duomo to
say an ave, that the good Madonna might bless the cup.

A few feet only from the Duomo the campanile drew her vision skyward;
the film of smoke was lighter here, and the sky seemed nearer--bluer.
She turned to her little charge with a beaming face--her moods were so
easily wrought upon by phases of nature, but slowly moved by personal
influences. "See'st thou, bimbo, how it is beautiful here by the Duomo?"

But the little fellow, in one of his sudden spasms of pain, was
striking the air impotently with small, clenched fists, frightening the
children who were gathering around him, joining in his cries.

Her caress and passionate forgiveness were always ready for the paroxysm
in which she was violently pushed away and combated with struggling feet
and hands, before came the period of exhaustion in which he nestled
close, panting from weakness. Then she carried him into the church,
where, kneeling before the Mother of Sorrows, whose outstretched hands
seemed to touch her own in responsive sympathy and gift of calm, she
prayed and wept.

"O Holy Mater Dolorosa! Why need the children suffer?--they are so
tender and so dear!"

She knelt with loving, protecting arms folded close about the little
form now breathing softly and at rest, while an agony of questioning
filled her prayer to that beseeching Mater Dolorosa, who, wrap