added, with a dramatic gesture of self-pity. "It is not much to ask!"

"_Altro_! Nonsense!" the Veronese exclaimed, laughing, for the gondolier
looked little like one who was suffering from hunger, as he stood
swaying in keen enjoyment of the motion which showed his prowess, of the
wind as it swept his bronzed cheek, of the talk which permitted him to
exploit his grievances.

"There is the High Mass, twice in the month; there is the Low
Mass--every Monday, if you will believe me! There are the priests, _for
nothing_--Santa Maria, they are not few! The first fare in the
day?--always for the Madonna of the traghetto. This _maledetto_ fare of
the Madonna suffices for the Madonna's oil, I ask you? Ebbene non! There
are the fines--and these, it must be confessed, might be fewer, for the
saints are tired of keeping us out of mischief. And little there is for
one's own madonna, if one would make gifts!"

"This, then, for thine own madonna," said the artist pleasantly, tossing
him a considerable coin. "And may she make thee wiser; for, by thine
inventory, which it doth not harm thee to rehearse, thou hast a good
memory."

"Eccellenza, there is more, if you be not weary. There is the government
tax; it takes long to gather--ask the _gastaldo_! There are the soldiers
for the navy; how many good men does that leave for the traghetto
service? And a license is not little to buy for a poor barcariol who
would be his own man; one pays three hundred _lire_--not less. Does it
drop into one's hand with the first fare? One must belong to the
Guilds--it is less robbery!"

"But for your gastaldo, your great man, for him it is much honor--"

"Eccellenza, believe it not. If the taxes are not there for the
provveditori, it is the gastaldo who pays. When the money is little it
is the gastaldo who pays much. And the toso--all his faults blamed on
the traghetti! Ah, signore, for the gondolier it is a life--Santa
Maria!" He threw up his hands with a feint of being at a loss to convey
its hardships.

"_Come non c'e altro_!" said the Veronese, laughing; "there is none like
it."

"Ebbene--va bene!" the gondolier confessed, joining heartily in the
merriment, his grievance, which was nevertheless a real one, infinitely
lessened by confession.

Suddenly the old man rose and bowed his head, and both gondoliers
crossed themselves. The Veronese also bared his head and made the sign
of reverence, for they were passing the island of San Michele,