uch her superior! Go and tell her this in my name, and tell her also to
withdraw her offers, for I spurn them! Good-night!!"

He left Pasotti in a state of utter amazement, and went his way,
trembling with over-excitement and rage. He forgot his lantern, and went
down the hill in the dark, striding along, neither knowing nor caring
where he placed his feet, and from time to time uttering an ejaculation,
pouring out that which was seething within him--rage against Gilardoni,
and accusations against Luisa!

* * * * *

Uncle Piero had gone to bed early, and Luisa was waiting for Franco in
the little salon with Maria, whom she had kept up that her father might
see something of her this last night. Poor little Signorina Missipipi
had very soon grown weary, and had begun to open wide her little mouth,
and assume a tearful expression, asking in a small and pitiful voice:
"When is papa coming?" But she possessed a mamma who was unrivalled in
consoling the afflicted. Now it was some time since Signorina Missipipi
had owned a pair of whole little shoes: and little shoes, even in
Valsolda, cost money. Not much money, it is true, but what is to be done
when you have hardly any? However, this unique mamma was also unrivalled
in shoeing those who were shoeless. The very day before, Luisa, in
searching for a piece of rope in the attic, had found a boot which had
belonged to her grandfather, buried beneath a heap of rubbish, of empty
boxes and broken chairs. She had put it in water to soften, and had
borrowed a shoemaker's knife, an awl, and shears. She now took the
venerable boot, that frightened Maria, and placed it on the table. "Now
we will recite its funeral oration," said she, with that liveliness she
could assume at will, and of which even mortal anguish could not rob
her, if she deemed it necessary to be lively. "But first you must ask
your great-grandfather's permission to take his boot." She made Maria
clasp her hands, and recite the following jingle, her eyes comically
raised to the ceiling.

Great granddad of mine
Who to heav'n did climb,
This boot, to you useless
Pray give to this princess,
Who longs in vain
For slippers twain,
And throws you a kiss,
The pert little Miss,
Which she begs you to put
On the sole of your foot.

Then followed a somewhat irreverent fancy, one of many such born in
Luisa's brain--a strange story of the little angel wh