she came back to her original proposition.

"A man is ill."

The faces were blank. Daphne hastily consulted her phrase-book.

"I wish food," she remarked glibly. "I wish soup, and fish, and red
wine and white, and everything included, tutto compreso."

The brown eyes lighted; these were more familiar terms.

"Now?" cried Assunta and Giacomo in one breath, "at ten o'clock in the
morning?"

"Si," answered Daphne firmly, "please, thank you." And she disappeared.

An hour later they summoned her, and looked at her in bewilderment when
she entered the dining-room with her hat on. Giacomo stood ready for
service, and the Signorina's soup was waiting on the table.

The girl laughed when she saw it.

"Per me? No," she said, touching her dress with her finger; "for him,
up there," and she pointed upward.

Giacomo shook his head and groaned, for his understanding was exhausted.

"I go to carry food to the man who is ill," recited Daphne, her foot
tapping the floor in impatience. She thrust her phrase-book out toward
Giacomo, but he shook his head again, being one whose knowledge was
superior to the mere accomplishment of reading.

Daphne's short skirt and red felt hat disappeared in the kitchen.
Presently she returned with Assunta and a basket. The two understood
her immediate purpose now, however bewildering the ultimate. They
packed the basket with a right good will: red wine in a transparent
flask, yellow soup in a shallow pitcher, bread, crisp lettuce, and thin
slices of beef. Then Daphne gave the basket to Giacomo and beckoned
him to come after her.

He climbed behind his lady up the narrow path by the waterfalls through
damp grass and trickling fern, then up the great green slope toward the
clump of oak trees. By the low gray tent they halted, and Giacomo's
expression changed. He had not understood the Signorina, he said
hastily, and he begged the Signorina's pardon. She was good, she was
gracious.

"Speak to him," said Daphne impatiently; "go in, give him food."

He lifted the loose covering that served as the side of a tent, and
found the sick man. Giacomo chattered, his brown fingers moving
swiftly by way of punctuation. The sick man chattered, too, his
fingers moving more slowly in their weakness. Giacomo seemed excited
by what he heard, and Daphne, watching from a little distance, wondered
if fever must not increase under the influence of tongues that wagged
so fast. She strolled away,