tink maybe you not remember me.
But I come here one time, when snow ver deep. Ver cold then," and he
shuddered to show how cold it was. "I stay here whole week. You no
remember? I Emilio--Emilio Foresi."

Now, indeed, we remembered the little image peddlers. "Yes, yes, yes!"
the old Squire cried.

"Well, I never! Can it be possible?" grandmother Ruth exclaimed. "Why,
you've grown up, of course!"

Grown up, in good truth, and a very prosperous-looking young man was
Emilio. He evidently remembered well his sojourn with us years ago, and,
moreover, remembered it with pleasure; for now he grasped the old
Squire's hand warmly and then, laughing joyously, held grandmother
Ruth's in both his own.

"But where have you been all this time?" the old Squire exclaimed.

"I live now in Boston. Not long did I sell the images. I leave my
_padrone_. He was hard man, not so ver bad, but ver poor. Then I have a
cart and sell fruit, banan, orange, apple, in de street, four year.
After that I have fruit stand on Tremont Street three year. I do ver
well, and have five fruit stands; and now I buy apples to send to Genoa
and Messina."

"But Tomaso, where's little Tomaso?" grandmother Ruth exclaimed.

Emilio's face saddened. "Tomaso he die," said he and shook his head. "He
tak bad colds and have cough two year. Doctors said he have no chance in
dis climate. I send him home to Napoli, and he die. But America fine
place," Emilio added, as if defending our climate. "Good country.
Everybody do well here."

We had Emilio as a guest at our midday meal that day--quite a different
Emilio from the pinched little fellow of thirteen years before. He
glanced round the old dining-room.

"Here where I sit dat first night!" he cried, laughing like a boy. "Big
old clock right over there, Tomaso dis side of me, and young, kind,
pretty girl on other side. All smile so kind to us; and oh, how good dat
warm, nice food taste, we so hongry!"

He remembered every detail of his stay. The red apples that we had given
him seemed to have impressed him especially; neither of the boys had
ever eaten an apple before.

"Whole big basketful you fetch up from de cellar and say tak all you
want," he ran on, still laughing. "Naver any apple taste like dose, so
beeg, so red!"

As we sat and talked he told us of his present business and how he had
tried the then novel experiment of shipping small lots of New England
apples to Italy. There had been doubt whether th