call a broom; the man
who could win three races on a bare-backed horse, treat all hands to
wine, and even bestow segars on a few of the elders; win a _terno_ at
the Timbola, and give it back to the poor of the town; catch hold of the
rope and help pull by the horns, all over town, the ox, thus
preparatorily made tender before it was slaughtered: such a man could
not have the ill will of the men.

'Believe me, I did all my possible to touch the hearts of the maidens. I
serenaded them, learning fearful _rondinelle_, so as to be popular; I
gathered flowers for them; I volunteered to help them pick chestnuts and
cut firewood; I helped to make fireworks and fire balloons for the
festivals; I drew their portraits in charcoal on a white wall, along the
main street; and when they passed, with copper water jars on their
heads, filled with water from the fountain, they exclaimed:

''_Ecco!_ that is Elisa, that is Maricuccia, that is Francesca.'

'But I threw my little favors away: there was a black cloud over all, in
a long black robe, called Padre Cipriano; and their hearts were
untouched.

'I made one good friend, a widow lady, the Signora Margarita Baccio: she
was about thirty-three years of age, and was mourning for a second
husband--who did not come; the first one having departed for _Cielo_ a
few months past, as she told me. The widow having a small farm to hoe
and dig, and about twelve miles to walk daily, I had but limited
opportunities to study her character; but I believe, if I had, I should
not have discovered much, since she had very little: she was deplorably
ignorant, and excessively superstitious--but good natured and
hopeful--looking out for husband No. 2. She it was that informed me that
Padre Cipriano had set the faces of the maidens against me, and for this
I determined to be revenged.

'A short time before I left the town, my oil colors were about used up.
I had made nearly a hundred sketches, and not caring to send to Rome for
more paints, I used my time making pencil sketches. Among the tubes of
oil colors left, of course there was the vermilion, that will outlast
for a landscape painter all others, I managed to paint a jackass's head
for the landlord of the inn where I boarded, with my refuse
colors:--after all were gone, there still remained the vermilion. One
day, out in the fields sketching an old tower, and watching the pretty
little lizards darting in and out the old ruins, an idea struck me. The