usica!_" he entreated, and a goodly
shower of nickels and coppers and fluttering _lire_ were gathered
in. But still not a gondola moved away, and later comers had to tie on
the outskirts, spreading now, fan-shaped, with twinkling eyes, far over
toward San Giorgio.

Uncle Dan fell to counting the twinkling eyes, and his heart swelled
within him. There must be close upon a hundred people here, drawn
hither, held fast, by his little Polly. There she stood, in her sulphur
shawl, unrecognisable, to be sure, but natural and self-possessed as if
she had been singing in her own parlour.

Somebody called for Gordigiani's _O Santissima Vergine_,--a favourite
song of "la Canti." The singer rose again to her feet. The low, pulsing
accompaniment sounded on the strings, and presently the voice began,
with a softly vibrating tone, different from the resonant quality which
had first attracted the listeners.

"_O Santissima Vergine Maria!_"

"I told you it was a trained voice," Uncle Dan heard someone say in a
neighbouring gondola. "I believe she's a stage singer. Just listen to
that!"

"Hush, don't talk!" the answer came. "It's the sweetest thing I ever
heard."

And in truth a delicate, penetrating pathos had come into the fresh
young voice, pleading so melodiously for the life of "_mio ben_."

"O Maria, O Maria," was the artless supplication; "I vow to give to
thee the ring my mother bought for me four years ago, and the coral
necklace, _tanto bello_!" And then, with simple fervour, the Madonna was
assured that, would she but save _il poverino_, a candle should be burned
to her every Saturday,--"_ogni Sabbato, Maria, Maria_!"

As the last note ceased, sweet and sad, on the night air, a burst of
applause went up, and, "_encore, encore_," the forestieri shouted,
"_encore_!" And other gondolas came gliding up, and the spreading fan
stretched in ever widening compass, divided now, like the pinions of a
great sable bird studded with dots of light. Then, while the flowing
moonlight brightened, and a perfumed breeze came wafted over the water
from the rose gardens of the Giudecca, the sweet voice again took up the
simple and touching strain.

After that it was an ovation,--"an ovation, I tell you," Uncle Dan would
declare, when bragging about it to the other Polly. "Why, the people
were perfectly carried off their feet! When the hat went round they
didn't know what it was they pulled out of their pockets. A ten-franc
piece seemed