observed,
consolingly; and at that instant an emerald light struck full upon the
white facade of San Giorgio, and straightway the poor old moon was
consigned to the oblivion it clearly coveted.

VII

Gathering Poppies

"This is Vittorio's gondola, is it not, Nanni?" asked May, who had an
eye for details and had instantly identified the boat.

"Si, Signorina."

They had spent the morning sight-seeing, and now they were, according to
Uncle Dan, having their reward, coasting along the outer shore of the
Giudecca, in the heavenly afternoon light. The Colonel much preferred
the easy social conditions of the gondola to the restraint, not to say
chill, of church and chapel, where a man must not wear his hat nor speak
above a whisper.

May was sitting, as she liked to do, in the little gondola chair, whence
she commanded every point of the compass; a position which had the
further advantage of facilitating communication with the gondolier.

"Why don't you use your own gondola?" she persisted.

For an instant Uncle Dan's loyalty wavered, and he wondered whether
Polly were not perhaps a trifle forward for so young a girl. He had not
been struck by it before, and even now he would have challenged such a
heresy in another; but, really,--

"Because this is the better gondola," Nanni replied, in the grave,
impersonal tone which was in such marked contrast with his brother's
eager alacrity.

"I wish Vittorio would get well," May exclaimed, impatiently; "this man
isn't half as nice."

"Don't you think so?" Pauline queried. "He is a perfect gondolier."

"Yes; but he is so unapproachable. One could never get confidential with
him; one would never ask him about his wife and children, and think how
delighted Vittorio was to tell us about each individual _bambino_!"

"It would not be of much use to ask him," Uncle Dan interposed hastily.
"For he hasn't any."

"I have an idea he is poor," said Pauline. "Even poorer than the rest of
them. I wonder what is the reason."

"So do I," said May. "Nanni, is your gondola a very old one?"

"Si, Signorina; very old."

"What a pity! It must be very bad for you. Which is your ferry?"

"I don't belong to any."

"But I thought every gondolier belonged to a ferry."

There was no reply.

"Isn't that so?" May insisted.

"Si, Signorina, but I am no longer a gondolier."

"Why, what are you?"

At this juncture Uncle Dan felt it imperatively necessary to interpose
again.