lothes, his linen, and his papers. The latter
consisted of a copy of his certificate of birth, his old military
pass-book, showing that he had served his time in an infantry regiment,
had been called in for six weeks' drill in the reserve, had been a
number of years in the second reserve, and had finally been discharged
from all military service. This booklet serves an Italian throughout
life as a certificate of identity, and is necessary in order to obtain a
passport to leave the country. Ercole kept his, with two or three other
yellow papers, tied up in an old red cotton handkerchief in the bottom
of the chest that held his clothes.

When he got home after his visit to Padre Francesco he took the package
out, untied the handkerchief, and looked through all the papers, one by
one, sitting by the grated window in the twilight. He could read, and
had once been able to write more or less intelligibly, and he knew by
heart the contents of the paper he wanted, though he had not unfolded it
for years. He now read it carefully, and held it some time open in his
hand before he put it back with the rest. He held it so long, while he
looked out of his grated window, that at last he could see the little
lights twinkling here and there in the windows of Ardea, and it was
almost dark in the room. Nino grew restless, and laid his grim head on
Ercole's knee, and his bloodshot eyes began to glow in the dark like
coals. Then Ercole moved at last.

"Ugly animal, do you wish me well?" he asked, rubbing the dog's head
with his knotty hand. "If you are good, you shall go on a journey with
me."

Nino's body moved in a way which showed that he would have wagged his
tail if he had possessed one, and he uttered a strange gurgling growl of
satisfaction.

The next morning, the old woman came before sunrise with water.

"You need not bring any more, till I let you know," Ercole said. "I am
going away on business for a few days, and I shall shut up the house."

"For anything that is in it, you might leave the door open," grumbled
the hag, who was of a sour temper. "Give me my pay before you go."

"You fear that I am going to America," retorted Ercole, producing an old
sheepskin purse from the inside of his waistcoat. "Here is your money.
Four trips, four pennies. Count them and go in peace."

He gave her the coppers, and she carefully tied them up in a corner of
her ragged kerchief.

"And the bread?" she asked anxiously.

Ercole went t