ll of the quiet life of the country--here a
little farm, there a village full of children; a vineyard heavy with
grapes, where a man walks leisurely, talking to his dog, the hose on his
shoulders; a little copse that runs down to the stones of Arno, where a
little girl sits spinning with her few goats, singing softly some
endless chant; a golden olive garden among the corn, where there is no
sound but the song of the cicale that sing all day long. And there are
so many windings, and though the road leaves the river, it seems always
to be returning, always to be bidding good-bye: sometimes it climbs high
up above the stream, which just there is very still, sleeping in the
shadow under the trees; sometimes it dips quite down to the river bank,
a great stretch of dusty shingle across which the stream passes like a
road of silver. Slowly in front of me a great flat-bottomed boat crossed
the river with two great white oxen. And then at a turning of the way a
flock of sheep were coming on in a cloud of dust, when suddenly, at a
word from the shepherd who led them, they crossed the wide beach to
drink at the river, while he waited under the trees by the roadside.
There were trees full of cherries too, so full that in the sunshine they
seemed to dance for joy, clothed all in scarlet, so red, so ripe was the
fruit. Presently I came upon an old man high up in a tree gathering them
in a great basket, and since I was thirsty I asked him for drink, and
since I was hungry I asked him for food. He climbed down the great
ladder, coming towards me kindly enough, and drew me into the shadow.
"Eat as you will, signore, and quench your thirst," said he, as he
lifted a handful of the shining fruit, a handful running over, and
offered it to me. And he stayed with me and gave me his conversation. So
I dined, and when I had finished, "Open that great sack of yours," said
he, "and I will send you on your way," but I would not. Just then four
others came along in the sun, and on their heads were great bags of
leaves, and he bade them come and eat in the shade. Then said I, "What
are those leaves that you have there, and what are you going to do with
them?" And they laughed, making answer that they were silk. "Silk?" said
I. "Silk truly," said they, "since they are the leaves of the mulberry
on which the little worm lives that presently will make it." So I went
on my way with thanks, thinking in my heart: Are we too then but leaves
for worms, out o