to thank him,' said the Canonico.

'May I tell him so?' asked she.

'And give him ...' continued he, holding a piece of silver.

'I will give him something of my own, if he goes on and behaves well,'
said she; 'but Signor Padrone would drive him away for ever, I am
sure, if he were tempted in an evil hour to accept a quattrino for any
service he could render the friends of the house.'

Ser Francesco was delighted with the graceful animation of this
ingenuous girl, and asked her, with a little curiosity, how she could
afford to make him a present.

'I do not intend to make him a present,' she replied: 'but it is
better he should be rewarded by me,' she blushed and hesitated, 'or by
Signor Padrone,' she added, 'than by your reverence. He has not done
half his duty yet; not half. I will teach him: he is quite a child;
four months younger than me.'

Ser Francesco went into the house, saying to himself at the doorway:

'Truth, innocence, and gentle manners have not yet left the earth.
There are sermons that never make the ears weary. I have heard but few
of them, and come from church for this.'

Whether Simplizio had obeyed some private signal from Assunta, or
whether his own delicacy had prompted him to disappear, he was now
again in the stable, and the manger was replenished with hay. A bucket
was soon after heard ascending from the well; and then two words:
'Thanks, Simplizio.'

When Petrarca entered the chamber, he found Boccaccio with his
breviary in his hand, not looking into it indeed, but repeating a
thanksgiving in an audible and impassioned tone of voice. Seeing Ser
Francesco, he laid the book down beside him, and welcomed him.

'I hope you have an appetite after your ride,' said he, 'for you have
sent home a good dinner before you.'

Ser Francesco did not comprehend him, and expressed it not in words
but in looks.

'I am afraid you will dine sadly late to-day: noon has struck this
half-hour, and you must wait another, I doubt. However, by good luck,
I had a couple of citrons in the house, intended to assuage my thirst
if the fever had continued. This being over, by God's mercy, I will
try (please God!) whether we two greyhounds cannot be a match for a
leveret.'

'How is this?' said Ser Francesco.

'Young Marc-Antonio Grilli, the cleverest lad in the parish at noosing
any wild animal, is our patron of the feast. He has wanted for many a
day to say something in the ear of Matilda Vercelli. Bringin