leeping. In his own room across the hall
from hers, Beppo, her twin brother, slept also, though it was already
early dawn of Easter Saturday in the city of Florence, and both children
had meant to be up before the sun, that no hour of the precious holiday
should be lost in sleep.

It was the jingle of donkey bells and the sound of laughing voices in
the street below her windows that at last roused Beppina. Though it was
not yet light, the peasants were already pouring into the city from
outlying villages and farms, bringing their families in donkey-carts or
wagons drawn by sleek oxen, to enjoy the wonderful events which were to
take place in the city on that holy day.

Beppina opened her great dark eyes and sat up in bed to listen. "I'm
awake before Beppo," she whispered joyfully to herself. "I told him I
should be first. I wonder what time it is!"

As if in answer to her question a distant clock struck five. "Five
o'clock!" murmured Beppina, and, struggling to her knees in her great
carved bed, she dipped a dainty finger in the vase of holy water which
hung on the wall near by, and crossed herself devoutly. Then, folding
her hands, she murmured an Ave Maria before the image of the Virgin
which stood on the little table beside her bed. This duty done, she
slid to the floor, thrust her little white feet into a pair of blue felt
slippers, and her arms into the sleeves of a gay wrapper, then ran
across the room to the eastern windows.

As she pushed open the shutters, a gleam of sunshine flashed across the
room, lighting the dim frescoes on the high ceiling, and paling the
light of the little lamp which burned before the image of the Madonna.
A wandering breeze, fresh from the distant hills, blew in, making the
flame dance and flicker and flaunting a corner of the white counterpane
gayly in the air.

Beppina leaned her arms on the wide stone window-sill, and looked out
over Florence. The sun had just risen above the blue crest of the
Apennines, its level rays tipping the Campanile and the great dome of
the Cathedral with light, and turning eastern window-panes into flaming
beacons. The glowing colour of the sky was reflected in the waters of
the Arno, which flowed beneath its many bridges like a stream of molten
gold. Pigeons wheeled and circled above the roofs, and the air was
filled with gentle croonings and the whir of wings.

For a moment Beppina stood drinking in the freshness of the lovely
spring mo