e been seeking the value
the gardeners set on them themselves. As I walked towards the heights,
the other morning, and passed an orchard, the gardener, who saw my
ineffectual efforts, with a very long cane, to reach the boughs of
a tree, came down to me with a basketful he had been picking. As an
experiment on the price, I offered him a two-centime piece, which is a
sort of satire on the very name of money,--when he desired me to help
myself to as many oranges as I liked. He was a fine-looking fellow,
with a spick-span new red Phrygian cap; and I had n't the heart to take
advantage of his generosity, especially as his oranges were not of the
sweetest. One ought never to abuse generosity.

Another experience was of a different sort, and illustrates the Italian
love of bargaining, and their notion of a sliding scale of prices. One
of our expeditions to the hills was one day making its long, straggling
way through the narrow street of a little village of the Piano, when
I lingered behind my companions, attracted by a handcart with several
large baskets of oranges. The cart stood untended in the street;
and selecting a large orange, which would measure twelve inches in
circumference, I turned to look for the owner. After some time a fellow
got from the open front of the neighboring cobbler's shop, where he sat
with his lazy cronies, listening to the honest gossip of the follower of
St. Crispin, and sauntered towards me.

"How much for this?" I ask.

"One franc, signor," says the proprietor, with a polite bow, holding up
one finger.

I shake my head, and intimate that that is altogether too much, in fact,
preposterous.

The proprietor is very indifferent, and shrugs his shoulders in an
amiable manner. He picks up a fair, handsome orange, weighs it in his
hand, and holds it up temptingly. That also is one, franc.

I suggest one sou as a fair price, a suggestion which he only receives
with a smile of slight pity, and, I fancy, a little disdain. A woman
joins him, and also holds up this and that gold-skinned one for my
admiration.

As I stand, sorting over the fruit, trying to please myself with size,
color, and texture, a little crowd has gathered round; and I see, by
a glance, that all the occupations in that neighborhood, including
loafing, are temporarily suspended to witness the trade. The interest
of the circle visibly increases; and others take such a part in the
transaction that I begin to doubt if the first ma