e
town.

It was at this time that the wonderful counterpane began to grow, to the
continual astonishment of Giuseppe, to whom it seemed a marvel of
skill and patience, and who saw what love and sweet hope Fiammetta was
knitting into it with her deft fingers. I declare, as I think of it, the
white cotton spread out on her knees, in such contrast to the rich olive
of her complexion and her black shiny hair, while she knits away so
merrily, glancing up occasionally with those liquid, laughing eyes to
Giuseppe, who is watching her as if she were an angel right out of the
blue sky, I am tempted not to tell this story further, but to leave
the happy two there at the open gate of life, and to believe that they
entered in.

This was about the time of the change of government, after this
region had come to be a part of the Kingdom of Italy. After the first
excitement was over, and the simple people found they were not all made
rich, nor raised to a condition in which they could live without work,
there began to be some dissatisfaction. Why the convents need have been
suppressed, and especially the poor nuns packed off, they couldn't
see; and then the taxes were heavier than ever before; instead of being
supported by the government, they had to support it; and, worst of
all, the able young fellows must still go for soldiers. Just as one was
learning his trade, or perhaps had acquired it, and was ready to earn
his living and begin to make a home for his wife, he must pass the three
best years of his life in the army. The conscription was relentless.

The time came to Giuseppe, as it did to the others. I never heard but he
was brave enough; there was no storm on the Mediterranean that he
dare not face in his little boat; and he would not have objected to a
campaign with the red shirts of Garibaldi. But to be torn away from his
occupations by which he was daily laying aside a little for himself and
Fiammetta, and to leave her for three years,--that seemed dreadful to
him. Three years is a longtime; and though he had no doubt of the pretty
Fiammetta, yet women are women, said the shrewd fellow to himself, and
who knows what might happen, if a gallant came along who could read and
write, as Fiammetta could, and, besides, could play the guitar?

The result was, that Giuseppe did not appear at the mustering-office on
the day set; and, when the file of soldiers came for him, he was nowhere
to be found. He had fled to the mountains. I