onkey) establishing themselves on the shore by the
edge of the waveless sea. There Peter got out of the cart a tea-caddy and
a spirit lamp and made tea (he was always rather unhappy if he missed his
tea) and ate biscuits, and gave Thomas--now an interested and cheerful
person of a year and a half old--milk and sopped biscuit, and produced a
bone for Francesco and carrots for Clara, and so they all had tea.

It was the hour when the sun dips below the western arm of hills that
shuts the little bay, leaving behind it two lakes of pure gold, above
and below. The sea burned like a great golden sheet of liquid glass
spreading, smooth and limpid, from east to west, and swaying with a
gentle hushing sound to and fro which was all the motion it had for
waves. From moment to moment it changed; the living gold melted into
green and blue opal tints, tender like twilight.

"After tea we'll go paddling," Peter told Thomas. "And then perhaps we'll
get a fisherman to take us out while he drops his net. Santa Caterina
should give good fishing."

In the town they were having a procession. Peter heard the chanting as
they passed, saw, through the archways into the streets, glimpses of it.
He heard their plaintive hymn that entreated pity:

"Difendi, O Caterina
Da peste, fame e guerra,
Il popol di Cartoleto
In mare e in terra..."

Above the hymn rose the howls of little St. John the Baptist, who had
been, no doubt, suddenly mastered by his too high-spirited lamb and upset
on to his face, so that his mother had to rush from out the crowd to
comfort him and brush the dust from his curls that had been a-curling in
papers these three weeks past.

It was no doubt a beautiful procession, and Peter and Thomas loved
processions, but they had seen one that morning at Varenzano, so they
were content to see and hear this from a distance.

Why, Peter speculated, do we not elsewhere thus beautify and sanctify
our villages and cities and country places? Why do they not, in fishing
hamlets of a colder clime, thus bring luck to their fishing, thus summon
the dear saints to keep and guard their shores? Why, Peter for the
hundredth time questioned, do we miss so much gaiety, so much loveliness,
so much grace, that other and wiser people have?

Peter shook his head over it.

"A sad business, Thomas. But here we are, you and I, and let us be
thankful. Thankful for this lovely country set with pleasant towns and
religious manners and nice