It was several minutes before Lucia saw him again; he was lying flat, a little to one side of the road, and he was very still. She waited, hoping against hope to see him move, and fighting against the horrible thought that filled her mind.
"He is dead," she exclaimed, terrified, "and they are moving; and the bridge!"
Without another thought she got up and very carefully started down the descent, her mind concentrated on the bridge. She did not attempt to go to the road, but kept to the shelter of the rocks, and a little to one side of the fire. The shells were bursting all around her, but she was above the range of the guns, and comparatively safe.
She hurried as fast as she could, but it was hard to keep the direction, in all the noise and blinding flames. She did not dare to look towards Cellino, or think what that hideous column of smoke might mean.
At last she reached the river, and the bridge was in sight a little distance ahead. It was an old stone bridge, and wide enough for men to walk four abreast. At that point the river was very wide and the bridge was made in three arches. It looked very substantial, and Lucia stopped, suddenly terrified by the thought that she did not have the slightest idea how or where to blow it up.
She looked about her as if for inspiration. She found it in the moving line of men just visible far above in the mountains.
The Austrians! They were advancing, and the sudden realization of it brought out all her courage and daring, and intensified the hatred in her heart.
"They shall not cross our bridge," she shouted defiantly, and raced ahead regardless of the rain of shot and shell.
But when she reached the bridge she stopped again, helpless and completely baffled. The wall rose above her high and impregnable. A little farther along, the window of the convent seemed to be ablaze with light. The church had been struck, and Lucia could feel the heat of the flames from where she stood.
The North Gate seemed miles away, and she turned to the convent. She knew there was a door that gave on to the river bank, and she ran forward. She found it and pushed frantically against it. It was locked, the only other opening being a window higher up.
Lucia looked at it in despair. It was her only chance. The glass had been smashed by the impact of the bursting shells and lay in broken bits under her feet. She could just reach the ledge with her hands, and the stone felt warm. The wall was rough and uneven, and after a struggle she managed to find a foothold and pulled herself up. The jagged glass still in the casement cut her hands, but she did not stop to think about it. Once inside she ran along the dark corridor and up the few steps that led to the first floor. The big iron doors were open, and she caught her first sight of the town.
The convent was just outside, and on the road that led south a great stream of people carrying every size of bundles, was hurrying along. Lucia recognized some of them, but the faces she most longed to see were not there.
She turned away, for the sight seemed to drain all her courage, and she longed to run after them, but the memory of that moving mass of soldiers made her true to her trust, and she hurried through the convent, calling for aid.
At the farthest door she discovered several of the sisters hurrying about and trying to clear the big ward filled with wounded soldiers. They had been brought in that morning, and some of them were very ill indeed. The sisters were carrying them out on improvised stretchers. Those who were able to stand up staggered along as best they could by themselves. Lucia saw one boy leaning heavily against the door, and ran to him.
"Roderigo Vicello!" she exclaimed, when she looked up at him.
Roderigo swayed and would have fallen if she had not supported him.
"I can not go," he said weakly. "I am too tired, and I want to go. I have watched her out of sight, but I am too tired to follow."
Lucia looked at him intently. It seemed to her impossible that a man, and a soldier, could bother to think of a girl at such a time. She took his arm firmly and shook him.
"Do you know how to blow up a bridge that is mined?" she demanded excitedly.
"Yes, pull out the pin," Roderigo replied, "if it is a time fuse," he spoke slowly and painstakingly.
"Pin?" Lucia exclaimed impatiently, "I don't understand, you will have to come. Listen, the Austrians are just a little way off across the river, they must not cross the bridge."
Roderigo was alert at once. The light came back into his eyes and his body stiffened.
"What are you saying?" he demanded. "Do you mean, they are coming from that side?"
"Yes," Lucia exclaimed, "there is no time to spare; hurry, I will help you."
She put her strong, young arm about his waist, and by leaning most of his weight on her shoulder he managed to crawl along. Lucia was half crazy with impatience, but she suited her step to his, and helped him all she could.
At last they reached the lower door. She opened it hurriedly and the bridge was in sight, but so were the Austrians. They were so near that what had seemed one solid mass now resolved itself into individual shapes. To Lucia it seemed as if a great sea of men were rushing down upon them.
The exertion from the walk made Roderigo sway, and just before they reached the bridge he fell forward. Lucia crouched down beside him, and begged and pulled until he was on the bridge.
"Now where is it? Tell me what to do," she begged, "see they are almost here."
With a tremendous effort Roderigo pulled himself to the edge of the bridge and located the mine. In a voice that was so weak that Lucia could hardly hear it he gave the directions. Lucia obeyed.
"When will it go off?" she demanded. "Will we have time to get away?"
Roderigo shrugged his shoulders.
"You will," he said. "Run as fast as you can, I don't know how long it will take."
Lucia did not wait to argue. She caught him under his arms and dragged him back to the convent as fast as she could.
Roderigo had given up all hope, but as they drew nearer to the door of the convent, the wish to live asserted itself, and he got to his feet and ran with Lucia. They did not stop until they were safe on the road beyond. The last inhabitant of Cellino was out of sight, and it seemed as if they were alone.
They waited, Lucia supporting Roderigo's head in her arms.
The explosion came, there was a crash, and then a great shaking of the earth. Lucia listened, her eyes flashing.
"Wait here," she said to Roderigo, "I will return at once." She ran hurriedly back to the convent and down again to the door.
The old bridge was ruined. Great pieces of it were torn out and had fallen high on the banks. The center span was entirely gone, and the river, broad and impassable, ran smoothly between the jagged ends.
Lucia did not stand long in contemplation of the scene before her. She hurried back to the road. A sister was beside Roderigo, and Lucia went to her.
"It is not safe back in there," she said, pointing to the convent. "A shell may hit it."
The sister nodded.
"It hardly matters," she replied quietly. "No place is safe. We will take him there; he is too ill to be carried far."
Lucia agreed, and between them they carried the unconscious Roderigo back to the ward and laid him gently on one of the beds.
Sister Francesca turned back the cuffs of her robe and began doing what she could. As she worked she talked.
"We were all ordered to leave," she said; "but when we were well along the road I turned back. It seemed so cowardly to go when we were most needed. The rest thought that by night the Austrians would be in possession, but I could not believe it."
She was a little woman with a soft voice and big blue eyes, and she spoke with such gentle assurance that Lucia felt comforted.
"They will not come to-night," she said, "for the bridge is down, and our troops will surely be able to force them back."
Sister Francesca nodded.
"I hope so. At any rate, there will be wounded and my place is here."
At the word "wounded," the vivid picture of the smoke-choked valley, the shell explosion, and the still form of the Italian soldier flashed before Lucia's mind.
"What am I doing here?" she said impatiently. "There are wounded now and perhaps we can save them."
She did not offer any further explanation, but slipped out of the big room and hurried back to the road once more.
The sun had set and twilight gleamed patchy through the clouds of smoke. It was still light enough to see, and Lucia hurried to the gate. The first sight that she had of Cellino made her stop and shudder. The church was in ruins, and every pane of glass was broken in the entire village. In their haste the refugees had thrown their belongings out of their windows to the street below, and then had gone off and left them. Great piles of furniture and broken china littered the way, and stalls had been tipped over in the market place.
No one stopped Lucia; the town was deserted. She ran hurriedly across to the North Gate, afraid of the ghostly shadows and unnatural sights. At the gate a splendid sight met her eyes.
From the convent she had only seen the Austrians, the wall had cut off her view of the west. But now she commanded a view of the whole field, and to her joy the Italians were advancing as steadily from the west as the Austrians from the east. They would meet at the river, and at the memory of the bridge Lucia threw back her head and laughed. It was not a merry laugh, but a grim triumphant one, and it held all the relief that she felt.
But, splendid as the sight before her was, she did not stay long to look at it. Below, somewhere in the valley, the Italian soldier of the shining white teeth and the pennies was lying wounded, or dead, and nothing could make Lucia stop until she found him.
The heavy artillery fire had let up a little, and the shells were not quite so many.
Lucia started to run. She had made up her mind earlier in the day that if she moved fast enough she would escape being hurt. She unconsciously blamed the slowness of the Italian soldier for his injury. She passed her cottage half-way down the hill. It was still standing, but a shell had dropped on the little goat-shed and blown it to pieces. One of the uprights and the door, which was made of stout branches lashed together with cord, still stood. The door flapped drearily and added to the desolation of the scene.
Lucia did not stop to investigate the damage, but hurried ahead. She was afraid the light would fade before she reached the wounded soldier.
At the end of the road in the bottom of the valley she was just between both sides, the shells dropped all about her and she stood still, bewildered and frightened.
The high mountains on either side made sounding boards for the noise, and the roar of the guns seemed to double in volume.
"Lie down!"
A voice almost under her foot made her jump, and she saw the Italian soldier. She did as he commanded, and he pulled her towards him.
He was very weak, and when he moved one leg dragged behind him. He tried to crawl with Lucia into the shell hole close by. She saw what he was doing and did her best to help. When they finally rolled down into the shell hole, the man groaned.
Lucia could feel that his forehead was wet with great drops of perspiration. She found his water bottle and gave him a drink.
"What's happened?" he asked, speaking close to her ear.
Lucia told him as much as she knew.
"Then the bridge has gone?" There was hope in his voice.
"Gone for good. They can never cross it, and our men are just over there."
"How can I get you back?" she asked. "The convent is so far away."
The soldier shook his head. "You can't. We are caught here between the two fires, it would be certain death to move. What made you come back?"
"To find you," Lucia replied. "I could not come sooner, there was so much to do. I even forgot you, but when I remembered, I ran all the way and now I am helpless."
"Don't give up," the Italian replied. "You must have courage for both of us, for I am useless. My leg has been badly injured by a piece of shell, and I cannot even crawl."
"Then there is nothing to do but wait for the light," Lucia was trembling all over. "Oh, what a long day it has been!"
"But the dawn will come soon," the soldier tried to cheer her, "and then perhaps the stretcher-bearers will find us. If they do not—"
"If they do not, I will find a way to take you to the convent," Lucia replied with sudden spirit, and with the same determination that had resulted in her blowing up the bridge, she added to herself:
"He shall not die!"
The long night set in, and the soldier, wearied from his long wait, dropped to sleep in spite of the noise. Lucia's tired little body rested, but her eyes never relaxed their watch in the darkness.
The fire kept up steadily, and at irregular intervals a star-shell would illuminate the high mountains. Towards midnight there was an extra loud explosion, and once more the terrifying flames seemed to encircle Cellino.
Lucia wondered dully what had been struck. The church was gone, and she supposed this was the town hall. It looked too near, as far as she could judge, for the convent.
Her ears were becoming accustomed to the sound, and she thought the fire from both sides was being concentrated towards the south. The shells near them lessened, and at last stopped. Before dawn the Italian stirred, and called out in his sleep.
Lucia spoke to him, but he did not answer; he was so exhausted that he was soon unconscious again.
Lucia watched the east, and tried to imagine Beppi safe and sound in a town far away from this terrible din, but she could be sure of nothing. She remembered Roderigo's words, 'She is safe,' and knew that he must have meant Maria. Surely Beppi and Nana were with her and Aunt Rudini; it could not be otherwise.
With a guilty start she remembered Garibaldi. Where was she, and what had become of her in all the terrors of yesterday? Lucia could not remember having noticed her after she left the footbridge. Was she safe in the mountains, or lying dead in a shell hole?
"My Garibaldi, poor little one, she would not understand, and she will think I neglected her."
Tears of pity and weariness stung Lucia's cheeks. The thought of her little goat, suffering and neglected, seemed to be more than she could bear. She buried her head in her arm and cried softly. The tears were a relief to her, and long after she had stopped sobbing they trickled down her cheeks.
She fell into a light doze now that her watch was so nearly ended, and did not waken until the east was streaked with gray. She might not have awakened then, had it not been for a cold, wet nose burrowing in her neck, and a plaintive, "Naa, Naa!"
She sat up suddenly to discover Garibaldi, covered with mud from her ears to her tail, looking very woe-begone, standing beside her. Regardless of the mud Lucia threw her arms around her pet, and for once in her life the little goat seemed to return her caress.
When Lucia lifted her head there was a smile on her lips, and the old light of determination shone in her eyes. She got to her knees slowly and looked about her. The guns were booming back and forth, but their position seemed to be changed. The Austrian guns still sounded from across the river, but their range was much farther south.
Lucia looked towards the west. None of the guns that were there the night before could be heard. With a throb of joy she realized that the booming now came from the town.
"Had the Italians crept up and into Cellino during the night?" The very idea was so exciting that she could not rest until she made sure.
She stood up and walked over to the road. The gate had an odd appearance in the half light. She walked up the hill a little way, rubbing her eyes as she went. Something behind the wall seemed to appear suddenly, emit a puff of smoke, and then disappear.
Lucia had never seen a big gun in her life, and she did not know that one was hidden securely in the cover of the wall near the ruins of the church, for so quietly had the great monster arrived, and so stealthily had the soldiers worked, that its sudden appearance seemed almost a miracle.
Lucia put it down as one, and offered her prayer of thankfulness from the middle of the muddy road. Then the work at hand took the place of her surprise, and she ran back to her wounded soldier and roused him gently. He opened his eyes; they were bright with fever, and he tossed restlessly.
Lucia tried to move him, but could not. He was very big, and she could not pull him as she had the slender Roderigo.
As she stopped to consider, the walls of Cellino suddenly seemed to let loose a fury of smoke and flame. Nothing that had happened during the day before equalled it. The big guns boomed and the smaller ones sent out sharp, cracking noises that were even more terrifying.
Poor Lucia dropped to her face again, and Garibaldi cowered beside her.
Nothing seemed to happen. The shells did not fall near them as she had expected, and after her first fright had passed, she got to her feet again.
Tugging at the soldier was useless, and an idea was forming in her mind. She ran as fast as she could up the hill to the cottage, calling Garibaldi to follow.
At the shed she stopped and looked at the door. It was light, and she soon tore it away from its support. Then she went into the cottage and came back with a rope. She made a loop and put it over the goat's head. Then with two long pieces she contrived a harness and hitched the door to it. One end dragged on the ground, and the other was about a foot above it. The rope was crossed on the goat's back and tied firmly to the long ends of the door that did duty as shafts. Garibaldi was too disheartened to protest, and Lucia had little trouble in leading her down the hill.
The soldier was delirious when she reached him, but he was so weak that it was an easy matter to roll him on to the improvised stretcher.
Lucia took hold of one shaft, and with Garibaldi pulling too, they started off.
It was a long and weary climb, but at last they reached the cottage.
The terrible jolting had been agony for the soldier. He regained consciousness on the way, and from time to time a groan escaped him. But when he was in the house he did his best to smile, and crawled onto the mattress that Lucia had pulled to the floor.
She made haste to take off his knapsack, and under his direction she dressed the ugly wound in his thigh. Her fingers, only used to rough work, moved clumsily, but she managed to make him a little more comfortable. He smiled up at her bravely.
"Poor little one, you are tired. Go and eat," he whispered. And Lucia, after she saw his head sink back on the pillow, found a stale loaf of black bread and began to munch it slowly.
The soldier pointed to his knapsack and told her to eat whatever she found in it.
"There should be some of my emergency rations left," he said faintly.
Lucia found some dried beef and offered it to him, but he shook his head and asked for a drink of water. She gave it to him, but his eyes closed and his head fell back as he drank. She ate all the beef and a cake of chocolate that she found; and then went to the door to look out.
Cellino was enveloped in smoke and she could not see the gate. The guns were barking, and little spurts of white smoke seemed to punctuate each separate fire. Away to the east the enemy's guns were still booming.
Lucia realized that a hard battle was under way, and that it would be useless to try to get help until there was a lull. She returned to the room and looked down at the soldier. He was moaning softly, and his eyes looked up at her beseechingly.
"Are you suffering very much?" she asked softly.
The man nodded, his eyes closed, and a queer pallor came over his face. Lucia was suddenly terrified. She felt very helpless in this battle with death, but her determination never left her.
She ran to the door. Poor Garibaldi was still standing hitched to the stretcher. Lucia went to her and led her back to the door of the cottage. She looked half-fearfully, half-angrily at the town above her.
"He shall not die!" she said between her teeth, and went back into the house.
The transfer from the bed to the stretcher was very difficult to manage, for the poor soldier was beyond helping himself. But Lucia succeeded without hurting him too much, and once more the strange trio started out on their climb.
They were in no great danger, for only an occasional shell burst near them. The fighting was going on below the east wall. Lucia and Garibaldi toiled up the hill, each one using every bit of their strength.
"Lucia and Garibaldi toiled up the hill, each one using every bit of their strength."[Illustration: "Lucia and Garibaldi toiled up the hill,each one using every bit of their strength."]
"Lucia and Garibaldi toiled up the hill, each one using every bit of their strength."[Illustration: "Lucia and Garibaldi toiled up the hill,each one using every bit of their strength."]
The soldier was limp and lifeless, his head rolled with every bump. He looked like one dead, but Lucia refused even to consider such a possibility. She urged Garibaldi on and tugged with determined persistence.
They were just below the wall when Lucia stopped to rest. The little goat was staggering from the exertion, and she was out of breath. She looked at the gate, it was only a little way off, but it seemed miles, and she wondered if she could go on.
She looked up at the wall. A man dressed in a uniform unlike the Italian soldiers was looking down at her. Lucia called to him just as he jumped to the ground. She held her breath expecting to see him hurt, but he landed on his feet and ran to her.
"For the love of Pete, what have you got there?" he asked in a language that Lucia did not understand.
She looked up at him bewildered.
"I do not understand what you say, but the soldier is very sick. Please help me carry him to the convent," she said hurriedly.
"Hum, well you may be right," the big man laughed, "but I guess what you want is help."
He leaned over the wounded Italian.
"Pretty far gone, but there's hope. Steady now, I've got you." He lifted the man gently in his arms and carried him on his back.
Lucia watched him with admiration shining in her eyes. She followed with the goat through the gate.
Once in the town she could hardly believe her eyes. Soldiers seemed to be everywhere, shouting and calling from one to the other. She saw the little guns that were making all the sharp, clicking noises, and she knew that just below, and on the other side of the river, the Austrians were fighting desperately.
They passed many wounded as they hurried along, and to each one the big man would call out cheerily. Lucia wished she could understand what he said, or even what language he spoke. It was not German, of course, and she did not think it was French.
"Perhaps he was a tourist?" she asked him shyly, but he shook his head.
"I don't get you, I'm sorry. I'm an American, you see."
"Oh, Americano!" Lucia clapped her hands delightedly. "I am glad, I thought so, American is the name of the tourists, just as I guessed," she replied. "I have heard of Americans and I have seen some in the summer, but they were not like you."
She looked up in his face and smiled.
The American did not understand a word of her Italian, but he saw the smile, and answered it with a good-natured grin.
"You're a funny kid," he said. "I wish I could find out what you are talking about, and where you got ahold of that queer rig and the goat."
They had reached the other gate by now, and they hurried through it and to the convent.
Several of the sisters had returned, and there were doctors and nurses all busy in the long room where, the night before, Lucia had left Roderigo and Sister Francesca.
The American laid the soldier down on one of the beds, and hurried to one of the doctors.
"Saw this youngster dragging this man on a sort of stretcher hitched to a goat," he said. "He's pretty bad. Better look at him."
The doctor nodded. Lucia stood beside her soldier and waited. She was almost afraid of what the doctor would say. He leaned over him and began taking off his muddy uniform, while the American helped. When he had examined the wound, he hurried over to a table and came back with a queer looking instrument. To Lucia it looked like a small bottle attached to a very long needle.
"Don't, don't, you are cruel!" she protested, as he pushed it slowly into the soldier. She put out her hand angrily, but the American pulled her back.
"It's all right," he said soothingly. "It's to make him well."
Lucia shook her head, and the doctor turned to her. He spoke excellent Italian.
"It is to save his life, child, and it doesn't hurt him, I promise you. Now tell me, where did you find him?"
Lucia explained hurriedly. The story, as it came from her excited lips, sounded like some wild, distorted dream. The doctor called to Sister Francesca.
"Is this child telling me the truth?" he asked wonderingly.
"As far as I know," she said; "and that boy in the third cot blew up the bridge. I know she went out to find the wounded."
The doctor did not reply at once. He was hunting for the soldier's identification tag. When he found it, he read it and whistled.
"Captain Riccardi!" he exclaimed. "By Jove, we can't let him die."
It could not be said that the doctor redoubled his efforts, for he was working his best then, but he added perhaps a little more interest to his work.
The American helped him, and Lucia, at a word from Sister Francesca, hurried to her and helped her with what she was doing. It was not until many hours later that she stopped working, for more wounded were being brought in every few minutes by the other stretcher-bearers, and there was much to do. But at last there was a lull, and Lucia ran through the long corridor and down to the door.
She opened it a crack and looked out. Before her, stretched along the banks of the river, were countless Austrian soldiers, staggering and fighting in a wild attempt to run away from the guns in the wall that mowed them down pitilessly. The officers tried to drive them on, but the men were too terrified, they could not advance under such steady fire. A little farther on, there was the beginning of a rude bridge. The enemy had evidently tried to build it during the night, but had been forced to abandon it after the Italians reached their new position.
As Lucia watched, the men seemed to form in some sort of order, and retreat back into the hills. Their guns stopped suddenly, and only the Italian fire continued.
It was a horrible scene, and in spite of the splendid knowledge that an undisputed victory was theirs, Lucia turned away and closed the door behind her. She ran up to the big door and out on the road.
There were signs of the battle all about her in the big shell holes in the road, and in the ruins still smoking inside the walls, but there was no such sight as she had just witnessed, and she took a deep breath of the warm fresh air.
She shaded her eyes and looked down the road.
Garibaldi, freed from her harness, was lying down in the sunshine, and as Lucia watched her she saw a familiar figure running towards her. She saw it stop and pat the goat. With a cry of joy she recognized Maria, bedraggled and muddy, but without doubt Maria. She ran forward to meet her.
"Maria, where have you come from?" she called as the older girl threw herself into her out-stretched arms and began to cry.
"Oh, from miles and miles away! I have been running since late last night," she sobbed.
"But what has happened? Beppi, Nana, are they safe?" Lucia demanded.
"Yes, yes, they are all safe with mother," Maria replied.
"Then why did you come back?" Lucia persisted.
"Oh, I could not bear it!" Maria tried to stifle her sobs. "All yesterday, as we ran away from the guns, I kept thinking—back there, there is work and I am running away. I knew that you were here, and I thought you were killed. Nana was half crazy with fear and we could get nothing out of her."
"But Beppi, he is safe, and aunt is taking care of him?" Lucia insisted.
"Oh, he is safe, of course, and so excited over his adventure, but he was crying for you last night, and we had hard work to comfort him."
Maria paused, and Lucia looked into her eyes. There was a question there and she knew that her cousin did not give voice to it. She put her arm around her and led her back towards the convent.
"Come," she said, smiling with something of her old mischievousness. "There is much to be done, and I will take you to Sister Francesca. She will tell you where to begin."
Maria followed her.
Lucia went back to the ward and did not stop until she stood beside Roderigo's bed. He was asleep, but his brows were drawn together in a worried frown. Lucia put her finger on her lip and turned to her cousin and pointed. Maria looked; a glad light came into her eyes, and without a sound she fell on her knees beside the bed.
Lucia left her and went over to Sister Francesca. She was awfully tired, and her arms were numb, but she did not dare stop for fear she would not be able to begin again.
"What can I do?" she asked.
Sister Francesca pointed to two empty buckets. "Go out to the well and fill those. We need more water badly," she said, without looking up.
Lucia picked up the pails and walked to the end of the room, through a little side door and into a cloister. In the center of it was an old well that she worked by turning an iron wheel.
Lucia drew the water and poured it into her pails, and started back with them. It had been all her tired arm could do to lift the empty ones, but now each step made sharp pains go up to her shoulders. She staggered along with them, fighting hard against the dizziness in her head, but when she was half-way down the ward everything began to swim before her. She swayed, lost her balance, and would have fallen had not a strong arm caught her. The pails fell to the floor, the water splashing over the tops.
Through the singing in her ears she heard an angry voice.
"Poor youngster, whoever sent her out for water? Seems to me she's earned a rest. Here, sister, help me, will you?"
Then Maria's soft voice came to her.
"Lucia dear, don't look like that!" she cried excitedly. "Here, senor, put her on the bed, so."
She felt herself being lifted ever so gently, and then the soothing comfort of a mattress and a pillow stole over her and she fell sound asleep.
She did not wake up until late in the afternoon. The sun was setting and the long ward was in deep shadow. She opened her eyes for a minute and then closed them again. She was too blissfully comfortable to make any effort.
She was conscious first of all of a strange quiet. The guns seemed to have very nearly stopped, there was only a faint rumble in the distance, and an occasional sputter from the guns near by.
The enemy had retreated beyond, far into the hills, and for the time being Cellino was safe. Lucia guessed as much and smiled to herself.
People tiptoed about the room near her, and she could hear their voices indistinctly. She did not try to hear what they said, she was too tired to think. She snuggled closer in the soft pillows and sighed contentedly, but before long a voice near her separated itself from the rest, and she heard:
"We will go to my beautiful Napoli, you and I, and I will show you the water, blue as the sky, and we will be very happy, and by and by you will forget this terrible war, as a baby forgets a bad dream."
Lucia opened one eye and moved her head so that she could see the speaker. He was Roderigo, of course, and he was holding Maria's hand and talking very earnestly.
Lucia eavesdropped shamelessly. She was curious to hear what her cousin would say.
"But surely you will not fight again!" Maria's voice was pleading. "You are so sick, they will not send you back again."
"But I must go back, my wound is not a bad one and I will be well in no time, and I must go back. Think how foolish it would be, if I was to say, 'Oh, yes, I fought for two days in the great war.' You would be ashamed of me, and that little cousin of yours, Lucia, she would think me a fine soldier."
Lucia laughed aloud and the voices stopped.
Maria's cheeks flushed and she jumped up.
"Are you awake, dear?" she asked hurriedly, "then I will go and tell Sister Francesca and the Doctor."
She hurried off. Lucia sat up and looked at Roderigo. She was a sorry sight in her muddy clothes, and her hair fell about her shoulders.
"You are a fine soldier, Roderigo Vicello," she said impulsively, "and I would say so if you had only fought for one day, for I know how brave you are. But you are right to want to go back."
"Yes, I am right," Roderigo replied. He stretched out his hand and Lucia slipped hers into it.
"We have been comrades, you and I," he said, "and we understand why."
Lucia nodded gravely. She felt suddenly very proud.
The Doctor came back a minute later with Maria.
"Well, are you rested enough to be moved?" he asked, smiling.
"Oh, yes I am quite all right," Lucia assured him.
"Well, I wouldn't brag too much," the Doctor laughed. "You'll find you are pretty shaky. Sister Francesca has a little room fixed for you and some clean clothes; how does that sound?"
Lucia smiled in reply, and the American came over at the Doctor's call.
"Think you can manage to carry the little lady, Lathrop?" he asked.
"Guess so."
Lucia felt the strong arms lift her, as if she weighed no more than a feather. He carried her down the ward and up a flight of stairs. Sister Francesca was waiting for them at the door of the little room. It had been one of the sister's cells. With her help Lucia was soon in a coarse white nightgown and tucked in between clean sheets.
The Doctor came in to see her a little later.
"How is my soldier of the pennies?" she asked, and then as she realized he would not understand she added, "the one I brought up the hill."
"Oh, Captain Riccardi, he's still very ill, but he is going to pull through all right."
Lucia smiled.
"Oh, I am glad," she said. "I was so afraid, he looked so queer."
"Well, don't worry any more," the Doctor replied, "and now what do you want?"
Lucia sighed contentedly.
"Something to eat, if you please," she said shyly, "I am very hungry."
A week passed, a week of lazy luxury between cool linen sheets for Lucia, and she enjoyed her rest to its fullest extent. Every one in the convent, which was now a hospital, and running smoothly with capable American nurses, made a great fuss over her, and she had so much care that sometimes she was just the least bit bored. When the week was over, and she was feeling herself again, she grew restless and clamored to get up. Even the sheets, and the delicious things she had to eat, could not keep her contented. At last the Doctor said she might go out for a few hours into the sunshine, and the whole hospital hummed with the news.
Maria, in a white apron and cap, helped her dress, and went with her down the stone steps and out into the convent garden.
The first thing that met her eye was Garibaldi, clean and lazy, lying contentedly in the sun. She came over and seemed delighted to see her mistress once more.
"But you are so clean, my pet!" Lucia exclaimed. "And your coat looks as if it had been brushed," she added, wonderingly.
Maria laughed.
"It was. The big American, Señor Lathrop, makes so much fuss over her, you would think she was a fine horse."
"What about Señor Lathrop?" a laughing voice demanded. "Oh, drat this language, I keep forgetting." He stopped and then said very slowly in Italian: "Good morning, how are you this morning?"
"Oh, I am very well, and you," Lucia replied, "you have been very good to take such care of Garibaldi."
"Garibaldi? I don't understand," Lathrop replied.
Lucia pointed to the goat and said slowly. "That is her name."
"Name! The goat's name Garibaldi!" Lathrop exclaimed, and added in English, "Well I'll be darned!"
"Not just Garibaldi," Lucia corrected him. "Her name is 'The Illustrious and Gentile Señora Guiseppe Garibaldi,' but we call her Garibaldi for short."
Lathrop understood enough of her reply to catch the name. He threw back his head and laughed uproariously.
"All that for a goat! No wonder she was a good sport with a name like that to live up to!"
He stood for a long time looking at the poor, shaggy animal before him, then he laughed again and went into the convent.
"He is a funny man," Lucia said wonderingly. "Why should he laugh because of Garibaldi's name?"
"Oh, he meant no disrespect," Maria reasoned. "Americans all laugh at everything. The nurses are the same, they are always laughing. If anything goes wrong and I want to stamp my foot, they laugh."
Lucia was somewhat mollified. "What is the news?" she demanded, "I have been up there in my little room for so long, no one would tell me anything. Sister Francesca would smile and say, 'Everything is for the best, dear child,' when I asked for news of the front, and I was ashamed to ask again, but you tell me."
"Oh, there is nothing but good news," Maria replied. "We are gaining everywhere. The night after the battle, some of our soldiers built a bridge over the river and crossed, and when the Austrians rallied for a counter-charge they were ready for them and took them by surprise."
Maria paused, and her eyes filled with tears. "And only think, Lucia, if you had not destroyed the bridge and warned the Captain of the beggar man, we might have been taken by surprise, and Cellino would be an Austrian village. Oh, I tell you the ward rings with your praise. The men talk of nothing else."
"Nonsense, I did not do it alone. How about your Roderigo? He is the one who deserves the praise. But tell me, how is my soldier of the pennies? I am never sure that the Doctor tells me truly how he is."
"Why do you call him 'your soldier of the pennies'?" Maria asked. "His name is Captain Riccardi, and he is very brave. Every one knows about him, and some of the boys say he is the bravest man in the Italian army."
"Perhaps he is," Lucia laughed, "but he is my soldier of the pennies, just the same, that's the name I love him by."
"But I don't understand," Maria protested, "did you know him before?"
"Yes and no," Lucia teased. "I did not know his name, or what he looked like, but I knew there was a soldier of the pennies somewhere."
"But tell me," Maria begged. "I am so curious."
Lucia laughed. "Very well, it is a queer thing. Listen. Do you remember how for a few days about a week before this battle, I only brought two pails of milk to your stall in the morning?"
Maria nodded.
"Well, the rest of the milk went to Captain Riccardi, but I did not know it. You see, one day Garibaldi ran away and went far up into the hills. I think the guns frightened her, and of course I went after her. I found her on a little plateau quite far up, and because I was tired I sat down to rest, keeping tight hold of her, you may be sure. I was dreaming and thinking, and oh, a long way off, when suddenly I heard a voice above me. I looked up; my, but I was frightened, I can tell you, but I could see no one. The voice said: 'Little goat herder, will you give me a drink of milk?'"
Lucia stopped.
"Go on!" Maria exclaimed. "What did you do?"
"I am ashamed to say," Lucia replied, "I was so frightened that I ran back down the mountain as if the evil spirit were after me, and I did not stop until I was safe at home. Then I began to think. Of course, at first I had thought only of an Austrian, but when I stopped to think, I knew that Austrians don't speak such Italian—low and very soft this was, as my mother used to speak, and your Roderigo. Well, then of course, I wanted to die of shame; I had run away from one of the soldiers. I thought about it all night, and I could not sleep. Just before dawn I got up very softly and went down to the shed. I filled two pails half-full and carried them up to the same place.
"I could not see or hear any one, but I left them, and that afternoon I went back to see if it had been taken away. There were the empty pails, and beside them a strip of paper with four pennies wrapped up inside.
"After that, I took the milk up every day to the plateau, but I never saw or heard the soldier again. Sometimes he would write me a little note and say 'thank you,' to me, but always there was the money. So that is why I called him my soldier of the pennies; do you see?"
"Oh, yes, how splendid!" Maria was delighted. "And to think it was Captain Riccardi all the time. No wonder now that he talks sometimes in his sleep of the little goat-herder and her flowered dress. He was an observer, Roderigo told me. That is a very important thing to be, and he was hidden high up in a tree. That is why you did not see him."
Lucia thought of the telephone.
"I know now, of course, for I saw him climb up it and talk over the wire to the soldiers miles away," she exclaimed. "But how could I think to look in a tree for a soldier?" she laughed.
A bell tinkled, and Maria sprang up.
"I must go, it is my time to be on duty," she said, smoothing her apron and settling her cap importantly, "I will come back when I can."
Lucia looked envious. "Do not be long," she called after her.
She settled back with a sigh, and the little goat came over to have her neck patted. Lucia stroked it lovingly.
"Garibaldi," she said aloud, "we are in a dream, you and I, and soon we will both wake up and find ourselves back in the white cottage with Nana scolding because we are late for supper. And we'll be sorry too, won't we? For that will mean that the beautiful sheets and the soft pillow will vanish the way they do in the fairy tales, and this lovely garden will go too."
"But what if there were another one to take its place?" a voice inquired from the doorway.