'Oh!'
'He has been in America.'
'And where is he now?'
'He is at home. O--Nicoletta, where is the Giovann'?'
The comely young woman with the baby came in.
'He is with the band,' she said.
The old landlord looked at her with pride.
'This is my daughter-in-law,' he said.
She smiled readily to the Signora.
'And the baby?' we asked.
'_Mio figlio_,' cried the young woman, in the strong, penetrating voice
of these women. And she came forward to show the child to the Signora.
It was a bonny baby: the whole company was united in adoration and
service of the bambino. There was a moment of suspension, when religious
submission seemed to come over the inn-room.
Then the Signora began to talk, and it broke upon the Italian
child-reverence.
'What is he called?'
'Oscare,' came the ringing note of pride. And the mother talked to the
baby in dialect. All, men and women alike, felt themselves glorified by
the presence of the child.
At last the coffee in the tin coffee-pot was boiling and frothing out of
spout and lid. The milk in the little copper pan was also hot, among the
ashes.
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