Along the Coast and in Amalfi

They were all sitting on the ground under a broad spreading tree; Guiseppe was smoking and Marta teaching Pappina the alphabet. Little sticks and bits of grass were brought into use for the construction of the letters.

Pappina was much interested for a while, but she was altogether too impatient a child to keep at one thing for any length of time.

"I'm sure I've learned enough for one day, Marta." With her foot she scattered the letters to the four winds. Then, turning to Guiseppe, she asked: "Where are we going next? I want to go where there are people to sing to."

"You'll find plenty at Amalfi."

"Amalfi? Is that the name of the town we are going to?" Guiseppe nodded. "Why, I thought this road was called Amalfi—something or other—what is it, Marta?"

"It is called the Amalfi Coast, but there also [Pg 128]
[Pg 129]is a town called Amalfi. That is where we are going next."

Pappina arose, and brushed off the loose grass clinging to her dress. She stood for a moment in front of Guiseppe, looking about as though uncertain what to do with herself. As he smiled kindly upon her she ventured to ask:

"Come, Guiseppe, aren't you tired of sitting here so long, just smoking that old pipe? Mayn't we go now?" Seeing no move on his part, she added, "Please, Guiseppe," as she stretched out her hands to assist him to rise.

He playfully blew a cloud of smoke in her face.

"Don't be so impatient, little one," he answered. "No hurry. Here, Marta, take her down to the water and show her how to skip stones."

Joyously Pappina took Marta by the hand and together they almost ran to the promontory. It was some time before the child wearied of this new recreation. Marta, remembering that the English song was still unlearned, improved this opportunity to sing it again and again as she skipped the stones. Soon Pappina was singing it with her, and the little song was learned.

When Pappina ran back and sang it for Guiseppe, he laughed heartily, which evidence of good humor gave Pappina the courage to plead:

"Come, Guiseppe, do! Marta says it is beautiful along the coast, and that there are great rocks with the sweetest violet flowers growing out of them. Come, Guiseppe, I want to pick some of those flowers."

"But, carina," Marta reminded her, "did I not tell you that these blossoms live only on the rocks and die if plucked? Besides, you cannot reach—"

"Sit down, bambina," interrupted Guiseppe. "When I finish this pipe, we will trudge along to Amalfi."

Pappina was reluctant to wait, but she sat down beside Guiseppe, and amused herself trying to catch the curls of smoke which he was puffing from his pipe.

"Hold up your foot, little one." Guiseppe took up her foot as he spoke. "See, Marta, the girl has nearly tramped and danced her shoes off. I suppose that means new ones again, bambina."

It took little kindness to make Pappina forget ill usage, little to make her happy. She moved close to Guiseppe's side in her impetuous way, and leaned her head against his arm. He saw the tears in her eyes. Again taking one of her feet in his hand, he said with gentleness:

"Marta, think of the miles this child has walked There's not much sole left, and the leather—look at it! Well, what do you think. Marta? Do you suppose we can find shoes in Amalfi to fit such little feet?"

"Why, Guiseppe," exclaimed Pappina, "you don't really mean I shall have another new pair! I've been so bad, too. You know I've been horrid, but so have you, Guiseppe, and its only Marta who's been good, and we—" She took one of Guiseppe's hands in hers, kissed it, and began to cry.

"There, there, bambina, we've both been bad. We'll start all over again. Don't cry. Here, Marta, suppose you take her down to the water again. See, a little way down there the children are in bathing. You may as well let Pappina go in. It will do her good and rest her. She doesn't complain, for she's not the whimpering kind, but she looks tired out."

Pappina dried her tears and Marta soon had her in the bright water. This was the first time Pappina had ever been in bathing, and at first she was afraid. Marta quickly calmed her fears, and her merry laughter reached Guiseppe's ears, luring him to the shore.

When Pappina was called, much to Marta and Guiseppe's surprise, there was no teasing to stay in longer; just a big splash. She came up half strangling, shook herself, and was out of the water refreshed and bubbling with happiness. When dressed, she ran to Guiseppe and seized his two hands.

"Let's dance, Guiseppe," she cried.

Before he realized it, Pappina was gleefully whirling him round and round. Guiseppe found himself quite out of breath from laughter and dancing. Soon, however, he pantingly released himself.

"I feel so fine after my bath that I could run all the way to Amalfi," the child cried, "I'm sure I could! Guiseppe, because you let me go in the water, I love you enough to eat you this very minute. Come, mayn't we go now?"

Guiseppe, lighting his pipe, made playful answer:

"There's a little lady I know who made a stiff old man dance till he was all out of breath, and now he has to rest a bit before he starts to tramp again."

Pappina heaved a little sigh as she sat down by Marta and began to make pictures out of the white clouds in the bright blue Italian sky.

"Do you see that animal?" she asked, pointing to the clouds. "There's the head, and over there—see—doesn't that look like the tail? What is it, Marta?"

Marta studied the cloud a moment before replying: "It looks more like a crocodile than anything else."

"Please, Marta, tell me again about that awful crocodile."

Guiseppe looked questioningly at Marta.

"I was telling her yesterday that we should go through Maori," she explained. "I went there years ago with Countess Filota."

"What has that to do with the crocodile?"

"Tell him, Marta," Pappina begged. "He'll like the story."

"Once upon a time, so the story goes, there lived an immense crocodile in the cave near Maori. It was said and believed that he who dared kill the crocodile would immediately turn into a fierce dragon. People preferred to chance being eaten rather than to kill him at such a risk. He was said to feed only upon Christians."

"Why didn't he eat the bad people?" asked the child.

Guiseppe laughed.

"Just as you were going to eat me a few minutes ago," he said, "because I let you go in the water! Well, we may as well tramp along. We've lots of places to go and plenty of rough roads to travel. No matter where we go, there'll be people to amuse. The more money we get the sooner we'll go to America. Come, Marta; come, Pappina. Where are the puppets? Here's the whole show now, and all of us are happy—eh, bambina?"

Marta hastily tied up the few effects into a small, neat bundle. Guiseppe picked up the Punchinellos, while Pappina, as usual, had only her tambourine.

They sauntered contentedly along up the rising road, across the bridge over the valley, reaching Vietri at sunset. There, under one of the beautiful terraces that abound on this coast, they remained over night.

Pappina was the first to awaken. For some time she took pleasure in watching the many colors of the water and the boats coming and going. She saw in the distance a throng of early bathers—men and women swimming in the clear bright bay, or basking on the beach in the early morning sun. The bright hues of the bathing–suits first attracted Pappina's attention. As soon as she saw the gay colors she wished to go and watch the bathers.

"I'm going to watch them," she whispered softly to Marta. "I'll be back soon, Marta."

Marta shook her head.

"You had better not go, carina," she answered. "Guiseppe may not like it if he awakens and finds you gone."

"I won't run away," the child persisted. "Truly, Marta, I'll be back soon. I'm happy now, Marta; tell Guiseppe so, and that I'll surely be back in a little while. Perhaps I'll be back before he wakes up. It's all right for me to go, isn't it, Marta?"

"Go, but don't stay long, carina."

Pappina was so accustomed to carry her tambourine everywhere she went that from force of habit she took it with her this morning. Her dress was shabby from hard wear, but her eyes were gloriously bright as she lifted them to smile into the faces of the fine ladies and gentlemen down for their early morning swim.

They noted the abundant life that shone from her eyes, the unconsciousness of her manner. The worn frock only added charm to her looks, contrasting with her loveliness as she stood near the throng, not daring to approach.

It was her shyness that brought to her the attention of these foreigners, who had grown accustomed to being followed by children begging for money or ready to sing for soldi. A group on the beach watched her, lost in admiration.

"Have you ever in all your life seen such eyes?" It was an American lady who spoke. "Talk to her; see what she is here for. She has her tambourine; is she a wandering minstrel, do you think? Or don't they have such things in Italy?"

Pappina little thought they were talking about her as she stood laughing at the pranks of the people in the water. She was interested in them all—the dark and the fair; the slight and the stout; those coming and those going; all seemingly satisfied with life as they found it in the brilliant season's height at Vietri.

"There's the sweetest sight I've seen in all Italy!" exclaimed one of the bathers. "Let's ask for a song."

Pappina, when she saw one of the gentlemen approaching her, turned to run, half–afraid of the big man in his striped bathing–suit, but hearing a lady's voice calling her, she looked back. She saw that the gentleman was closely followed by some half–dozen ladies, so she smilingly and timidly approached them.

"Will you give us a song?" the gentleman asked her in English.

Pappina shook her head as she said in her own tongue:

"I am Italian and I do not understand what you say."

He struck her tambourine.

"Si, si, signor." Pappina guessed what they wanted. She sang a song. They begged for another, so she gave them the little song in English which Marta had taught her. Her accent amused[Pg 138]
[Pg 139] them, and they laughed heartily as they gave her money.

"It's mine, all mine!" she cried as she left the foreigners. "But Guiseppe is so good he may have it all. I'll put it in my shoe and take it out piece by piece. He must guess what each one is. Oh, won't it be fun, and how glad he'll be!"

She laughed aloud as she hid her money. Her heart was so light that her joy broke from her lips in snatches of song as she tripped blithely back to Marta and Guiseppe.

Meanwhile Guiseppe had awakened in unusual ill–humor.

"Marta," he growled, "those confounded sticks hurt my back all night! Why didn't you clear them away? You must have seen them. I notice there are none where your idol slept."

He looked around. "Where is she, anyway?"

"She went, only for a moment, to watch the bathers."

"Watch the bathers? She has run away: that's what she has done."

Stopping to tie her shoe, Pappina heard Guiseppe's gruff voice swearing at Marta. He was standing in front of his wife, so neither could see the child coming down the road.

Marta's voice, perfectly calm, reached Pappina.

"Too bad she doesn't run away," the woman said, "but she'll return."

For days Marta had been growing braver, less fearful of Guiseppe. There was no sign of fright on her face even when Guiseppe shook his fist at her.

"You grow a bigger fool every day," he was saying. "You let her go. When I find her I'll beat her. If I'm good to her one day she walks over me the next. I'll beat you both, you fool, do you hear?"

"Sono qui [I am here], Guiseppe," came faintly from Pappina's trembling lips. "Don't be cross, Guiseppe. I didn't think you would care."

Guiseppe turned toward her fiercely; he started to upbraid her, but there was such an expression of submissive beauty on her face, that he stopped and wheeled suddenly about.

"Get along," he muttered. "I'll walk behind to–day for a change."

Pappina forgot about the money, even that she had it, until it hurt her foot as she walked.

"I'll never tell," she vowed to herself. "It's mine, and some day when he's so mean and horrid that we can't stand him any longer, Marta and I will run away."

Several times, in a forgiving spirit, Pappina went back to Guiseppe and walked by his side, trying to be friendly with him. Her efforts each time were met with a scowl that sent her again to Marta, who always gave her a welcoming smile.

Guiseppe grumbled almost constantly to himself. Marta, fearing trouble, said to Pappina:

"Won't you try once more, carina? It is best for us all to have no discord."

"I want to be friends with Guiseppe," replied Pappina.

She waited again for the man. This time she look hold of his hand and, looking archly into his face, asked: "Is he going to be cross all day?"

He pulled his hand away.

"Don't you like me this morning?" There was no reply. "Not a bit, Guiseppe?"

No one but such a bear as Guiseppe was just then could have resisted this fairy, who smiled so steadfastly into his face.

"Basta," he said sternly. This rebuff was sufficient for Pappina. She took her place by Marta's side and they walked on in silence, trudging over four and a half miles to the little fishing village of Cetara.

On the beach was a group of fishermen, with their wives and children—the women busily mending their fishing–nets, the men smoking and chatting; all enjoying life together.

As soon as Guiseppe saw them he hastened his footsteps, overtook Marta and Pappina, and was soon far ahead of them, down on the beach with the fishermen.

When Marta and Pappina reached the group they stopped and stood hesitating whether or not to join Guiseppe. There was no sign from him.

"Perhaps he is waiting for you," Marta said to Pappina.

The child went toward Guiseppe, but as soon as she reached him he turned from her as though her presence annoyed him. Thinking to please him, she began to sing, but he raised his hand and silenced her.

"Stop!" he growled. "This is the place for the puppets, not you."

His bad temper showed even in the puppet performance. The little he received from the fishermen did not improve his mood. Without a word to any one he took up the Punchinellos and, muttering to himself, walked doggedly, on, passing without a stop through Majori, Minori and Altrani, angry at the whole beautiful world.

There were so many things to interest Pappina that she forgot Guiseppe's unkindness. The orange trees and lemon plantations were a beautiful picture that called forth constant exclamations of admiration and delight.

By–and–by, however, the money hurt her foot so severely that she could not enjoy anything. She was glad when the long tramp was over and they were at last at Amalfi.

Guiseppe threw himself down exhausted. Marta sat down beside him, and Pappina behind both. She wanted to take off her shoe and she was determined Guiseppe should not see the money. Her little foot was blistered from the rubbing of the coins.

"Oh, what shall I do with them? They hurt me so! He'll surely see them and take them from me if I don't put them back in my shoe." So she replaced them, ate her supper, went to sleep, and dreamed all night that she was walking on thistles.

The following morning, Guiseppe did not seem at all inclined to move on. Neither Marta nor Pappina cared to speak to him, nor he to them. Along in the afternoon, the silence began to be distressing to Pappina.

"What do you suppose he is going to do?" she asked Marta. "I won't ask him; he's so cross I won't speak to him."

Marta shook her head.

"We shall just have to wait," she whispered. "Try to be patient."

Not far away, boys were coming from a large building, bearing on their heads long boxes or boards. Pappina watched them for a time; then she asked Marta what they were doing.

"They are bringing out paste [letter noodles]," Marta explained. "Do you see how they spread it out in the sun? That is so it will dry."

"I wish we were nearer, so I could see them better. May I go?"

"No, carina; I am sure Guiseppe will not let you, and I—no, I am sorry, carina, but I dare not let you go."

"But I want to go much so, Marta. Won't you please ask him?"

"It will only make him crosser, carina."

"I dare not ask him, for he will not even look at me," the child went on. "If you only knew how much I want to go, you would ask him. Please, please ask him, Marta!"

Pappina had been losing her courage and Marta steadily growing braver. When she decided to grant Pappina's request, she felt quite fearless of Guiseppe as she went to his side.

"Guiseppe, have you noticed those boys?"

"I couldn't help noticing them, could I? They've been doing the same thing all day."

"Shall we walk over there and watch them?"

"Watch them! What for?"

By this time, Pappina had found courage to join Marta, who continued:

"I thought perhaps you would like to go. Pappina is interested in what they are doing; would you care if she goes for a while?"

Guiseppe made no reply. "I'll come back, Guiseppe," Pappina pleaded. "I know I'm bad and cross, but I have never told you a lie, never one." There was no reply. "I want so much to go. Oh, won't you please let me, Guiseppe?"

Pappina's earnest little face was raised appealingly toward his, but he did not even glance at her as he replied:

"Get along. I'll be glad to be rid of you for an hour. One hour—no longer—or there'll be trouble; do you hear?"

"Si, signor, I'll be back."

Guiseppe's consent was hardly given before she was off. For some time she watched the boys bringing out the paste, but it made her hungry.

"I'm starved," she said to herself. "I will spend one of my soldi for macaroni."

After she had eaten the macaroni she decided that she had much time to see the town in the hour Guiseppe had allowed her.

She came to St. Andrew's Cathedral.

"Maybe if I pray, Guiseppe will stop being so cross. Maybe I'm cross, too," she said to herself as she ran up the long flight of stairs leading to the entrance.

Children were playing in the church. An American lady gave them soldi to say prayers for her son. There were ladies near Pappina who were speaking in her own tongue. She heard them say they were going to visit St. Andrew's tomb. Pappina followed them.

At the tomb she knelt, and, bowing her head, began to say her prayers. As she prayed her tired eyelids gradually closed; she lost herself. Starting up, she remembered she was in church, praying; so she began again, "Santa Maria." The little head drooped. She opened her eyes. "S–a–n–t–a M–a–r–i–a—" The weary child had knelt, prayed, and fallen asleep, beside the tomb of St. Andrew.

It was late at night that the sexton, going his rounds, was startled to see what appeared to be a bundle of something red lying by the tomb. Throwing the full rays of the lantern upon the object, he discovered that it was a little child. Many times before he had found children sleeping in the church, but never one by this sacred tomb.

"Poverina!" he exclaimed, awakening her as gently as possible. "Poverina, you cannot sleep here. I am sorry, but it is against the rules. You must run home. Come." He took her by the arm, led her to the door and put her out in the darkness.

Pappina, scarcely awake, was dazed when left alone. She heard the door close, heard the key turn. For a moment she could not think where she was, or what had happened. She only knew that it was very dark, that she was alone and afraid. She pounded on the church door.

"Let me in, let me in," she begged. "I'm afraid."

No one came to her call; she peered up and down the street. There was no one in sight.

"I shall lose my way if I try to go back alone in the dark," she thought. Then she crouched down on the church steps and cried herself to sleep.

Early next morning, Guiseppe and Marta started to search for Pappina. As they neared St. Andrew's Cathedral Marta spied something red at the top of the steps.

"Wait, Guiseppe! I think—" she left the sentence unfinished as she dashed up the steps and snatched Pappina in her arms, uttering tender, loving words. Guiseppe followed, with scowls and mutterings.

Pappina, being thus awakened, threw her arms about Marta's neck, and cried from sheer joy at finding herself safe.

"Oh, oh, I was lost, and so frightened I dared not move! I meant to come back in an hour, Guiseppe, truly I did, but it was dark, and I could not find my way."

The sexton, hearing voices, opened the door.

"I found your little girl last night," he said. "You see, she was sleeping by the sacred tomb of St.—"

"Diavolo!" interrupted Guiseppe harshly. "Why didn't you kick her down the steps?"

"Guiseppe, for shame! The poor little dear!" Marta cried, as she hugged Pappina close to her.

"Don't be hard on the child," begged the sexton. "She was tired and sleepy. I'd have let her sleep inside, but it's against the rules, so I had to put her out. Poverina," he said, laying his hand on Pappina's head.

"Poverina! Bah! Put her down, Marta." Guiseppe took Pappina roughly by the arm as he continued: "I'm sick of your behavior. You must understand you are bound to me—to me. I paid money for you, and what do I get? Trouble, trouble, nothing else."

"I know it, Guiseppe. I'm sorry, but this time I couldn't help it."