The Portland daily press., 1894-07-18

working week passed, and every night
'Tis one more gone, says my father, and
his heart rose lighter and lighter inside
him, like the wings of a little bird. But
Ghe Nonno, he said nothing. And on Sat
urday it was market day at Albano, and
what with this and with that, and fright
that one of the new oxen had gone lame,
and the tasting glass every time bar
gain was finished, and another glass or it
might be two while he told the story of
Father Gabriele's prophecy to friend-it
was nearly 10 clock, and every light was
out in the village before my father turned
his cart out of Albano gate. IT'S one
more day gone, and, by Diana, tits the
last, he says to himself as the empty cart
creaked, and the two brave beasts stepped
out side by side, all white, under the trees,
in the faint moonlight. For I must tell
you there was little, small, old moon
that night, witches moon-when the
horns point upward. Now the Holy Vir-
gin stand between all good Christians and
harm, says my father, when he notices
that, and crosses himself two or three times
over. For it is one thing to talk in piazza,
and another to be out, all alone, in the
black hollow of the night. And, for all
his Boosting, he was his own fathers son,
and knew better than to go on bleating in
hearing of the wolf.
We'll, he drove on. The cart creaked
peacefully. The oxen chewed their cud,
and under the thick trees their breath was
like the breath of fresh cut hay and flow
ers in a room. Mother of Mercy, what Is
that" yells my father, starting up to his
feet in the OK cart, and the skin craWled
and shivered all over his bones.
Far on in front, under the gallery, as
we call it, where the road was darkest
even by day, he was aware of little, faint
sound Of calling. 1t might have been a
strayed lamb or kid. 1t might have
been little, small, lost child in pain 1t
called and called, and all the night was
very still. Illusions says my father
old women's tales, says my father. 1t
was that last glass of red. must tell
Toni, and how we will laugh!' says my IA
ther. Then the thing called again, and a
cold wind played about the roots Of his
hair
but he was lion, gentlemen, was my
father, and a roaring Roman lion he
showed himself that night. 'CoNrage,' he
says to himself. Courage, Caesar, my
son. The devil is dead says my father.
Or, if not, he is very old. I must ask his
reverence, he says to himself and laughs
out loud.
His laughing made strange empty
sort of noise, and the near OK lifted his
heavy head and looked him in the face
and blew out great breath from his nos
trils. 'Me-me--me-eh,' says the sad lit
tie voice, coming out of the dark shadows.
Then my father clapped his hat on his
head and swore a great oath that sure it
was the child of some neighbor, wandered
out there by itself and lost and left to per-
ish in the black night. And at that the
blood seemed to flow back in his veins,
and his heart got light with bound.
WATT little one! Wait, thou smallest, I
am comingp he kept calling out, and he
just steadied himself for moment with
his hand on the tail Of the cart, for, be-
cause of what he had drunk that night, it
seemed that the high road was grown I'M
steady. Have patience. I come, thou
small one, thou littlest! And all that
time the thing kept on crying and calling,
SO that it was pity to hear. Under the
bushes he found it. He found it, cropping
about with his hands in the dark-some-
thing warm and soft and living-and after
he touched it it became quite still. A
little thing it was, not more than two
years old by the size of it, and dressed in
a little goatskin coat. But, for all that,
1t shook and trembled like leaf when my
father held it in his arms
g In the dust, Caesar, son of Michael
Il was to have knelt in the dust before a
fat, dusty priest, and, behold, return like
Caesar of Rome, like our ancients-and
white oxen draw my chariot, says my IA
ther, climbing back to his old place upon
the cart 60 on, my beauties, go on, he
says, still out loud, for the road just there,
under the lex trees, is a very dark road at
night. Meme, says the thing in his
arms.
els it crying for its NANNY, eh? Now,
the Holy Virgin, our blessed Mother, keep
thee until can find and restore thee to
thy own mothers breast, thou most I'M
happy says my father very tenderly
'Me-eh-eh, says the thing, and at the
name of the most holy Mother it began to
struggle and kick like one possessed And
this shows how true it is that the devil al
ways leaves one door open to the saints,
for when the thing began Its antics,
Sleep, says my father very gently to the
creature in his arms, sleep. Thou vast
lost like little strayed lamb. Yet I
Cod says my father, is very good. He
sends the little tender new grass and the
tender little new lambs together, and
holy saints, blessed St. Michael and all
angels be with usr says my father. And
the blood stood frozen at his heart.
For you must understand, gentlemen,
that as he was coaxing and comforting
that evil thing in the pitch darkness, be-
hold, his hand passed over Its head and
there, through the soft, silky baby curls
that covered it, he felt two little, sharp,
budding horns.
tThen he knew it for what it was and
how, by his own wanton speaking of holy
men, he had fallen into the very clutch of
the evil one and he all alone in an OK cart,
and coming to the bad turn of the road
where, on one hand there is the hillside
and on the other there is the hottomless
lake.
'Me-me-eh!' says the thing once
more, and louder, for the power was wax
ing stronger in it. And it struggled again.
Then all at once the mists Of the wine
had left my father The knowledge of
things came back to him, and, behold, once
more he became as Iona Roman lion.
He shut his eyes tight. In the name of