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When Montanelli awoke the next morning Arthur
had disappeared. He had started before daybreak
for the higher pastures "to help Gaspard
drive up the goats."
Breakfast had not long been on the table, however,
when he came tearing into the room, hatless,
with a tiny peasant girl of three years old
perched on his shoulder, and a great bunch of wild
flowers in his hand.
Montanelli looked up, smiling. This was a curious
contrast to the grave and silent Arthur of Pisa
or Leghorn.
"Where have you been, you madcap? Scampering
all over the mountains without any breakfast?"
"Oh, Padre, it was so jolly! The mountains
look perfectly glorious at sunrise; and the dew is
so thick! Just look!"
He lifted for inspection a wet and muddy boot.
"We took some bread and cheese with us, and
got some goat's milk up there on the pasture; oh, it
was nasty! But I'm hungry again, now; and I
want something for this little person, too.
Annette, won't you have some honey?"
He had sat down with the child on his knee, and
was helping her to put the flowers in order.


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