is fonder of our--one, two, three ... I make it eleven--our eleven
children than I am, but there are times when Father and Mother want to be
alone."

"I'm sorry, dear. I thought you'd be so proud to have them all with you."

"I _am_ proud of them. To reflect that all the--one, two ... I make it
thirteen--all these thirteen are ours, is very inspiring. But I don't
like people to think that we cannot afford our youngest, our little
Philomene, shoes and stockings. And Giuseppe should have washed his face
since last Friday. These are small matters, but they are very trying to a
father."

"Have you any coppers?" asked Myra suddenly. "You forget their
pocket-money last week."

"One, two, three--I cannot possibly afford--one, two, three, four--Myra,
I do wish you'd count them definitely and tell me how many we have. One
likes to know. I cannot afford pocket-money for more than a dozen."

"Ten." She took a franc from me and gave it to the biggest girl.
(Anne-Marie, our first, and getting on so nicely with her French.)
Rapidly she explained what was to be done with it, Anne-Marie's look of
intense rapture slowly straightening itself to one of ordinary gratitude
as the financial standing of the other nine in the business became clear.
Then we waved farewell to our family and went on.

High above the village, a thousand feet above the sea, we rested, and
looked down upon the silvery olives stretching into the blue ... and more
particularly upon one red roof which stood up amid the grey-green trees.