pails and started off at as brisk a pace as possible.

She followed the main road that looked unnaturally white and ghostly in
the pale dawn of the early morning. It was down hill for about a mile,
and traveling was comparatively easy at first, but when the road
reached the bottom of the valley it stopped and seemed to straggle off
into numerous little foot-paths. The broadest and most traveled
looking path Lucia followed, picking her way carefully for fear of
stumbling and thus losing some of the precious milk.

The path led up the other side of the valley. It was a steep climb,
and Lucia was tired when she reached the top. She sat down for a while
to rest before going on the remainder of the way. The next path that
she took turned abruptly to the right, and led up an even steeper hill
to a tiny plateau above. From it one could look down on Cellino across
the valley. When Lucia reached it she put down her pails in the shade
of a big rock and looked about cautiously.

Nothing seemed to stir. The guns were quiet and nothing in the
peaceful, secluded little spot suggested the close proximity of battle.
The only human touch in sight was a small scrap of paper, held down by
a stone on the flat rock above the pails.

Lucia was not surprised, for she had done the same thing every morning
for a week now. She unfolded it. As she expected, she found four
brightly polished copper pennies and the words, "Thanks to the little
milk maid," written in heavy pencil.

Lucia picked up the money and put it into her pocket, then with a
pencil that she had brought especially for the purpose she wrote, "You