the door to it. One end dragged on the ground, and the other was about
a foot above it. The rope was crossed on the goat's back and tied
firmly to the long ends of the door that did duty as shafts. Garibaldi
was too disheartened to protest, and Lucia had little trouble in
leading her down the hill.

The soldier was delirious when she reached him, but he was so weak that
it was an easy matter to roll him on to the improvised stretcher.

Lucia took hold of one shaft, and with Garibaldi pulling too, they
started off.

It was a long and weary climb, but at last they reached the cottage.

The terrible jolting had been agony for the soldier. He regained
consciousness on the way, and from time to time a groan escaped him.
But when he was in the house he did his best to smile, and crawled onto
the mattress that Lucia had pulled to the floor.

She made haste to take off his knapsack, and under his direction she
dressed the ugly wound in his thigh. Her fingers, only used to rough
work, moved clumsily, but she managed to make him a little more
comfortable. He smiled up at her bravely.

"Poor little one, you are tired. Go and eat," he whispered. And
Lucia, after she saw his head sink back on the pillow, found a stale
loaf of black bread and began to munch it slowly.

The soldier pointed to his knapsack and told her to eat whatever she
found in it.