"He pities me," thought Mae, "and I hate him." But then she didn't at
all.

Mae wandered off to the kitchen, as usual, that day, for another of
Lisetta's stories. The Italian, with her glibness of tongue and ready
fund of anecdote, was transformed in her imaginative mind into a
veritable improvisatore. Talila was not by any means the only heroine
of the little tales. Mae had made the acquaintance of many youths and
maidens, and to-day Lisetta, after thinking over her list of important
personages, chose the Madre Ilkana as the heroine of the occasion. Mae
had already heard one or two amusing incidents connected with this old
mother. "I am sure she has a cousin in America," she asserted to-day,
before Lisetta began, "for I know her well. She knits all the time,
and is as bony as a ledge of rocks, and her eyes are as sharp as her
knitting-needles, and her words are the sharpest of all. Her name is
Miss Mary Ann Rogers. Is she like the Madre Ilkana?"

Lisetta shook her head. "No, no, Signorina, La Madre is as plump and
round as a loaf of bread, and as soft as the butter on it. She has
five double chins that she shakes all the while, but then she has stiff
bristles, like a man's, growing on them, and her knitting-needles and
her words are all sharp as la Signora Maria Anne R-o-o-g-eers, I doubt
not. But her eyes! Why, Signorina, she has the evil eye!" This Lisetta
said in a whisper, while Giovanni shrugged his shoulders bravely, and
little Roberto cuddled closer to Mae.

"Yes," continued Lisetta, "and so no one knows exactly about her eyes,
not daring to look directly into them, but as nearly as I can make out
they are black, and have a soft veil over them, so that you would think
at first they were just about to cry, when suddenly, fires creep up and