But there were no processions to-day, and there
remained only one thing to be done. He must go
home and see if Mona Lapaccia had anything to
spare. Perhaps the saints took notice when he was
hungry.

Down the street he ran, keeping close to the wall,
just as the dogs do when it rains. For the great
overhanging eaves of the houses act as a sheltering
umbrella. Then out into the broad street that runs
beside the river, where, even in winter, the sun shines
warmly if it shines anywhere.

Filippo paused at the corner of the Ponte alla
Carraja to watch the struggles of a poor mule which
was trying to pull a huge cartload of wood up the
steep incline of the bridge. It was so exciting that
for a moment he forgot how cold and hungry he was,
as he shouted and screamed directions with the rest
of the crowd, darted in and out in his eagerness to
help, and only got into every one's way.

That excitement over, Filippo felt in better spirits
and ran quickly across the bridge. He soon threaded
his way to a poor street that led towards one of the
city gates, where everything looked dirtier and more
cheerless than ever. He had not expected a welcome,
and he certainly did not get one, as, after climbing
the steep stairs, he cautiously pushed open the door
and peeped in.