carefully up and down the roads, which, parting right and left, lead
to the only two little towns upon the island. He did not altogether
trust the weather, he then said to the hostess of the osteria; to be
sure, it was clear enough, but he did not quite like that tint of
sea and sky. Just so it had looked, he said, before the last awful
storm, when the English family had been so nearly lost; surely she
must remember it?

No, indeed, she said, she didn't.

Well, if the weather should happen to change before night, she was
to think of him, he said.

"Have you many fine folk over there?" she asked him, after a while.

"They are only just beginning; as yet, the season has been bad
enough; those who came to bathe, came late."

"The spring came late. Have you not been earning more than we at
Capri?"

"Not enough to give me macaroni twice a week, if I had had nothing
but the boat--only a letter now and then to take to Naples, or a
gentleman to row out into the open sea, that he might fish. But you
know I have an uncle who is rich; he owns more than one fine orange-
garden; and, 'Tonino,' says he to me, 'while I live you shall not
suffer want; and when I am gone you will find that I have taken care
of you.' And so, with God's help, I got through the winter."

"Has he children, this uncle who is rich?"