"In Turin, Excellency," answered the boy. "He is a glass-blower.
After the strike at Bergamo, he went to Turin to seek work. Now
he has found it. So he has sent for us to come to
him."

"And you two children--alone--are going to walk all the way to
Turin!" She could not get over the pitiful wonder of it.

"Yes, Excellency."

"The heart-rending little waifs," she said, in English, with
something like a sob. Then, in Italian, "But--but how do you
live by the way?"

The boy touched his shoulder-load of baskets.

"We sell these, Excellency."

"What is their price?" she asked.

"Thirty soldi, Excellency."

"Have you sold many since you started?"

The boy looked away; and now it was his turn to hang his head,
and to let his toes work nervously in the dust.

"Haven't you sold any?" she exclaimed, drawing her conclusions.