The two brown ones asked no questions, possibly because of the
difficulty of conversing with the Signorina, possibly from some
profounder reason.

"Maybe the others do not see him," thought the girl in
perplexity. "Maybe I dream him, but this lamb is real."

She sat in the sun on the marble steps of the villa, the lamb on
her lap. A yellow bowl of milk stood on the floor, close to the
little white head that dangled from her blue knee. Daphne,
acting on Assunta's directions, curled one little finger under
the milk and offered the tip of it to the lamb to suck. He
responded eagerly, and so she wheedled him into forgetfulness of
his dead mother.

An hour later, as she paced the garden paths, a faint bleat
sounded at the hem of her skirt, and four unsteady legs supported
a weak little body that tumbled in pursuit of her.


CHAPTER VII

Up the long smooth road that lay by the walls of the villa came
toiling a team of huge grayish oxen, with monstrous spreading
horns tied with blue ribbons. The cart that they drew was filled
with baskets loaded with grapes, and a whiff of their fragrance
smote Daphne's nostrils as she walked on the balcony in the
morning air.