as in fall at home; it was rather like a glimpse of some cool,
eternal spring. A stream of water trickled down under thick
grass at the side of the road, and violets grew there.

"San Pietro!" said Daphne, with a little tug at the bridle. The
long ears were jerked hastily back to hear what was to come. "I
know you disapprove of me, for you saw it all."

The ears kept that position in which any one who has ever loved a
donkey recognizes scathing criticism. Daphne fingered one of
them with her free hand.

"It is only on your back that I feel any strength of mind," she
added. "When I am by myself something seems sweeping me away, as
the tides sweep driftwood out to sea; but here, resolution crawls
up through my body. We must be a new kind of centaur, San
Pietro."

Suddenly her face went down between his ears.

"But if you and I united do drive him away, what shall we
do,--afterwards?"

"Signorina!" called Bertuccio, running up behind them. "Look!
The olives pick themselves."

At a turn in the road the view had opened. There, in a great
orchard on the side of the hill, the peasants were gathering
olives before the coming of the frost. There were scores of
pickers wearing great gay-colored aprons in which they placed the