Presently Giacomo came hurrying down the path toward her,
dangling his white apron by its string as he ran.

"Signorina!" he called breathlessly. "Would the Signorina, when
she has finished that, graciously make another wreath?"

"Certainly. For you?"

"Not for me," he answered mysteriously, drawing nearer. "Not for
me, but for Antoli, the shepherd who herds the flock of Count
Gianelli. He has seen from the window the Signorina making a
wreath for our Lady, and he too wants to present her with a
thank-offering for the miracle she wrought for him. But will the
Signorina permit him to come and tell her?"

Even while Giacomo was speaking Daphne saw the man slowly
approaching, urged on apparently by encouraging gestures from
Assunta, who was standing at the corner of the house. A thrill
went through the girl's nerves as she saw the rough brown head of
the peasant rising above the sheepskin coat that the shepherd-god
had worn. Unless miracle had made another like it, it was the
very same, even to the peculiar jagged edge where it met in
front.

Antoli's expression was foolish and ashamed, but at Giacomo's
bidding be began a recital of his recent experiences. The girl
strained her ears to listen, but hardly a word of this dialect of
the Roman hills was intelligible to her.

The gesture wherewith the shepherd crossed himself, and his