Francesco did not interest me,--nor did the grownup
sister; nor the mother, over whom Luigi also
shrugged his shoulders. It was Loretta's chubbiness
that delighted my soul.

Even at five she was a delightful little body, and
full of entrancing possibilities. One can always tell
what the blossom will be from the bud. In her
case, all the essentials of beauty were in evidence:
dark, lustrous velvety eyes; dazzling teeth--not one
missing; jet-black hair--and such a wealth of it,
almost to her shoulders; a slender figure, small hands
and feet; neat, well-turned ankles and wrists, and
rounded plump arms above the elbows.

"What do you intend to do, little one, when you
grow up?" I asked her one morning. She was sitting
beside me, her eyes following every movement of my
brush.

"Oh, what everybody does. I shall string beads
and then when I get big like my sister I shall go to
the priest and get married, and have a ring and new
shoes and a beautiful, beautiful veil all over my
hair."

"So! And have you picked him out yet?"

"Oh, no, Signore! Why, I am only a little girl.
But he will surely come,--they always come."