In My Recollection It
Compares Favourably With The Albergo Nazionale Of Squillace.
I had
bread, salame, cheese, and, heaven be thanked, wine that I could
swallow - nay, for here sounds the note of thanklessness, it was
honest wine, of which I drank freely.
Honest, too, the charge that
was made; I should have felt cheap at ten times the price that
sudden accession of bodily and mental vigour. Luck be with him,
serviceable facchino of Squillace! I remember his human face, and
his smile of pleasure when I declared all he modestly set before me
good and good again. His hospitality sent me on my way rejoicing -
glad that I had seen the unspeakable little mountain town, thrice
glad that I had looked upon Mons Moscius and trodden by the river
Pellena. Rain fell in torrents, but I no longer cared. When
presently the train arrived, I found a comfortable corner, and
looked forward with a restful sigh to the seven hours' travel which
would bring me into view of Sicily.
In the carriage sat a school-boy, a book open upon his knee. When
our eyes had met twice or thrice, and an ingenuous smile rose to his
handsome face, I opened conversation, and he told me that he came
every day to school from a little place called San Sostene to
Catanzaro, there being no nearer instruction above the elementary; a
journey of some sixteen miles each way, and not to be reckoned by
English standards, for it meant changing at the Marina for the
valley train, and finally going up the mountain side by diligenza.
The lad flushed with delight in his adventure - a real adventure
for him to meet with some one from far-off England.
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