His Simple
Good-Nature And Intelligence Greatly Won Upon Me.
I like to think of
him as still quietly happy amid his garden walls, tending flowers
that grow over the dead at Cotrone.
On my way back again to the town, I took a nearer view of the ruined
little church, and, whilst I was so engaged, two lads driving a herd
of goats stopped to look at me. As I came out into the road again,
the younger of these modestly approached and begged me to give him a
flower - by choice, a rose. I did so, much to his satisfaction and
no less to mine; it was a pleasant thing to find a wayside lad
asking for anything but soldi. The Calabrians, however, are
distinguished by their self-respect; they contrast remarkedly with
the natives of the Neapolitan district. Presently, I saw that the
boy's elder companion had appropriated the flower, which he kept at
his nose as he plodded along; after useless remonstrance, the other
drew near to me again, shamefaced; would I make him another present;
not a rose this time, he would not venture to ask it, but "questo
piccolo"; and he pointed to a sprig of geranium. There was a grace
about the lad which led me to talk to him, though I found his
dialect very difficult. Seeing us on good terms, the elder boy drew
near, and at once asked a puzzling question: When was the ruined
church on the hillside to be rebuilt?
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