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Updated: May 31, 2025
"Ah!" cried the girl, with a little shiver of impatience. "Is he young?" "Che!" "Is he old then?" "Neppure!" "What is he like? He must be something." "He's our padrone," repeated Angiolino, in whose imagination Signor Graziano could occupy no other place. "How stupid you are!" exclaimed the young English girl. "Maybe," said Angiolino, stolidly. "Is he a good padrone? Do you like him?" "Rather!"
She had sweet dark eyes, a little too small and narrow. "I mean to be very happy," she exclaimed. "Always mean that, my dear," said Miss Prunty. "And now, since Gonerilla is no longer a stranger," added Madame Petrucci, "we will leave her to the rustic society of Angiolino, while we show Miss Hamelyn our orangery." "And conclude our business!" said Bridget Prunty.
Angiolino lay down at full length and munched his bread and cheese in perfect happiness. Goneril kept shifting about to get herself into the narrow shadow cast by the split and writhen trunk. "How aggravating it is!" she cried.
And he demonstrated truly infinite excellence in this picture, for in the head of that Saint, who is Bartolo di Angiolino Angiolini portrayed from life, there is seen an expression so awful that there appears to be nothing lacking in that figure save speech; and he who has not known S. Paul will see, by looking at this picture, his honourable Roman culture, together with the unconquerable strength of that most divine spirit, all intent on the work of the faith.
Angiolino lay down at full length and munched his bread and cheese in perfect happiness. Goneril kept shifting about to get herself into the narrow shadow cast by the split and writhen trunk. "How aggravating it is!" she cried.
He would of course be much older now than his portrait. Then she watched Angiolino cutting the corn, and learned how to tie the swathes together. She was occupied in this useful employment when the noise of wheels made them both stop and look over the wall. "Here's the padrone!" cried the boy. "Oh, he is old!" said Goneril. "He is old and brown, like a coffee-bean."
"He is going to sleep, and there are no end of things I want to know. Angiolino!" "Si, signora," murmured the boy. "Tell me about Signor Graziano." "He is our padrone; he is never here." "But he is coming to-day. Wake up, wake up, Angiolino. I tell you, he is on the way!" "Between life and death there are so many combinations," drawled the boy, with Tuscan incredulity and sententiousness.
"In England, where there's no sun, there's plenty of shade; and here, where the sun is like a mustard-plaster on one's back, the leaves are all set edgewise on purpose that they sha'n't cast any shadow!" Angiolino made no answer to this intelligent remark. "He is going to sleep again!" cried Goneril, stopping her lunch in despair.
She smiled sweetly, and then again became Zerlina. Goneril cut her lunch, and took it out of doors to share with her companion, Angiolino. He was harvesting the first corn under the olives, but at noon it was too hot to work. Sitting still there was, however, a cool breeze that gently stirred the sharp-edged olive-leaves.
"To be old and good is better than youth with malice," suggested Angiolino, by way of consolation. "I suppose so," acquiesced Goneril. Nevertheless she went in to dinner a little disappointed. The signorino was not in the house; he had gone up to the villa. But he had sent a message that later in the evening he intended to pay his respects to old friends.
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