CHAPTER IV

Signora Paloni was teaching the twins to prepare _gniocchi_, which is a favorite Italian dish, and tastes something like baked Indian meal with cheese in it; and it would be difficult to say which of the three, teacher or pupils, had enjoyed herself the most. It was three days since Christmas, and that morning's post had brought another letter from Mummy, containing the joyful news that they might expect her at home again by the end of the week.

"It hasn't been so very dreadful, after all, has it?" remarked Jill, as she put the precious letter carefully away in a place of safety. "I don't believe things are ever as bad as people think they're going to be." In which sentiment Lill was quite ready to agree.

"It does smell good," exclaimed Lill, surveying the result of their afternoon's work with pardonable pride. "How I wish Mummy could come in this very minute, and eat it all for her supper!"

"We'll cook some more the day she comes home, and have it ready for a surprise," suggested Jill. "I wish we could give some of this to somebody, though; we never can eat it all ourselves. Do you think Signor would care for it for his supper?"

Signora Paloni replied that her husband was not fond of _gniocchi_ which he declared always gave him indigestion.

"I'll tell you what we might do," said Lill, with a sudden inspiration. "Take some down to Mr. Brown. I'm sure he'd like it, and his man could warm it up for supper."

"May we, Signora?" Jill inquired, a little doubtfully. Signora Paloni had not altogether approved of their Christmas visit.

"Gentlemen do not like being disturbed in their apartments," she had said, reprovingly, "and it is not the thing for young ladies to visit strangers. You must not go there again till your mother returns."

The twins had felt sure that Mr. Brown had not objected to their visit, and they did not believe Mummy would have objected, but a long experience had taught them that there was never any use in arguing with the good Signora, and so the matter had dropped. So it was something of a surprise to both children when the landlady, instead of positively refusing to allow them to take the dish to her lodger, only looked a little troubled, and said doubtfully--

"I do not know what your mother would say to it, but I can see no harm, provided you only take the plate to the door, and come away at once. He seems a kind gentleman, and he is a countryman of yours."

"Of course he is," said Jill, "and you can't think how kind he was, and how much he seemed to enjoy our tea."

"I think he is interested in you, for Tessa tells me he asks many questions about you," said Signora Paloni, putting some of the _gniocchi_ into a plate. "We will cover it with a napkin to keep it warm. Which of you will take it to the gentleman's apartment?"

"You go, Lill," said Jill. "I think he likes you best on account of your name."

"Be sure to return at once," were Signora Paloni's parting words, as Lill left the room with her offering. To this Lill replied that she wouldn't be gone five minutes.

As far as appearances went, Mr. Brown might not have moved since the twins left him three days before, for Lill found him in precisely the same position before the fire, his injured leg supported on a stool. He was not alone this time, for his attendant, a pleasant-faced man with gray hair, opened the door in answer to Lill's knock, and courteously requested her to enter. Lill hesitated, mindful of Signora Paloni's injunctions, and was just about to leave her plate with the man, when Mr. Brown called out to know who was there.

"It's I, Lill Dinsmore," said Lill, stepping forward.

Mr. Brown threw down the book he had been reading, and held out his hand.

"I'm glad to see you," he said. "I was beginning to think you'd forgotten your promise to come again. What have you been doing all this time?"

"We would have liked to come sooner," said Lill, relinquishing her plate to the attendant, and slipping her hand confidingly into Mr. Brown's. "We wanted to come yesterday, but Signora Paloni was afraid we might bother you."

"Well, you can tell Signora Paloni that she doesn't know anything about it. You don't bother me in the least, and I want you to come whenever you choose."

"You're very kind," said Lill, flushing with pleasure. "I'll tell her, and I'm sure she won't mind our coming when she knows you want us. I can only stay a minute now, though, because Signora is giving us a cooking lesson. I came to bring you something we made this afternoon, that we thought you might like for your supper."

"I am sure I shall, but I wish you were going to stay and help me eat it, for I should like that even better. It isn't exciting spending day after day shut up in the house by one's self."

"It must be perfectly horrid," Lill agreed, sympathetically. "I hope your knee is better."

"Oh, it's getting on as well as can be expected. The doctor was here this morning, and he says I shall be about again in another week. Any more letters from Sicily, eh?"

"We had one this morning," said Lill, her face brightening at the recollection. "Mummy's having a lovely time, but the best news of all is, she expects to get home on Saturday. That's why we're so anxious about the cooking lessons. We want to take all we possibly can before she comes, so as to be able to surprise her. I'm afraid I must be going now, but I'll ask Signora to let us both come again to-morrow."

"Wait one moment; I want to ask you a question. It's about an uncle of yours. I think you mentioned an uncle the other day, and I have an idea I know something about him. Would you mind telling me his name?"

Lill's whole expression changed instantly, and she drew herself up with an air of haughtiness, which might have amused some people, but which did not appear to strike Mr. Brown as funny.

"His name is Mr. George Brooks," she said, "but if you don't mind, I'd rather not talk about him. Jill thinks Mummy wouldn't like to have us."

"Doesn't Mummy ever talk about him herself?"

"Yes, sometimes, but it always makes her sad, and we don't like to have her do it. You see, he's her only brother, and she used to love him very much. Of course it must make her sad to think of him now; he's such a wicked man."

"Did she tell you he was a wicked man?" Mr. Brown asked the question rather sharply.

"Oh, no," said Lill, eagerly. "She wouldn't tell us for the world. She always says kind things about Uncle George; she doesn't even know we have any idea how wicked he is."

"How did you find it out?" There was no evading the direct question, or the keen, searching glance that accompanied it, and although Lill was beginning to feel decidedly uncomfortable, she felt impelled to answer.

"We heard an American lady talking about him in the gallery one day," she said, reluctantly. "She used to know Mummy a long time ago in New York, and she was talking to another lady. She didn't know we heard what she said, and we never liked to speak to Mummy about it."

"What did she say about your uncle? I have a reason for asking, for if he is the George Brooks I know, I happen to have heard something about him, too."

Lill's eyes flashed. For the moment she had quite forgotten Jill's warning. She remembered nothing but the one dreadful fact, that somebody had once been unkind to Mummy.

"She said Mummy used to live with her brother in New York, and he had a great deal of money, but Mummy only had what he gave her, because her father had made a queer will, and left everything to his only son. Mummy wanted to go to Italy and study art, but her brother wouldn't let her, because he was selfish, and wanted her to stay and keep house for him. Mummy was very sweet about it, and gave it all up to please him, but afterwards, when she wanted to marry father, Uncle George was very angry. He told her if she did it he would never speak to her again, or let her have any of his money. Of course Mummy married father, because she loved him better than any one else in the world, and afterwards when they were very poor, and father was ill, she wrote to Uncle George, begging him to send them just a little money, but he sent back her letter without reading it. That lady was in Rome when father died, and Mummy said she and her husband were very kind to us, but she's paid back all their money now, and she's so glad, because it made her very unhappy to owe anybody money. But Uncle George was her own brother; he ought to have helped her."

"Perhaps he never received the letter--perhaps he was away at the time, and it was returned without his knowledge." Mr. Brown spoke quietly, but there was a look of suffering in his eyes, which Lill was too indignant and excited to notice.

"I don't believe it," she declared stoutly. "He was a very wicked man. If he hadn't been he would never have told Mummy he wouldn't speak to her if she married father. Just wait till you see how sweet and dear she is, and then you'll know nobody but a wicked man could be unkind to her. Oh, I hate Uncle George--I hate him! I hope I shall never have to see him as long as I live."

Lill paused abruptly, rather ashamed of her vehemence, and struck by something strange in the expression with which Mr. Brown was regarding her. She blushed crimson, and turned away in sudden embarrassment.

"I'm afraid I'll have to go now," she said, uneasily. "Signora and Jill won't know what has become of me. Good-bye; I hope you'll like our _gniocchi_."

"Good-bye," said Mr. Brown, in a grave, quiet voice, but he did not say he was sure he should enjoy the _gniocchi_, nor anything more about her coming again.

Lill was feeling decidedly uncomfortable as she closed Mr. Brown's door behind her, and started on her way upstairs.

"I wish I hadn't talked about Uncle George," she said to herself. "I wonder what made me do it. He did ask me, but I needn't have told him everything. Perhaps Uncle George is a friend of his, and it made him unhappy to hear such dreadful things about him. I don't believe I'd better tell Jill." Lill winked back a tear, for she was not accustomed to keeping things from her twin and she did not like the idea.

At the top of the second flight she met Jill coming down, with her hat on.

"Where in the world are you going?" Lill inquired in surprise.

"Only to the fruit stall at the corner, for some chestnuts. Signora is going to show us how to do something with them. You were gone so long we didn't know what had become of you. Did he like the _gniocchi_?"

"Yes--at least I think he did. He wants us to come to see him again. He says to tell Signora we don't bother him at all."

"That's nice; did you say we'd come?"

"I said we would if she'd let us, and I hope she will, for I think he's very lonely."

"Oh, I'm sure she will when she knows he wants us," said cheerful Jill, and she tripped away on her errand, leaving Lill to go back to Signora Paloni and the cooking lesson.

It was a glorious winter's afternoon, and as Jill stepped out into the bright sunshine, and felt the crisp, frosty air in her face, she drew in a long, deep breath of enjoyment.

"How good it feels to be out of doors!" she said to herself, as she hurried along the quiet little street. "I shall be glad when Mummy comes home, and we can have some walks again."

Signora Paloni was not much of a walker, and as she did not approve of the twins going further than the corner of the street by themselves, they had naturally been confined to the house more than they liked since Mummy went away. She had taken them to market once or twice, and on Sunday they had gone again to high mass at The Duomo, and afterwards walked across the _Ponte Vecchio_--the long bridge over the Arno, which is lined with gay shops--but when Mummy was at home, she generally tried to give the children some exercise on pleasant days, and there were few parts of the beautiful old city in which they could not have found their way. Sometimes they would even walk as far as San Miniato, and looking down from the height, would watch the sun set over the city, coming home tired and hungry, but all the better for their long walk.

It was too pleasant to hurry, and so, after the first few yards, Jill slackened her pace to a leisurely walk.

"I wish it was a little further," she reflected regretfully. "If I crawled every step of the way, I couldn't make it last more than ten minutes. Why, what in the world are all those people looking at?"

Instinctively she quickened her steps, anxious to learn the reason why a crowd of people should be gathered in front of the little fruit and vegetable stall, from which Mummy and Signora Paloni procured most of their simple wants. The crowd consisted of both men and women, and they were all talking and gesticulating in a most excited manner. As she drew nearer Jill saw that one of the men had an open newspaper, from which he appeared to be reading aloud, and that several women were crying and wringing their hands. Jill's heart began to beat very fast, and almost without knowing it, she started on a run.

"What has happened?" she demanded eagerly of the first person she met, a boy with a parcel under his arm.

The boy shouted something about "the earthquake," and ran on without stopping.

"What earthquake--where is it?" cried Jill, but the boy was already half way down the street, and did not seem to hear.

In two minutes she had reached the corner, and pushed her way through the excited, chattering crowd to the door of the little shop.

The shop-keeper--a rosy-cheeked young woman, who had known the twins for years--was crying, with her apron before her face. Jill went up to her, and touched her on the arm.

"What's the matter?" she asked, tremulously. "Has there really been an earthquake, and where was it?"

[Illustration: "HAS THERE REALLY BEEN AN EARTHQUAKE, AND WHERE WAS IT?"]

"Oh, Signorina," cried the woman, with a fresh burst of tears, "it is too terrible--too terrible! There has been a dreadful earthquake in Sicily, and--"

"Sicily!" shrieked Jill, all the color going out of her face. "Oh, no, it isn't Sicily, it can't be! Please say it isn't, quick!"

"Yes, Sicily," repeated the woman, mournfully, and another bystander, anxious to impart the thrilling news, chimed in. "They say it is the worst earthquake ever known in Italy. The whole country is devastated, the town of Messina is in ruins, and every man, woman and child in the place is dead."

For one awful moment everything grew black before Jill's eyes, and the figures and the faces seemed to fade away into dim distance. Then, with a quick, gasping sob of terror, she turned, and ran with flying feet back in the direction of home. It was not true, of course, she told herself, such a horrible thing could not be true; it was all some dreadful mistake! But she could not stay there, and listen to those cruel people. She must get back to Signora Paloni and Lill; they would take care of her, and convince her she had not heard the words aright. Sicily, Messina! every one dead! No, no, it was not true, of course, but, oh, to be at home! To have somebody tell her it was all a mistake!

Mr. Brown was still sitting where Lill had left him, staring moodily into the fire, when the door opened, and his man--who had gone out for a few minutes--came in with a newspaper in his hand.

"Shut the door, Fratini," said Mr. Brown, irritably; "I don't like that draught. Why, man alive, what on earth is the matter? You look as if you had seen a ghost."

But Fratini did not answer. Neither did he close the door. On the contrary, he stood leaning against it, as if for support. His face was very white, and he was trembling violently. Mr. Brown repeated his question.

"In Heaven's name, what is the matter with you?" In his astonishment he half rose from his chair, but sank back again, admonished by a sharp twinge of pain in his knee.

"Oh, Signor," faltered Fratini, in his broken English, "I do beg ten thousand pardons, but this terrible news--"

"What terrible news? Speak out, can't you? And don't stand there staring like an idiot."

"The terrible earthquake in Sicily--the Signor has not heard? Thousands of people have perished, they say, and the whole town of Messina--"

"Earthquake in Messina! What nonsense are you talking? Here, give me that paper, and let me see for myself. Confound it, the thing's in Italian!"

"Go and get me an English newspaper as quick as you can, or stay, wait a minute; read me what this one says. You can translate as you go along."

Fratini began to read, pausing at the end of every sentence to translate it into English, and in his horror and excitement, making even more mistakes than usual. But even in Fratini's broken English the account was terrible enough to drive the color from Mr. Brown's face as he listened; A look of horror came into his eyes, and several times he made an effort to spring out of his seat, only to sink back again, with a scarcely suppressed groan of pain. In the excitement of the moment, Fratini had forgotten to close the door, and he was in the midst of the most frightful details when a slight sound behind them caused both men to turn, and there, standing in the doorway, supporting herself against the wall, stood Jill, her face like marble, her eyes filled by a great, nameless terror.

With an exclamation of dismay, Fratini dropped the paper, and hurried forward.

"Signorina," he cried pityingly, "Oh the pauvera Signorina!"

But Jill did not seem to hear him. There was something in Mr. Brown's face which terrified her more even than the dreadful news in the street had done. Twice she moved her lips, in a vain effort to speak, and then with a low cry, she darted forward, and almost fell at Mr. Brown's feet.

"Oh, it isn't true--say it isn't true!" she cried, despairingly. "Oh, Mummy, Mummy!" And she broke into a wild paroxysm of sobs.

Mr. Brown raised her gently, and drew her down on the arm of his chair. With a great effort, he controlled his own agitation sufficiently to speak calmly.

"My poor little girl," he said, soothingly, "I am so sorry you have heard this distressing story, but you must not let it trouble you so much, indeed you must not. Such things are always frightfully exaggerated at first."

"Then you don't think it's true?" cried Jill, catching eagerly at the first ray of hope. "The people in the street said it was true, but it can't be--it's too terrible."

"I think the report is doubtless greatly exaggerated," said Mr. Brown, gently. "How much truth there may be in it I cannot tell. We must try to wait patiently for more details."

"They said it was Messina," faltered Jill; "Mummy is in Messina."

Mr. Brown said nothing, but the look of suffering deepened on his face, and he drew Jill a little closer, as if to shield her from something. There was a pause. Fratini had picked up the paper, but he made no effort to go on reading, and stood looking at Jill, with a great pity in his eyes. At last Jill spoke, in a low, trembling little voice.

"I don't know what to do about Lill," she said. "Do you think we'll have to tell her?"

"I am afraid it would be difficult to keep from her the news that there has been an earthquake in Sicily, but we can make as light of it as possible. Why do you object to her knowing?"

"It's on account of her heart," said Jill, with a sob. "It isn't very strong, and the doctor told Mummy she must never be frightened or worried about things. She is much better than she used to be, but Mummy told me she shouldn't like Lill ever to have a shock of any kind."

Mr. Brown looked very grave.

"Do you think you can manage to break the news to her so it won't be a great shock?" he asked, anxiously.

Jill was silent for a moment while her whole body shook with sobs. Mr. Brown drew the little girl very close, and gently stroked her hair.

"Poor little Jill," he murmured softly, "poor little Jill!"

Then, with a mighty effort, Jill stifled her sobs, and slipped an icy little hand into his.

"I'll try," she said steadily; "I won't let Lill be any more frightened than I can possibly help."

Mr. Brown bent and kissed her.

"That's my brave little girl," he said huskily. "Now run upstairs before Lill has a chance of hearing the news in any other way, and tell Signora Paloni I want to speak to her at once."

Signora Paloni and Lill were growing decidedly impatient.

"What can be detaining her so long?" fumed the signora. "It is wrong of her to linger so. I would never have let her go if I had thought she would stay so long."

"It's a beautiful afternoon," said Lill, apologetically, "and we haven't either of us been out all day. Please don't be cross, Signora; I'm sure she'll be back in a few minutes."

"I do not wish to be cross, but I have work to do, and do not choose to wait about all the afternoon for a naughty little girl who loiters when sent on an errand. It will soon be time to go and see about my husband's dinner."

"Here she is," exclaimed Lill, in a tone of relief, as the door opened. "Why, Jill, what has kept you so long?"

Jill was very pale, and her lips twitched nervously, but her voice was calm as she answered quietly--

"I'm sorry I kept you waiting, but I couldn't help it. I stopped to speak to Mr. Brown. Signora, Mr. Brown wants to see you at once, please."

"Now, what in the world can he want with me at this hour?" grumbled the Signora as she left the room. "I will be back directly, children, and in the meantime you can be opening the chestnuts."

"Why, where are the chestnuts?" inquired Lill, regarding her sister in astonishment. "Jill, I do believe you never got them after all."

Jill made an effort to smile, but only succeeded in checking a rising sob.

"I forgot all about the chestnuts," she said. "A boy said something that frightened me, and I ran all the way home, but Mr. Brown says it's nothing to be frightened about."

"What was it?" inquired Lill, looking a little worried.

Jill turned away abruptly, and went to the closet to hang up her jacket.

"Why," she said in a voice that surprised herself by its calmness, "they say there was a little earthquake somewhere in Sicily. I don't suppose it was very bad, but when I heard people say earthquake and Sicily, of course I thought of Mummy, and I ran right home without stopping to get the chestnuts. I stopped in Mr. Brown's room to tell him about it, and he says it's probably dreadfully exaggerated. Now, Lill dear, don't begin to cry like that. It's so silly when we don't even know there really was any earthquake at all."

"But if there really was one," sobbed Lill, "and if Mummy was in it, she must have been so dreadfully frightened. I don't like to think of Mummy's being frightened when she went away to have a good time."

But though Lill cried, Jill saw, with a sensation of intense relief, there were no signs of the blue lines about her lips, which she knew her mother always dreaded to see. At least Lill had been spared the shock of hearing the terrible news as she herself had heard it.

"How glad I am Signora sent me for the chestnuts instead of her!" she said to herself. And then, with a sudden irresistible longing for love and sympathy, she threw her arms round her sister's neck and hugged her.