Chapter XXII: A Bit of Old Italy

It was August 22, Miss Campbell's birthday, although she herself had quite forgotten it, this being a celebration she was careful not to remember.

The girls had been planning for a long time to give her a birthday party. It was to be a surprise picnic wherever they happened to be between Sacramento and San Francisco. It was Evelyn who chose the spot for the party and who guided them to a lovely vineyard planted on terraces up the side of a mountain with a little valley smiling at its feet.

"The owners of the vineyard are Italians, all of them," said Evelyn, "and you will certainly feel that you are in Italy when you get there. They are so simple and adorable. And there is a kind of an inn where we can stay. They call it the 'Hosteria.' Oh, you will love it, I know."

The picnic was to begin in the morning. Miss Helen, prepared for an all day trip, was properly surprised when Billie turned the Comet into a little mountain road running between grapevines now heavy with fruit.

Men and women were gathering the grapes in baskets, singing while they worked.

At the top of the mountain was the tiniest little village imaginable, all stucco houses on a dusty street with a church at one end. Next to the church was the inn and standing at the door of the inn was the landlord and owner of the vineyard, Pasquale.

"Buon giorno, Signorina," he cried. "I giva you the gooda welcome. I have receive the letter of the Signorina. All isa prepared."

Across the entrance of the hosteria ran a legend printed in red letters on a white background:

"MAN RETUNS TO HAPNES THIS DAY--AUGUS.
TWENTY-SEC. SIGNORA
ELEANORA CAMEL."

Miss Campbell read the inscription over twice before she could make out its meaning.

"Absurd children," she cried delightedly, "you are giving me a birthday party. I knew you were suppressing something with all your giggling this morning. And here I had quite forgotten I was a year older to-day."

"Not a year older, dearest cousin, a year younger," cried Billie. "It was Evelyn who knew about this fascinating little place, and we thought we would entertain you here instead of at one of those tiresome hotels."

Pasquale rubbed his hands together and smiled broadly with his head on one side.

"La Signora, she isa surprisa," he exclaimed, as pleased as a child.

He led the way to the back of the house, through a low-ceilinged room paved with red tiles. At a small door at the end of the passage he paused and placed his fingers on his lips with an expression so arch and crafty that the girls laughed out loud in spite of his motions for silence. Then he flung open the door grandly and placed his hand on his heart, heaving a deep and dramatic sigh.

It was not to be expected that our tourists who had come through every variety of scenery, grand, sublime and beautiful, should be very enthusiastic now. But the Italian knew that he had something very fine to show. Just as an old picture dealer knows when he has a good picture and a good audience. The girls fairly danced on the grassy terrace overlooking the exquisite little valley at the foot of the mountain. And there, on the lawn, stood a table covered with a white cloth.

"The ladies willa eat breakfast at what time?" asked Pasquale. "The festa, she commenca at two. You willa come--not so?"

"Oh, yes, we will see all of it, Pasquale," replied Evelyn.

Pasquale lingered.

"The ladies willa pardon. They have no objec to two others who also eta here?"

But the ladies were not in the humor to object to anything. They were too much engaged in admiring the little valley and the olive grove opposite which clung to the hillside like a soft gray mist.

"It's just like a little Italy," cried Billie, enthusiastically. "It looks like Italy. The people are all Italians and so are the houses and the terraced vineyards. Isn't it sweet?"

"Wait until you see the festa," said Evelyn, "and Pasquale's daughter, Lucia. She is out now gathering grapes with the others, I suppose." Pasquale now appeared bearing a big soup tureen, followed by a graceful young Italian boy who carried a dish of grated cheese. There were plates of ripe olives on the table and in the centre a pyramid of fresh figs and grapes. How charming it all was! Down in the vineyard below came the sound of singing, which grew louder as the young men and girls climbed the mountain to the village.

They were very happy and jolly, and Miss Campbell made a little speech.

"Sweet, lovely girls," she said, "do you know how very dear you are to me? We have been through so much together, through so many, dangers which we will forget, and pleasures which we shall always remember; up hill and down dale--across mountains--"

"And prairies," suggested Nancy.

"Yes, across these interminable prairies, that I feel, now that we are coming to the end of it all, how lonesome I am going to be without you. I hope you will all marry, my dears. There is no one in the world so lonely as a spinster--"

Evelyn's face flushed. The subject of marriage was a painful one to her, because, although she had written twice to Daniel, not one word had she received from him since she left Salt Lake City. And deep in her heart, she was wholly and utterly miserable. No one but Billie noticed the tears that glistened in her eyes, and under the table, the two girls clasped hands for a moment.

"--a spinster past middle age," went on Miss Campbell, looking so charming and appealing that the girls were obliged to rush from their seats and embrace her.

And in the midst of this scene of affection, comes Pasquale, smiling affably, and bearing an immense bouquet of roses.

"For La Signora Cam-el," he said. "A gen-man presents with compliments."

"But who--what gentleman?" demanded Miss Campbell.

"I cannot say, Signora. They are of Sacremen'--these roses here. They came thisa morning by express, in the diligenza from the valley."

"Where is the gentleman?" asked Billie.

Pasquale shrugged his shoulders almost to his ears and spread his hands out apologetically. Then he disappeared into the inn and presently returned with bouquets for each of the girls. Evelyn's was as large as Miss Campbell's, of roses, and the younger girls were smaller bunches of heliotrope, which gave out a delicious fragrance.

"Is he here at this inn?" demanded Nancy, burning with curiosity.

"No, signorina, the gentleman, he coma after the flowers."

"Mystery of mysteries," exclaimed Miss Campbell. "Who can it be?"

"It's just like Mr. Ignatius Donahue," said Elinor.

"It's more like papa," put in Billie.

Evelyn would have liked to add--"It's more like Daniel," but she could not bring herself to mention his name when he had treated her so coldly.

"How did anyone know we were here?" asked Miss Campbell.

"The hotel clerk knew," replied Billie, "because we asked him about the road."

At last, after finishing off with fruit and cheese and cups of black coffee, the delicious birthday luncheon reached an end, like all good things, and the ladies went forth to see the festa.

Down the street came some forty young men and girls singing a wild Sicilian pastorale, each verse of which ended in a weird turn. Many of them were crowned with grape leaves, like Bacchanalian dancers, and some of them carried baskets filled with the fruit. It was the end of the grapecutting season, and each year, Pasquale, the great man of the village, gave a festa at this time.

In front of the inn was a long narrow table whereon stood jugs of wine, plates of cold meats and ripe olives, dear to the heart of every true Italian. The table fairly groaned under the weight of food--cheeses and long loaves, salads, figs, oranges and grapes.

A gentle old priest with a humorous, kindly smile, came out of the church and welcomed the motorists.

"You will enjoy the festa," he said. "It is a pretty sight not often seen out of Italy."

The feasting and singing lasted until late in the afternoon. Then the dancing began in the yard of the inn. Pretty Lucia, Pasquale's daughter, and a young man with fierce black eyes, danced a tarentella together and another man and woman danced a Sicilian dance wilder even than the tarentella. Finally everybody began dancing and the girls joined in, leaving Miss Campbell and the old priest seated in a pergola at the side of the house, absorbed in an interesting conversation.

As darkness descended torches were lit, but it was difficult to distinguish faces and no one noticed two men in dark slouch hats drawn well over their faces who mingled with the crowd. Evelyn Stone, standing alone on the outskirts of the crowd, watched her four friends waltzing among the dancers.

"How much happier Lucia is than I am," she was thinking. "How I wish I had been born just a simple peasant girl. Money means so little in comparison."

But her reflections were rudely interrupted. A black scarf was thrown over her head and she was lifted off her feet and carried out of the circle of light into the darkness.

Owing to the unusual festivities, supper for the guests at the inn was very late that evening, and not until well past eight o'clock did Pasquale announce that the ladies would be served on the terrace.

"Where is Evelyn?" asked Miss Campbell anxiously when they had gathered around the table.

"Perhaps she has gone off with Lucia," suggested Billie.

But Lucia was waiting on the table and had not seen her. Pasquale sent a boy scurrying around to search for her while the others ate their supper. They were quite sure she had wandered off with some of the villagers whom she had known before.

Night deepened and the moon came up, flooding the valley with its golden rays. It was very chilly, and they put on their ulsters and sat in a row on the terrace, waiting. From the inn yard came the sound of music and the beat of the dancers' feet on the hard ground.

At last the waiting grew unbearable. Miss Campbell went to confer with the old priest next door and the girls hurried down the village street to search for their friend from house to house. Men were sent down the mountain road to the valley below. Others hunted through the vineyard. Somewhere in the village a clock struck midnight. The music ceased. The dancers crept off to bed, cold and tired.

The Motor Maids climbed upstairs to their small bedrooms under the eaves.

Nothing could be done until morning, the priest said. And while it seemed impossible to sleep, they agreed they must take some rest.

Tired out with the long day, they did sleep however, and the sun was high in the heavens before they waked.