province, and she could make nets with skill, but so could every fisherman on the seaboard: and there was nothing beyond these to do.
Work is the political economist's one advice and panacea; but there are many places in the world where it is not possible to work, and the Maremma in summer-time is one of them. There is nothing to labour at; all has been already done by the army of labourers that stream down from the mountains. The few that are left lie in the sun and think themselves blessed if they do not sicken or starve; many do both.
But of sickness she had no fear, and she was not even afraid of famine.
She thought if she could manage to make her bread from the saggina, or wild oats, that grew all around she could live here well enough. She scarcely, indeed, took more thought of what might be her bodily privation than the nightingales coming back, whilst the days are still short and the woodlands still brown with their first budding, take heed of the wild weather that may come to still their song and stay their courting.
She had never known any kind of indulgence or fastidious appetite. She had
