like a rash, which carries off bad humors from a too robust body. Suppose the storm had laid my head low, and turned up my toes; what then, eh, little girls?" turning to the group of young creatures standing with their eyes very wide open at the recital of the misdeeds of the turbulent wind, and now as suddenly off into a laugh at the image of the Doctor's decease so represented. "Ah! you giggling set! Happy you that have no branches to be broken, and no olive-pickers to pay! Per Bacco! you are well off, if you only knew it!"
He walked over to where his weeping wife sat, laid his hand on her head, and stooping, kissed her brow. The girls laughed again.
"Be quiet, all of you! Do you think that only smooth brows and bright cheeks ought to be kissed? Be good loving wives, and I promise you your husbands will be blind to your wrinkles. I could not be happy without the sight of this well-known face; it is the record of happiness for me. I wish you all our luck, my dears!"
All simpered or laughed, and Martina's brow smoothed.
"Now I see that I can still make you smile at misfortune," continued the Doctor, "I will tell you something comforting. As I came along, I met Paolo, the olive-merchant, who offered me a franc more a sack than he did to any one else, because he knows our olives are of a superior quality."
Signora Martina smiled rather a grim smile at this compliment to her olives.
"But I told him," went on Doctor Morani, with a certain look of pride, "that we were not going to sell; we intended to make oil for ourselves. And so we will, Martina, with the olives that have been blown down, hoping the best for those still on the trees. Now let us talk of something more pleasant. Pasqualina, suppose you tell us a story; you are our best hand, I believe."
"I am sure, Signor Dottore, I have nothing worth your listening to," answered Pasqualina, blushing.
"Tell us about the ghost your uncle saw," suggested another of the girls.
"A ghost!" cried the Doctor. "Any one here seen a ghost? I wish I could have such a chance! What was it like?"
"I did not see it myself; I do but believe what my uncle told me," said Pasqualina, with a gravity that had a shade of resentment.
"If one is only to speak of what one has seen," urged the prompter of the uncle's ghost-story, "tell the Padrone of the witch that bewitched your sister."
"Ah! and so we have witches too?" groaned the Doctor.
"As to that," resumed Pasqualina, with a dignified look, "I can't help believing my own eyes, and those of all the people of our village."
"Well," exclaimed Doctor Morani, "let us hear all about the witch."
"You know, all of you," said Pasqualina, "what bad fits my sister had, and how she was cured by the miraculous Madonna del Laghetto. So my sister had no more fits, till Madalena, a spiteful old woman, and whom everybody in the village knows to be a witch, mumbled some of her spells and ———"
"Hallo!" cried the Doctor, "do you mean that witches have more power than the Madonna?"
"Oh! Signor Dottore, you put things so strangely! just listen to the truth. So this old woman came and mumbled some of her spells, and then my poor sister fell down again, and has since had fits as bad as ever. But my father and brother were not going to take it so easily, and they beat the bad old witch till she couldn't move, and had to be carried to the hospital. I hope she may die, with all my heart I do!"
"You had better hope she will get well," observed the Doctor, coolly; "for if she should happen to die, my good Pasqualina, it would be very possible that your father and brother might be sent to the galleys."
Here Pasqualina set up a howl.
"Do not afflict yourself just now," re-
