III
Late one afternoon came Mario and Rosa, accompanied by Nerone and the children. They walked solemnly into Teresa’s back parlor; their faces were preoccupied and grave.
Mario said: “Two weeks from tomorrow the Padrone had made me the present of a day. It is very important that we all discuss the matter; the question is, where do we go?”
“Yes, that is the question,” murmured Rosa dutifully; “as Mario has said, we go, where?”
They sat down, staring at Fabio and Teresa: “Where do we go?” they demanded.
“There are many nice places,” suggested Fabio.
“It is beautiful weather,” said Teresa.
“Now first,” began Mario, “we must have the Gian-Luca. You consent to his coming, I hope, Teresa? The day will of course be a Sunday.”
Teresa nodded and went on with her knitting.
“That is good,” Mario smiled. “You hear that, Gian-Luca? You accompany us once again.”
Gian-Luca trod slyly on Geppe’s toe, and Geppe screamed like a siren. Mario waited for the hubbub to subside, after which he went on speaking slowly:
“I have long wished to visit a certain place which I know is of very great interest; to begin with its name is full of romance—it suggests the sea and the sky.” He paused and made a wide gesture with his arms. “The sea and the sky—” he repeated.
“And where is this place you speak of?” inquired Rosa.
“It is called Land’s End,” said Mario.
No one laughed, no one seemed very much surprised; they had all known quite well what sort or thing was coming, for when Mario thought of a holiday he invariably longed for those faraway places that his mind had yearned over for years. Perhaps he had less imagination than the skylark, for he seemed to enjoy discussing every detail. “I have heard—” he would say—and then he would be off! As he talked his eyes would grow rounder and rounder, and his face would shine with enthusiastic sweat until even Rosa would hush Geppe into silence the better to fancy herself there. A harmless diversion, a game of make-believe in which Rosa joined to please Mario.
Mario looked from one to the other.
“There are rocks at Land’s End!” he announced.
“And the sea!” chimed in Rosa.
“And a beach,” said Gian-Luca.
“I have heard that the beach is stony,” mused Mario; “however, no doubt there are seagulls—”
“Is it not in Cornwall?” Fabio inquired.
“Precisely,” said Mario complacently, “and Cornwall is a place of historical interest because of that king they call Arthur. Though I do not think Arthur lived at Land’s End, but of that I am not quite sure.”
“You shall tell me about him some day,” said Rosa; “you have always been clever at history. But is it not rather far for the children—have you considered that, Mario?”
Mario frowned. “Could we not start early. Can it matter how early we start?”
“It will cost—” murmured Rosa. “It will cost a great deal, and we should not have much time there, I am afraid, even if we did start early.”
“That is so,” sighed Mario, suddenly depressed, because Rosa was not quite playing the game … But after a moment he grew more hopeful. “There are castles,” he told them, “wonderful castles; I have seen the picture of one they call Corfe. What if we all go and visit the Corfe?”
“There is also Folkestone,” suggested Rosa, tactfully edging a little nearer home. “At Folkestone one watches the boats coming in—there are sometimes Italians on board!”
“Mi stufano!” Mario burst out rudely. “Why should I wish to see Italians?”
“It has come to me!” suddenly shouted Nerone, waving a triumphant hand. “As you cannot go to Land’s End, then why not go to Southend? To me it sounds all the same thing.” But Mario shook his head. “No, I think not, Babbo; I do not much like the winkles. Moreover, there is mud and many, many, children, and some of them—” He finished the sentence in English, because Berta, who was said to be frightened of illness, might not understand medical terms in that language. “And some of them cough with the whoop.”
Teresa glanced up at him from her knitting: “Epping Forest—” she murmured. “There are too many trees,” said Mario discontentedly; “it is difficult to get beyond trees; they come in so close; they confine, they molest you—and besides, they shut out the view.” His mouth drooped a little—he was gentler than Geppe, but he looked rather like him at that moment—“I desire to go somewhere wide,” he muttered, “somewhere enormously wide!”
Then Rosa spoke gently, stroking his hand the better to soften her words: “Let us go to Kew Gardens and have lunch on the grass; we will take the big hamper with us. In the afternoon we can find the cake shop we went to once before—they had nice little tarts with raspberry jam—I remember because Geppe ate so many. We can travel on top of the omnibus, and you always like that, don’t you Mario?”
For a moment Mario’s face grew darker, his expression was somber and resentful. Then all of a sudden he cheered up completely: “Ecco!” he exclaimed, “my Rosa has solved the problem! It is not quite Land’s End, but there is much to see—we will study the plants and the Chinese Pagoda; after all, there is very much to see. And now we must consider what we take with us to eat—Fabio shall give us a sausage!”
VII
I
The morning of Mario’s holiday ushered in the beginning of a heat wave. Rosa was up by five o’clock preparing the luncheon basket. A large panettone had arrived the previous evening, sent by a friend of Mario’s; it had to be cut into four fat quarters before it would fit into the hamper. Fabio had sent round a length of salame and a very ornate pork pie, while Nerone had made no less a contribution than two large bottles of Orvieto in honor of the occasion.
“For,” said Nerone—to console himself at parting with a wine of so
