giorno, La Testolina," came more cheerfully from her than it had come from her husband on the bridge. All the little woman could do was to squat upon the threshold at her friend's feet and pretend that she was troubled with spasms.
The crowning proof remains to be told. As La Testolina (who blazed the story abroad) is reported to have said, you might have drummed the guard out with her heart-beats. Vanna, by way of weaning her baby, it seems, was tempting him with gobbets of peach from a wine-glass. She bit a corner from the peach and tendered it in her lips to the youngster on her lap. The baby (a vigorous child) made a snap at it like a trout at a fly, and a gulp so soon as he had it. The peach was hard, the morsel had many corners,—went down bristling, as it were. Cola had his first stomach-ache, was hurt, was miserable, prepared to howl. At that moment La Testolina happened to look at him: she stared, she gasped, she reeled against the door-post.
"Hey, Mother of Jesus!" she cried; "look at the baby!"
"It was a corner-piece, I'm afraid," said Vanna, with great calmness; "but the natural juices will thaw it."
"No, no, no! It is not that, woman," her friend went on feverishly—"it is not that! Look at his face, look at his face!"
Vanna looked. "Well," she asked, "what of his face?"
The bambino, to express his agony, was grinning from ear to ear.
This was the last miracle wrought by Madonna of the Peach-Tree.
