"Come," said the Count, "I see you already find the old house dismal.

So do I, indeed! And yet it was a cheerful place in my boyhood. But, you

see, in my father's days (and the same was true of all my endless line

of grandfathers, as I have heard), there used to be uncles, aunts, and

all manner of kindred, dwelling together as one family. They were

a merry and kindly race of people, for the most part, and kept one

another's hearts warm."

"Two hearts might be enough for warmth," observed the sculptor, "even in

so large a house as this. One solitary heart, it is true, may be apt to

shiver a little. But, I trust, my friend, that the genial blood of your

race still flows in many veins besides your own?"

"I am the last," said Donatello gloomily. "They have all vanished from

me, since my childhood. Old Tomaso will tell you that the air of Monte

Beni is not so favorable to length of days as it used to be. But that is

not the secret of the quick extinction of my kindred."

"Then you are aware of a more satisfactory reason?" suggested Kenyon.

"I thought of one, the other night, while I was gazing at the stars,"

answered Donatello; "but, pardon me, I do not mean to tell it. One

cause, however, of the longer and healthier life of my forefathers was,

that they had many pleasant customs, and means of making themselves

glad, and their guests and friends along with them. Nowadays we have but

one!"

"And what is that?" asked the sculptor.

"You shall see!" said his young host.

By this time, he had ushered the sculptor into one of the numberless

saloons; and, calling for refreshment, old Stella placed a cold fowl

upon the table, and quickly followed it with a savory omelet, which

Girolamo had lost no time in preparing. She also brought some cherries,

plums, and apricots, and a plate full of particularly delicate figs, of

last year's growth. The butler showing his white head at the door, his

master beckoned to him. "Tomaso, bring some Sunshine!" said he. The

readiest method of obeying this order, one might suppose, would have

been to fling wide the green window-blinds, and let the glow of the

summer noon into the carefully shaded room. But, at Monte Beni, with

provident caution against the wintry days, when there is little

sunshine, and the rainy ones, when there is none, it was the hereditary

custom to keep their Sunshine stored away in the cellar. Old Tomaso

quickly produced some of it in a small, straw-covered flask, out of

which he extracted the cork, and inserted a little cotton wool, to

absorb the olive oil that kept the precious liquid from the air.




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