Modesta now came to take the tray. She was accompanied by a cat and a dog. The dog was a small dachshund, black, with long silky ears and very crooked paws. The cat, a sinuous yellow matron, appeared to believe that she was the favorite, for she rubbed herself against her mistress's ankles caressingly. As Modesta, with murmured "excuses," lifted the tray, four kittens rushed from the house, gambolling and tumbling over each other; they all made their way to her feet, round which they curled themselves so that she walked in a tangle of cats. She returned towards the house with her tray, laughing, and careful not to step on them. The dog waited a moment with dignity. "Here, Hannibal! Here!" said Dennison. But the dachshund paid no attention to him; he trotted back to the house as fast as his short legs could carry him. "He is supposed to be my property. But he spends his life in the kitchen," commented Dennison. "That girl of yours has a passion for animals; one might rather call it compassion, perhaps, for I have even seen her petting that preternaturally ill-tempered and hideous donkey who turns your water-wheel," remarked Gray. "It seems to extend in all directions, for she runs out to help the old milkman up the hill with his cans, and she gives tidbits to that idiot boy who haunts the main road." "That isn't half. She feeds regularly two children who live a little below here, on the way down to the valley. Partly she robs me to do it, after the easy Italian fashion; but she also robs herself--I have had proof of that. She almost always has some forlorn object, varying anywhere from a lame chicken to a blind man, stowed away in a corner of the court or the kitchen, where she can see to and comfort it. And every Friday, when the regular beggars of Tre Ponti--the authorized humbugs--make the round of the villas and poderes on this side of the valley, invariably she has saved something for each one of them." "She is extraordinarily handsome. With her full throat, her large, soft eyes, and that classic head and hair, she looks like a Madonna of one of the old painters. I have never seen a more kindly and beautiful smile." "It's well enough. But the great thing is that she is perfect as a servant. What she has to do is done without a fault." "And she is so placid and sweet-tempered, too, as well as skilful," Gray went on. "She's a regular marvel!" "She's a regular Tuscan!" "Didn't I tell you that you don't half appreciate the beautiful natures of these people? As to this particular girl--come back to America, and see what we have to put up with! A waitress like that, over there, would be worth her weight in silver--if not gold." "A what?" asked Dennison. "A waitress; that's what we call 'em now; we've given up 'help.' Is she married to your cook?"