I do not know why, on this sunny July morning, there should rise before me a picture of a dark old house in the steep street of a Sabina town, where we drew rein after a long day’s ride to ask for rooms. The night was falling, there was no inn in the place, and somebody had told us that perhaps the people here would take us in. Our party was that with which I left Castle Gandolfo some chapters ago—my stepfather, Marion, and the Hon. and Rev. G—— C——, who had already several times saved my life by stopping my runaway steed, a wall-eyed old crock given to me because he looked so reassuringly tame. He was quiet enough at that moment; we were both stiff and tired; and I slid to the ground resolved not to go a step farther, whatever the people of the house should say. The padrona came down and looked us over critically. Yes, she could take in the gentlemen if they would all sleep in one room, but it was impossible to receive the signorina—there was really nowhere to put her! I replied by walking into the house and sitting down on the first chair I could find, and defying her to turn me out. She stood and looked at me, considering. “Well,” she said at last, “there _is_ a room—it belongs to my little boy—perhaps he will not come home to-night. Yes, you may sleep there, Poverina! I see you are tired out.” She led me down a long, twisting passage and threw open a door, holding the brass _lucerna_ high to light me in. I saw a bed and a chair, and what I took to be a highly variegated wall-paper. “It will do beautifully,” I said. “Tell the gentlemen that I don’t want any supper—I am going straight to bed!” “Buon riposo, bella mia!” (“A good rest, my beautiful”) she replied, and shutting the door tramped away till her footsteps were lost in the distance. Then I looked round. “What a funny room for a little boy!” I thought. Guns and hunting-knives hung on racks all about, and what I had thought was wall-paper turned out to be a gigantic collection of the pictures off the French match-boxes which had just begun to find their way into our part of the world, and which were not admitted into our house because they were so improper. The little boy had covered the walls with them from top to bottom! Well, it was none of my business, and I prepared to lie down and forget them, but when I went to lock the door I found that it had no key and would hardly close at all. Fatigue, however, got the better of nervousness—it was a respectable house, after all.