“Strange you should speak of that!” said Luella. “Pietro Ceccatiello, the young clerk who helped me so much, has been in my mind all day. After we left the Preffetura, Pietro went to Messina and married. He had a good position as an _impiegato_. We have all been anxious about him since the earthquake. The other day my brother-in-law, walking through a hospital at Naples, heard some one call, ‘Signor Rudolfo!’ He went up to the bed the voice came from, but the patient was so bandaged he did not recognize him. ‘Don’t you know me?’ the man cried. ‘I am Ceccatiello.’ ‘We feared thou wast killed,’ said Rudolfo, and put out his hand to take Pietro’s. The poor fellow held up two maimed swathed stumps. Then he told his story: after the earthquake Pietro found that he, his wife, and child, though little hurt, were buried, _sotto le macerie_, three metres deep. They could not make themselves heard; they could find nothing to dig with. With his two naked hands Pietro dug his way out of that living tomb, saved his wife and child. His fingers were literally worn away. The hands had to be amputated at the wrist, with one foot that had been crushed.” We sent Pietro three hundred francs of American money. The messenger who took it to him warned us not to give money again to those in hospitals, but to wait rather till they were discharged. “The miserable one in the next bed to Pietro, who was quite as badly hurt, wept because I had no money for him--_invidia_ (envy)!” I told Vera and Patsy Pietro’s story that evening. Vera’s jewelled hands flashed as she hid her face in them. “I can’t bear it!” she cried, as if she felt the loss of Pietro’s hands in hers. “What was that you said to Rosalia--‘look forward, not back’? Remember the English verse Athol taught us.” “The inner side of every cloud Is always bright and shining, And so I turn my clouds about And always wear them inside out, To show their silver lining!” “Right!” cried Patsy, “look for the silver lining. If every cloud had one, it’s this that darkens Italy!” Let us turn the cloud about, dwell no more on Italy’s anguish unparalleled, but on the silver lining, the love and help her sisters lavished upon her. If we dwell most upon our country’s share, it is because we know more of it--not to set it above the others. The minutes of the meeting of the Ladies’ Auxiliary (I was the Secretary), held January 9th, contain this entry: “Mr. Parrish gave an account of an interview with Signor Nathan, the Syndic of Rome, who expressed the opinion that if the American Committee had a considerable sum of money at its disposal, it could best be invested in buying lumber and building houses in the devastated districts.”