The Front Yard, and Other Italian StoriesWoolson, Constance Fenimore
General
The Front Yard, and Other Italian Stories
Woolson, Constance Fenimore
Americans -- Italy -- Fiction; Italy -- Social life and customs -- Fiction; Short stories, American
"Well, now, with Gooster at work in the per-dairy, and Bepper settled at
last as help in a good family, and Parlo and Squawly gone to Perugia,
and Soonter taken by the nuns, and Jo Vanny learning the carpenter's
trade, and only Nounce left for me to see to (let alone Granmar, of
course, and Pipper and old Patro), it doos seem, it really doos, as if I
might get it done _sometime_; say next Fourth of July, now; that's only
ten months off. 'Twould be something to celebrate the day with, that
would; something like!"
The woman through whose mind these thoughts were passing was sitting on
a low stone-wall, a bundle of herbs, a fagot of twigs, and a sickle laid
carefully beside her. On her back was strapped a large deep basket,
almost as long as herself; she had loosened the straps so that she could
sit down. This basket was heavy; one could tell that from the relaxed
droop of her shoulders relieved from its weight for the moment, as its
end rested on a fallen block on the other side of the wall. Her feet
were bare, her dress a narrow cotton gown, covered in front to the hem
by a dark cotton apron; on her head was a straw bonnet, which had behind
a little cape of brown ribbon three inches deep, and in front broad
strings of the same brown, carefully tied in a bow, with the loops
pulled out to their full width and pinned on each side of her chin.
This bonnet, very clean and decent (the ribbons had evidently been
washed more than once), was of old-fashioned shape, projecting beyond
the wearer's forehead and cheeks. Within its tube her face could be
seen, with its deeply browned skin, its large irregular features,
smooth, thin white hair, and blue eyes, still bright, set amid a bed of
wrinkles. She was sixty years old, tall and broad-shouldered. She had
once been remarkably erect and strong. This strength had been consumed
more by constant toil than by the approach of old age; it was not all
gone yet; the great basket showed that. In addition, her eyes spoke a
language which told of energy that would last as long as her breath.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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