"Seems to me," announced Granmar from the bed, "that when a girl comes to tell her own precious Granmar of her _wedding_, she ought in decency to be offered a bite of something to eat. Any one but Denza would think so. Not that it's anything to me." "Very well, what will you have?" asked Prudence, wearily. Freed from her bonnet and shawl, it could be seen that her once strong figure was much bent; her fingers had grown knotted, enlarged at the joints, and clumsy; years of toil had not aged her so much as these recent nights--such long nights!--of cruel rheumatic pain. Granmar, in a loud voice, immediately named a succulent dish; Prudence began to prepare it. Before it was ready, Jo Vanny came in. "You knew I was up here, and you've come mousing up for an invitation," said Beppa, in high good-humor. "I was going to stop and invite you on my way back, Giovanni; there's a nice place saved for you at the supper." "Yes, I knew you were up here, and I've brought you a wedding-present," answered the boy. "I've brought one for mamma, too." And he produced two silk handkerchiefs, one of bright colors, the other of darker hue. "Is the widow going to be married, too?" said Beppa. "Who under heaven's the man?" In spite of the jesting, Prudence's face showed that she was pleased; she passed her toil-worn hand over the handkerchief softly, almost as though its silk were the cheek of a little child. The improvised feast was turned into a festival now, and of her own accord she added a second dish; the party, Granmar at the head, devoured unknown quantities. When at last there was nothing left, Beppa, carrying her money, departed. "You know, Jo Vanny, you hadn't ought to leave your work so often," said Prudence, following the boy into the garden when he took leave; she spoke in an expostulating tone. "Oh, I've got money," said Jo Vanny, loftily; "_I_ needn't crawl." And carelessly he showed her a gold piece. But this sudden opulence only alarmed the step-mother. "Why, where did you get that?" she said, anxiously. "How frightened you look! Your doubts offend me," pursued Jo Vanny, still with his grand air. "Haven't I capacities?--hasn't Heaven sent me a swarming genius? Wasn't I the acclaimed, even to laurel crowns, of my entire class?" This was true: Jo Vanny was the only one of Tonio's children who had profited by the new public schools. "And now what shall I get for you, mamma?" the boy went on, his tone changing to coaxing; "I want to get you something real nice; what will you have? A new dress to go to Beppa's wedding in?" For an instant Prudence's eyes were suffused. "I ain't going, Jo Vanny; they don't want me." "They _shall_ want you!" declared Jo Vanny, fiercely.