The morrow is Sunday, and the old Piazza, between church and palace, is filled with the people coming and going to mass, and to chaffer with the pedlar displaying his wares on a little cart, consisting of a slender stock of kerchiefs, stuffs, bright toys, and various homely utensils, which he cries as lustily as another Autolycus: "Will you buy any tape, Or lace for your cape, My dainty duck, my dear-a? Come, buy of me! come buy, come buy!" Both men and women have good faces, with that kindly responsive and patient expression characteristic of the Italian peasants; they are interested in everything, particularly in the _forestieri_, who in their turn enjoy the groups of women and children in gay kerchiefs and gowns, making a pretty picture in the old grey square. We walk through the narrow streets, sit on the city walls which still partially surround the town, and look down on the pretty road overhung with trees, where the trailing-footed, white oxen slowly come and go, placid and restful. [Illustration: _Alinari_ _Giotto_ JOACHIM RETURNING TO THE SHEEPFOLD, ARENA CHAPEL, PADUA] We follow the _contadini_ out of the old city gate on the road to St. Agatha's Church, lying between vineyards where the young grain is now pushing its green spears through the brown earth--for spring is later here than in Val d'Arno--and olive orchards, where clouds of silver-grey leaves quiver and shine in the light. [Illustration: _M. M. Newell._ FROM THE WALLS OF SCARPERIA] [Illustration: _M. M. Newell_ A COUNTRY ROAD, SCARPERIA] [Illustration: _Alinari_ DETAIL OF THE GRILLE CHAPEL OF THE SACRED GIRDLE, CATHEDRAL, PRATO]