"I do not know at all. I am poor," with that obstinate smile that was intended to be shrewd.
He had asked his friend Alfonso to write for him the name of Mara on a piece of paper that he had found somewhere, because it was his habit to pick up whatever he saw lying about and put into his packet of odds and ends. One day, after being rather quiet and looking round anxiously, he said, very gravely,—
"I'm in love with some one."
Alfonso, though he knew how to read, opened his eyes in astonishment.
"Yes," continued Jeli, "massaro Agrippino's daughter Mara, who used to be here; but now they're at Marineo, in that great house in the plain that you can see from the 'plain of the lettighiere' yonder."
"O you're going to get married, then?"
"Yes, when I'm grown up and have six onze a year wag
