The lad flushed with delight in his adventure--a real adventure
for him to meet with some one from far-off England. Just before we
stopped at San Sostene, he presented me with his card--why had he
a card?--which bore the name, De Luca Fedele. A bright and
spirited lad, who seemed to have the best qualities of his nation; I
wish I might live to hear him spoken of as a man doing honour to
Italy.
At this station another travelling companion took the school-boy's
place; a priest, who soon addressed me in courteous talk. He
journeyed only for a short way, and, when alighting, pointed skyward
through the dark (night had fallen) to indicate his mountain parish
miles inland. He, too, offered me his card, adding a genial
invitation; I found he was Parroco (parish priest) of San Nicola at
Badolato. I would ask nothing better than to visit him, some
autumn-tide, when grapes are ripening above the Ionian Sea.
It was a wild night. When the rain at length ceased, lightning
flashed ceaselessly about the dark heights of Aspromonte; later, the
moon rose, and, sailing amid grandly illumined clouds, showed white
waves rolling in upon the beach.
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