boatman?” “A boatman, Signora? Here is one! There is one!—Take that, Signora. He will row you for four francs—nay, for two francs and a half. Take him; I will answer for him!” “Take me, Signora! I will row you as far as you like for three francs!” This last speaker was an elderly boatman, with a remarkably frank, and good countenance, of the strong Italian stamp. I nodded assent, and stepped into his boat, a large, good gondola, not without being followed by the angry glances of the dark-complexioned, helpful gentleman and his men; but we were soon out on the calm lake.
It was a warm, sunny day; the lake lay like a mirror, and the passage across was calm and smooth as it.
“Are you married, Francisco?” inquired I, from my boatman,—who propelled the boat with the oars, standing, bending himself forward the while.
“No, unmarried, Signora.”
“Indeed! But it is now time for you to be thinking about it, Francisco!”
“The time is past, Signora; it is now too late. But though I have never been married, yet I have been and still am the father of a family.”
“How so?”
“When my mother died, she left me four little girls to provide for. The bringing up of these four “povere ragazzi” and the marrying of them, has given me something to do in my life, and as you may believe, not so easy either. And now I have the youngest still left,—and thus the time has gone, and I have not
