She remained for a few moments and was
counting the barrels we had put up that forenoon, when the doorway
darkened behind her, and, looking up, we saw a stranger standing
there--a well-dressed, rather handsome young man with dark hair and dark
moustache. He was looking at us inquiringly, smilingly, almost timidly,
I thought.
"How do you do?" I said. "You wanted to see some one here?"
He came a step nearer and said, with a foreign accent, "I ver glad see
you again."
Seeing our puzzled looks, he went on: "I tink maybe you not remember me.
But I come here one time, when snow ver deep. Ver cold then," and he
shuddered to show how cold it was. "I stay here whole week. You no
remember? I Emilio--Emilio Foresi."
Now, indeed, we remembered the little image peddlers. "Yes, yes, yes!"
the old Squire cried.
"Well, I never! Can it be possible?" grandmother Ruth exclaimed. "Why,
you've grown up, of course!"
Grown up, in good truth, and a very prosperous-looking young man was
Emilio. He evidently remembered well his sojourn with us years ago, and,
moreover, remembered it with pleasure; for now he grasped the old
Squire's hand warmly and then, laughing joyously, held grandmother
Ruth's in both his own.
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