As a rule the apparel of the children in this country seemed sadly
neglected.
Yet the most attractive thing about this child was his face, which was
delicate of contour, richly tinted to harmonize with his magnificent
brown eyes, and so sensitive and expressive that it seemed able to
convey the most subtle shades of emotion. He seemed ten or twelve years
of age, but might have been much older.
As soon as the American had returned to the path the boy came toward him
in an eager, excited way, and exclaimed:
"Is it not Signor Merrick?"
The English was fluent, and only rendered softer by the foreign
intonation.
"It is," said Uncle John, cheerfully. "Where did you drop from, my lad?
I thought these hills were deserted, until now."
"I am sent by a friend," answered the boy, speaking rapidly and
regarding the man with appealing glances. "He is in much trouble,
signore, and asks your aid."
"A friend? Who is it?"
"The name he gave me is Ferralti, signore. He is near to this place, in
the hills yonder, and unable to return to the town without assistance."
"Ferralti. H-m-m. Is he hurt?"
"Badly, signore; from a fall on the rocks."
"And he sent for me?"
"Yes, signore. I know you by sight--who does not?--and as I hurried
along I saw you standing on the rock. It is most fortunate. Will you
hasten to your friend, then? I will lead you to him.
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