At this, Ugo began to talk about something else, and then went out to do some work upon the farm. It was a good farm, left to him by his grandfather, and not more than four miles from Florence, that lovely city of Italy that is strung like a pearl upon the Arno River, and lies in a jewel-case of green hills whose lid is the sky.

Ugo was fortunate in owning his own farm, when so many of the farmers in Italy could only hire themselves out for farm work. A small stream ran through it; a little hill on which grew a few chestnut and mulberry trees rose up in one corner; and the earth gave good harvests of wheat and barley. The farmhouse was of stone, whitewashed over, and before it lay an old stone threshing-floor. The upper story held the big kitchen and two bedrooms, and below were the stables and barn.