. In the Abruzzi . e high spirits of seventeen. Through Roccapia runs the road to Pettorano andSulmona. Ours lies backward. We reach the blessedfountain again, where the cattle and the mules and themountain ponies are gathered in the evening light. Nowfor the long road back. But the dull hard plain of themorning has vanished, and in its place is a vast expanse ofdim gold. A few great flocks lie somewhere in the mistover there. There is a low hum in the grasses, the faintstir of the winds in the vaults below. Then silence and thenight, with soft guiding stars. The road is long, but oursteps are
. In the Abruzzi . e high spirits of seventeen. Through Roccapia runs the road to Pettorano andSulmona. Ours lies backward. We reach the blessedfountain again, where the cattle and the mules and themountain ponies are gathered in the evening light. Nowfor the long road back. But the dull hard plain of themorning has vanished, and in its place is a vast expanse ofdim gold. A few great flocks lie somewhere in the mistover there. There is a low hum in the grasses, the faintstir of the winds in the vaults below. Then silence and thenight, with soft guiding stars. The road is long, but oursteps are light, the footsteps of those that walk in a dream. Because you have seized on the characteristics ofone of these little mountain towns, never infer that itsneighbour will share them. The reverse is more likelyto be the case. Here the people are gay, open-minded,welcoming; a mile away they will view your approachwith suspicion. Here they are busy and skilful; there,out of work, vacant, melancholy. Nowhere is there. o D az u<o u o CH. XIII.] ROAD TO CASTEL DI SANGRO 275 more variety in human nature than in the little townsabout Roccaraso and Castel di Sangro, My reception at Roccacinquemiglia was place, by the way, is not on the Five Mile Plain,but well to the south, and stands out gallantly from ahilly moorland above the Sangro Valley. I left theartist outside making her picture of it, and climbed upthe steep steps that lead to the top of the town wherethe church stands. The church has a good deal ofshabby attractiveness for the casual wanderer. I supposeI was the first that ever burst into it; and ere Ihad examined half of it, the whole idle population ofthe upper town—women, girls, boys, and a few men—were gathering round me. I received their attentionssmilingly, as a matter of policy ; tried conversation, whichwas received with long, stony stares. I shifted myposition. So did they. I sat down in front of theirMadonna. So did they; but they did not lo
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