"Bella Madonna, bella Madonna!" piped a tiny voice, and forty other
voices caught up the adoring cry.
The brown children of the old rock village had poured down from their
high eyrie to bombard the strangers from the world below; to stare, to
beg, to laugh, to lisp out strange epithets in their crude _patois_; but
at sight of the wonderful white lady and her gold-haired child they
crowded back upon each other, hushed after their first cry into awed
admiration for visitants from another world.
Few tourists climbed to their dark fastness, and of those who came none
had ever shone with such blinding radiance of white and gold.
It was certain that the lovely lady was none other than the Madonna
herself, and the child she had brought was some baby angel. The man
alone was mortal. He had perhaps been bidden to show la bella Madonna
the way to Eze.
Rosemary, shy but happy, began giving out the toys, diving with both
hands at once into the baskets which the fairy father held. Trumpets,
bags of marbles, tops and furry animals for the boys, according to their
age; (oh, Rosemary was a good judge, and never hesitated once!) Dolls
for the girls, dolls by the dozen, dolls by the legion; and sweets for
all.
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