gallery stairs, highly excited. Tonino had never had a parcel before. But before he got anywhere near it, he was seized on by Aunt Maria, Rosa and Uncle Lorenzo. They seized on all the children who could write and hurried them to the dining room. This had been set up as another Scriptorium. By each chair was a special pen, a bottle of red war-ink and a pile of strips of paper. There the children were kept busy fully two hours, copying the same war-charm, again and again. Tonino had never been so frustrated in his life. He did not even know what shape his parcel was. He was not the only one to feel frustrated.
“Oh, why?” complained Lucia, Paolo and young Cousin Lena.
“I know,” said Aunt Maria. “Like school again. Start writing.”
“It’s exploiting children, that’s what we’re doing,” Rosa said cheerfully. “There are probably laws against it, so do complain.”
“Don’t worry, I will,” said Lucia. “I am doing.”
“As long as you write while you grumble,” said Rosa.
“It’s a new spell-scrip for the Army,” Uncle Lorenzo explained. “It’s very urgent.”
“It’s hard. It’s all new words,” Paolo grumbled.
“Your father made it last night,” said Aunt Maria. “Get writing. We’ll be watching for mistakes.”
When finally, stiff-necked and with red splodges on their fingers, they were let out into the yard, Tonino discovered that he had barely time to unwrap the parcel before supper. Supper was early that night, so that the elder Montanas could put in another shift on the army-spells before bedtime.
“It’s worse than working on the Old Bridge,” said Lucia. “What’s that, Tonino? Who sent it?”
The parcel was promisingly book-shaped. It bore the stamp and the arms of the University of Caprona. This was the only indication Tonino had that Uncle Umberto had sent it, for, when he wrenched off the thick brown paper, there was no letter, not even a card. There was only a new shiny book. Tonino’s face beamed. At least Uncle Umberto knew this much about him. He turned the book lovingly over. It was called The Boy Who Saved His Country, and the cover was the same shiny, pimpled red leather as the great volumes of war-spells.
“Is Uncle Umberto trying to give you a hint, or something?” Paolo asked, amused. He and Lucia and Corinna leant over Tonino while he flipped through the pages. There were pictures, to Tonino’s delight. Soldiers rode horses, soldiers rode machines; a boy hung from a rope and scrambled up the frowning wall of a fortress; and, most exciting of all, a boy stood on a rock with a flag, confronting a whole troop of ferocious-looking dragoons. Sighing with anticipation, Tonino turned to Chapter One: How Giorgio Uncovered an Enemy Plot.
“Supper!” howled Aunt Gina from the yard. “Oh I shall go mad! Nobody attends to me!”
Tonino was forced to shut the lovely book again and hurry down to the dining room. He watched Aunt Gina anxiously as she doled out minestrone. She looked so hectic that he was convinced Benvenuto must have been at work in the kitchen again.
“It’s all right,” Rosa said. “It’s just she thought she’d got a line from the Angel of Caprona. Then the soup boiled over and she forgot it again.”
Aunt Gina was distinctly tearful. “With so much to do, my memory is like a sieve,” she kept saying. “Now I’ve let you all down.”
“Of course you haven’t, Gina my dear,” said Old Niccolo. “This is nothing to worry about. It will come back to you.”
“But I can’t even remember what language it was in!” wailed Aunt Gina.
Everyone tried to console her. They sprinkled grated cheese on their soup and slurped it with special relish, to show Aunt Gina how much they appreciated her, but Aunt Gina continued to sniff and accuse herself. Then Rinaldo thought of pointing out that she had got further than anyone else in the Casa Montana. “None of the rest of us has any of the Angel of Caprona to forget,” he said, giving Aunt Gina his best smile.
“Bah!” said Aunt Gina. “Turning on the charm, Rinaldo Montana!” But she seemed a good deal more cheerful after that.
Tonino was glad Benvenuto had nothing to do with it this time. He looked round for Benvenuto. Benvenuto usually took up a good position for stealing scraps, near the serving table. But tonight he was nowhere to be seen. Nor, for that matter, was Marco.
“Where’s Marco?” Paolo asked Rosa.
Rosa smiled. She seemed quite cheerful about it. “He has to help his brother,” she said, “with fortifications.”
That brought home to Paolo and Tonino the fact that there was going to be a war. They looked at one another nervously. Neither of them was quite sure whether you behaved in the usual way in wartime, or not. Tonino’s mind shot to his beautiful new book, The Boy Who Saved His Country. He slurped the title through his mind, just as he was slurping his soup. Had Uncle Umberto meant to say to him, find the words to the Angel of Caprona and save your country, Tonino? It would indeed be the most marvellous thing if he, Tonino Montana, could find the words and save his country. He could hardly wait to see how the boy in the book had done it.
As soon as supper was over, he sprang up, ready to dash off and start reading. And once again he was prevented. This time it was because the children were told to wash up supper. Tonino groaned. And, again, he was not the only one.
“It isn’t fair!” Corinna said passionately. “We slave all afternoon at spells, and we slave all evening at washing-up! I know there’s going to be a war, but I still have to do my exams. How am I ever going to do my homework?” The way she flung out an impassioned arm made Paolo and Tonino think that Aunt Gina’s manner must be catching.
Rather unexpectedly, Lucia sympathised with Corinna. “I think you’re too old to be one of us children,” she said. “Why don’t you go away and do your homework and let me organise the kids?”
Corinna looked at her uncertainly. “What about your homework?”
“I’ve not got much. I’m not aiming for the University like you,” Lucia said kindly. “Run along.” And she pushed Corinna out of the dining room. As soon as the door was shut, she turned briskly to the other children. “Come on. What are you lot standing gooping for? Everyone take a pile of plates to the kitchen. Quick march, Tonino. Move, Lena and Bernardo. Paolo, you take the big bowls.”
With Lucia standing over them like a sergeant major, Tonino had no chance to slip away. He trudged to the kitchen with everyone else, where, to his surprise, Lucia ordered everyone to lay the plates and cutlery out in rows on the floor. Then she made them stand in a row themselves, facing the rows of greasy dishes.
Lucia was very pleased with herself. “Now,” she said, “this is something I’ve always wanted to try. This is washing-up-made-easy, by Lucia Montana’s patent method. I’ll tell you the words. They go to the Angel of Caprona. And you’re all to sing after me—”
“Are you sure we should?” asked Lena, who was a very law-abiding cousin.
Lucia gave her a look of scalding contempt. “If some people,” she remarked to the whitewashed beams of the ceiling, “don’t know true intelligence when they see it, they are quite at liberty to go and live with the Petrocchis.”
“I only asked,” Lena said, crushed.
“Well, don’t,” said Lucia. “This is the spell…”
Shortly, they were all singing lustily:
“Angel, clean our knives and dishes,
Clean our spoons and salad-bowls,
Wash our saucepans, hear our wishes,
Angel, make our forks quite clean.”
At first, nothing seemed