Italian story world
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One more visitor
In Italy the presents do not all come at once. Twelve nights after Christmas, one more visitor is still to come. Flori hung a long stocking by the fire and looked out at the stars.
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Sweeping her little house
In a small stone house up the hill lived an old woman who was always, always sweeping. Swish, swish, went her twig broom across the floor.
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Three travellers at the door
Three travellers came up the snowy lane with a lantern. ‘We are following a star,’ they said. ‘Come with us.’ ‘I am far too busy sweeping,’ said the old woman.
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She changes her mind
But when they had gone, the little house felt very quiet. So she filled a big bag with sweets and figs and small oranges, and she took down her broom.
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Over the rooftops
Up she went, over the snowy roofs, past the bell tower and the tall dark trees. Her name is Befana, and she has been late every single year since.
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Down by the fire
Into every house she went, as quiet as sweeping. A sweet in this stocking. A fig in that one. And for the ones who had been a little bit naughty, one small piece of sugar coal — which is really a sweet as well.
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Buona notte
Flori was asleep long before she came. Luna was asleep too, and the fire sank to a soft orange glow. Outside, one small shape crossed the stars.