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Exploring the Variety of Random
Documents with Different Content
the globe, and they are bestowed on travellers in unstinted
quantities.

Mr. and Mrs. Fairfield sat at one of the tables arranged for two,
while Snippy and the two girls sat at a quartette table.

As there was thus a vacant seat, another passenger was assigned

to it, and to the surprise and secret glee of the girls it was one of
the young Italian men they had noticed in the other car.

Flo and Patty looked down at their plates in an effort not to smile
at each other, and Snippy glared at the young man as if he were an
intruder.

Presently he made a civil remark in Italian, and as Snippy was able

to talk fluently in that tongue, she answered him, politely, but rather
shortly.

“Doesn’t he speak English at all?” said Patty, with great interest.

“No,” said Snippy, sternly, “eat your luncheon and don’t look at
him.”

“Good gracious!” said Patty, secure in the knowledge that the

stranger couldn’t understand her, “I don’t want to look at him. But I
just want to know if he’s a count. Do ask him, Snippy dear. Flo thinks
he is—and I think he isn’t.”

“Well, he isn’t, Miss Patty. He’s a soldier.”

“A soldier! How interesting. Can’t we talk to him a little, Snippy,

with you to translate, you know.”

Snippy hesitated. The young man was exceedingly polite and well-
bred, and had already asked if the young ladies spoke Italian. Even
her careful instincts could suggest no reason why they should not
converse, with herself as interpreter.
 So, in very conventional language she introduced Signor Grimaldi
to her two young charges, and he bowed with the ease and grace of
a distinguished cavalier.

“Ask him where he’s going,” said Patty, who knew that Snippy
would frame the question less curtly.

A few words of Italian passed between them, and then Snippy

informed the waiting ears that the Signor was going to Florence.

“What hotel?” asked Flo, and the information was soon gained
that he was going to the same hotel that they were themselves.

“Heavenly!” said Patty, rolling her eyes, dramatically. “Tell him

we’re enchanted, and that we think he’s a lovely man, and that he
looks as if he had just stepped out of a comic opera, and that——”

“There, there, Miss Patty, how you do run on. I shall tell him none
of those things. He’s a very chivalrous gentleman, and I don’t want
him to think you a forward young person.”

“He can’t think anything about me, Snippy, except what you tell
him. So tell him I’m a lovely lady,—a duchess, disguised as an
American.”

“He’d never take you for a duchess, Patty,” said Flo; “tell him I’m a
duchess, Snip, and that this other young woman is my maid.”

“I’ll tell him nothing; I’m ashamed of your foolishness, Miss Flo.”
And Snippy proceeded to eat her luncheon with such a dragon-like
air that the Italian soldier wondered what he had done to deserve
reproof.

Presently he spoke again to Snippy, regarding the scenery, and to

make amends for her previous coolness she answered him affably.
Then there ensued an interested conversation, for Snippy was a
cultivated and well-informed woman, and the young man was
courteous and entertaining.

Besides which, he was greatly attracted by the two pretty girls and
wished the duenna would bring them into the conversation.

“The young ladies,—have they visited Florence before?” he asked

finally, in Italian, and Snippy felt in honour bound to pass the
question on in English to eager Patty and Flo.

“We must answer prettily,” said Patty, with a demure face, though
her eyes were dancing, “or else Snippy won’t let us talk to him at all.
Say to the Signor, please, that we have never before been in
Florence, and does he think we’ll like it.”

Snippy sniffed a little, but translated the message to the Italian.

“The Signor says,” she translated again, “that he is sure you will
like Florence and Florence will like you.”

“Remark to him,” went on Patty, “that we thank him for his

politeness, and we’d like to know if the gentleman who was with him
in the other car is travelling with him, and what is his noble name.”

“The other gentleman is with him. His name is Signor Balotti, and
he too is a soldier.”

“Then,” put in Flo, “inquire of his soldiership why they are not
fighting.”

“He says,” resumed Snippy, “that they do not fight because there
is no convenient war. But he does not regret that, since it gives him
opportunity to meet three charming ladies.”

“Oh, Snippy-Snip,” said Patty, “are you sure you’re translating

truly? Didn’t he say one charming lady, and two ill-mannered girls.”
 “If he didn’t, it’s only because he is himself too polite to say so,”
said Snippy, but there was a twinkle in her eye, and Patty could see
that she had quite decided in favour of the young man’s desirability
as an acquaintance.

They all rose from the tables then, and Snippy introduced the
Italian to Mr. Fairfield. Though not fluent in the language, Mr.
Fairfield could make himself understood, and while the ladies
returned to the drawing-room car, he remained behind for a smoke
and a chat with the young man.

When he returned, he electrified the two girls and Nan by telling

them that Signor Grimaldi was a very desirable acquaintance indeed,
as was also his chum, Signor Balotti. The men had arranged to meet
them again in Florence, and would doubtless be a decided
acquisition to their circle.

“I told you so!” said Patty. “I knew he was the salt of the earth as
soon as I looked at him.”

“Pooh, I told you so first,” said Flo. “But I wish he could talk
English. I don’t care much about knowing people I can’t talk to.”

“Nor I,” said Patty. “I hope we will find some Americans or English
at the hotel.”

They reached Florence about mid-afternoon, and drove directly to

their hotel, on the bank of the Arno.

“What a lovely river!” said Patty. “At least it’s clean. The Tiber is so
yellow, and so is the Thames. The Seine isn’t much better,—indeed
none of them can compare with our own Hudson.”

“But this whole place is beautiful,” said Flo, as they looked from
their cab on the trees and gardens of beautiful Florence.
 The day was very warm, and there was a glare of sun everywhere,
so our travellers were glad to reach their hotel and go right to the
apartments awaiting them.

Flo and Patty had communicating rooms, and had soon exchanged
their travelling costumes for teagowns and were waiting for the tea
which they had ordered sent up.

They peeped out between the slats of their blinds, and saw the
river directly below them.

“Isn’t it picturesque?” said Patty. “I love it already. After an hour or

so, father says it will be cool and pleasant for a drive, so we’ll see a
little of the place this afternoon.”

“Lovely,” said Flo, “but here’s our tea, Patty, so come and drink it.”
 CHAPTER XIV

CARLO AS GUIDE

T
HE first night that Patty spent in Florence she awoke about
midnight, thinking she heard music.

“I must have been dreaming,” she said to herself, and then, again,
she heard lovely strains, as of some one singing outside her window.

She jumped up and ran to peep through the blinds. Sure enough a
small crowd of people stood in the white roadway that divided the
hotel from the river, and four men were singing beautiful music. The
others were passers-by, who had stopped to listen, and who stood
about or sat on the low parapet.

“I’m being serenaded!” thought Patty; “it must be by those two

Italian soldiers!”

Flinging on a kimono, she flew into the next room to wake Flo.

“Get up!” she cried, shaking the sleeping girl. “Get up! Signor
Vaselino, or whatever his name is, is serenading us!”

“What?” murmured sleepy Flo.

“Oh, get up, you slow thing! Get up first, and understand
afterward. Here’s your dressing-gown,—here are your slippers. Put
your foot in!”

Jamming the worsted slippers on Flo’s bare feet, Patty gave her
one more shake and succeeded in fully wakening her.
 They went to Flo’s window, and opening the blinds, stepped out
on the little balcony.

It was a perfect night. Although the first of October, it was warm

and balmy, and the great full moon cast a golden glow on the
smooth water of the Arno.

The four men who were singing wore picturesque Italian

costumes, and their broad-brimmed hats, turned up with feathers,
gave the effect of a comic opera chorus.

The bright moonlight made the shadows of the people clear and
distinct along the white road, and the river, with the buildings rising
on its other bank, was a perfect background.

“Isn’t it great!” whispered Patty, squeezing Flo’s arm. “Do you

suppose it’s our Italian friend that we met on the train?”

“No, you goose,” said Flo, laughing. “This isn’t a serenade

especially for us. They’re professional singers, and they’re
serenading the whole hotel. See the other people on their balconies.”

Sure enough every room in the hotel that had its own balcony
showed its occupants standing out there to enjoy the music. And
windows that had no balconies were thrown wide open, and faces
appeared at each.

“Well,” said Patty, “this is a nice country, where the opera singers
give free concerts at midnight.”

“They’re not entirely free,” said Flo, who seemed to know more
about the matter than Patty. “Observe what now happens.”

The song came to an end, and after flourishing bows, the

quartette stood expectantly waiting. Soon something was thrown
from a window, and, as it fell in the road, one of the singers stooped
for it, and then they all bowed again.
 It was a coin flung by one of the hotel guests, and it was quickly
followed by others, until the singers were all four scrambling on the
ground picking up the coppers and small silver bits that had rained
down upon them. Sometimes a coin was flung wide of the mark, and
this was picked up by the idle bystanders and usually given to one of
the singers.

Then they sang again, and this time Patty ran for her purse, to
take part in the recognition of the music. After this song, she and Flo
threw down coins too, and it was great fun to watch the musicians
pick them up. Probably from much practice they were very deft at
this, and as the hotel was a large one and well filled with people,
they reaped a fine harvest. At last, having doubtless noticed
American voices among their audience, they sang Yankee Doodle,
though a very much Italianised version of that classic composition.
However, it struck a patriotic chord, and from many of the hotel
windows American voices joined in the chorus. After this tribute to
her native land, Patty flung down all her small change, and finally
the minstrels wandered away to serenade some other hostelry.

“Wasn’t that fun?” said Patty, as she and Flo returned to their
rooms. “I think Italians must be very honest people, or the others
would have taken the money instead of the singers.”

“Perhaps they did,” said Flo, “or some of those others may have
been friends of the singers who picked up the money for them.”

“Well it’s a pretty trick,” said Patty, “much nicer than hand-organs,
I think.”

“Yes, or street pianos,” agreed Flo; “and now if you’ll kindly go

back where you belong, I’ll return to my own slumbers, and don’t
wake me up again to-night, if the United States Marine Band comes
over to give a concert.”

“Indeed I won’t, you ungrateful creature; I’ll just enjoy it all by

myself.”
 So Patty went back to bed and slept until the sun shone high over
the Arno, in place of the moon.

The weeks in Florence passed rapidly, it seemed to the two girls.

Each day Patty grew to love the beautiful city more.

“It goes along so smoothly,” she said to Nan, one day. “In Rome
we were always flying around after some excitement, but Florence
days just flow by, all exactly alike.”

“Why, Patty, I think our days are varied a great deal,” replied Nan,
who was tying her veil, and was devoting most of her attention to
that.

“No, they’re not. We always go to picture galleries in the morning.

And shopping or for a drive in the gardens in the afternoon, and
then dinner takes up most of the evening. But I like it; I’m not
complaining at all. And I’m learning heaps about pictures. I didn’t
know I could learn so much just by looking at them. Why, some of
my favourites, I almost feel as if I had painted myself.”

“It must be fine to have such a good opinion of yourself,” laughed

Nan. “Where are you going this morning?”

“Oh, Snippy’s laid aside with a headache, and as you and dad are
going off on an excursion, he said Flo and I might go out with
Carlo.”

“Well, have a good time. We’ll be back by tea time, so be in the

palm room by five. Some people are coming.”

Nan ran away to go off on a day’s jaunt with her husband, and Flo
and Patty put on their hats to go for a drive with Carlo.

This very useful Italian citizen was a well-trained guide, who had
been recommended to Mr. Fairfield by an old friend. Carlo was
experienced in all styles of sight-seeing, and moreover was trusty
and reliable in every way. So Mr. Fairfield allowed Flo and Patty to go
with him to galleries and museums, and Carlo proved a most
satisfactory cicerone and chaperon. To-day the cab came to the door
and Carlo assisted the two girls into it.

“Where to, ladies?” he asked, as he stood at attention.

“Oh, I don’t know,” said Patty; “we’ve seen ’most everything.

Where shall we go, Flo?”

“To Dante’s House,” was the prompt reply. “We haven’t seen that.”

“All right,” said Patty; “to Dante’s House, Carlo.”

“Non, ladies, non,” was the unexpected reply. “To the great
galleries? yes. To the great monuments? yes. To the gardens? yes.
But to a house—a so plain, uncertain house—which in maybe Dante
was born,—maybe no,—no, we do not go to Dante’s house. It is a
foolishness.”

Patty laughed. She well knew Carlo’s dictatorial ways, and if he

didn’t think Dante’s House worth seeing, it probably wasn’t.

“I don’t care, Carlo,” she said, “go where you like. It’s a lovely
morning, and I’m so amiable I’d follow anybody’s advice. You don’t
care; do you, Flo?”

“Not a bit. Let’s leave it to Carlo.”

“Then, ladies, I take you once again to the Baptistery. I wish you
to look again at the bronze doors of Ghiberti.”

“Go ahead,” said Patty. “I know those doors by heart; I know what
Michael Angelo said about them, and I have both sepia and coloured
postcards of them. But go on, we can’t have too much of the bronze
doors.”
 Carlo, though he spoke English, was not always quick enough to
grasp the whole of Patty’s raillery, but he saw she was willing to
follow his advice, so he took the seat beside the cabdriver, and they
rumbled away.

When they reached the Baptistery, they stood in front of the great
doors, and listened patiently while Carlo repeated the meanings of
the designs. It was owing to these repeated descriptions of Carlo’s
that Patty was acquiring a really good appreciation of painting and
sculpture, and though she mildly chaffed the good-natured guide,
she listened thoughtfully to his lectures.

“You’re a fine guide, Carlo,” she said; “you told all that exactly as
you told it last time. I think you’re the best guide in all Florence.”

“Oh, no, lady,” said Carlo, with a gesture of deprecation. “Verra

pore guide. I simply do my best to serve the kind patrons who
honour me. I speak but only eight of the languages.”

“Only eight?” exclaimed Patty, in a teasing tone, for she well knew
this was mock modesty, and Carlo was really proud of his linguistic
acquirements.

“Yes; eight. It is but few.”

“Oh, well, it will do for us,” said Patty; “I only know one, myself.”

“That is enough for a lady,” said Carlo, so gallantly that Flo and
Patty laughed.

“You know a lot of languages, Carlo,” Patty said, “and better than
that, you can be tactful in all of them.”

“Ah, I am a Florentine,” said Carlo, bowing, with native pride in his

birth that he scorned to admit in his acquirements. “But, ladies, here
comes a so good opportunity. A bambino—a baby—is arriving for
baptism. We will go in and observe the ceremony.”
 “We will, indeed,” said Patty. “I’ve always just missed it, before.
Come on, Flo.”

Inside the Baptistery they went and found a priest and a few
officials gathered around the font.

With great interest they watched the baptism of the tiny three-
days’ old infant. The little one was carried by its father, and
accompanied by a nurse and an Italian lady, presumably an aunt or
other relative. The child was robed in a grand conglomeration of
laces, ribbons, jewelry, and swathed in voluminous outer wrappings.

After the short ceremonial was over, the girls lingered to look at
the mosaics in the choir, a study in which Patty was taking a great
interest.

As they stood there Patty heard a voice over her shoulder,

addressing her in Italian. She turned, and saw the Italian soldier,
Signor Grimaldi, accompanied by his friend Balotti.

They had not seen these men since the meeting on the train, and
they had wondered what had become of them.

“Oh, Signor, how do you do?” cried Patty, quite forgetting that he
couldn’t understand her.

But he understood the smile and gesture and shook hands

cordially with Patty and Flo, and then presented Signor Balotti.

This introduction was in Italian but the girls assumed its intent,
and smiled pleasantly at both men, though at a loss how to continue
the conversation.

“We can talk through Carlo,” said Patty, with a sudden inspiration.
“What’s the use of his eight languages if he can’t help us out in a
case like this? Carlo, these are two friends of ours, but they can’t
speak English, nor we Italian, so you must act as interpreter. See?”
 “Yes, lady,” said Carlo, a little hesitatingly. “They are your before
acquaintances?”

“Oh, yes,” said Patty, laughing at his air of caution; “we met them
on the train coming from Rome. At least we met Mr. Grimaldi, and
were properly introduced. Ask him why he hasn’t been to see us.”

Reassured, Carlo talked to the young men, and translated back

and forth for the benefit of both sides. It seemed that the Italians
had mistaken the name of the hotel where the Fairfields were, and
had not been able to find them, they themselves being at a different
one.

“But I spik a very small Angleesh,” volunteered Signor Balotti,

timidly, and the girls turned to him in delight.

“Oh, do you?” said Flo. “Then you can help us all out.”

So they chatted away, and as each only understood about a

quarter of what the other said, the conversation was mostly laughter
and gestures.

At last with the help of Carlo the young men conveyed to the girls
an invitation to visit some certain of the Royal apartments in the Pitti
Palace, which are not usually shown to visitors.

The idea appealed to Carlo, who wanted his patrons to see all that
they could, but he hesitated about accepting the escort of these
handsome young strangers.

“Oh, yes, we’ll go,” cried Patty, after she learned of the invitation;
“don’t be a goose, Carlo, you’re worse than Snippy! I’ll take the
responsibility, and I’ll tell father all about it, and he’ll say, ‘Bless you,
my children.’ Come on, Flo.”

Then turning to Signor Balotti, she smiled, and said:

 “Si, signor, we will go avec pleasure.”

The polyglot sentence was not very intelligible, but the smile was,
and Carlo allowed himself to be persuaded to carry out the plan.

Their cab was dismissed, and a larger carriage called, which would
hold the four, and again Carlo climbed to the seat beside the driver,
and they were off.

Conversation was now difficult, but that made it only more

interesting.

“Where do you live?” asked Patty, choosing a simple question as a

beginning.

This Signor Balotti understood, but his reply was entirely

unintelligible, and as Patty didn’t care where they lived, she gave it
up.

“The Boboli gardens are very beautiful,” volunteered Flo, willing to

do her share to break a silence that might become embarrassing.

“Boboli? No—not this hora,” said Balotti, with a regretful smile.

“Goodness!” said Flo, “he thinks I’m asking him to take us there,
and he says not at this hora. That’s hour, isn’t it, Patty?”

“Yes. She doesn’t mean we want to go there, but that it is

beautiful,—bella,—bellissimo! See?”

“Si,” responded Balotti, repeating, without understanding.

“So pretty, you know,” Patty floundered on; “so green and trees,
and flowers,—flora,—gracious, Flo, what is Italian for flowers, you
ought to know!”

“I don’t,” said Flo; “but, look this way!” and Flo sniffed vigorously
at an imaginary bouquet. Her dramatic instinct was so strong that
her meaning was quite evident, and one could almost imagine she
had beautiful flowers in her hands.

“Si, Si, Si!” exclaimed the gallant Balotti, and with an order in
Italian for the driver to stop, he sprang from the carriage and flew
over to a neighbouring flower stand. He returned with two huge
nosegays which he bestowed upon the girls, with a voluble flow of
Italian compliments.

“Oh, Patty,” said Flo, blushing with mortification, “he thinks we

asked him for flowers!”

“Si, si, flowers!” said Balotti, beaming with pleasure at having

gratified the wishes of the young ladies.

To Patty’s surprise Carlo took the flower episode calmly, and she
concluded that a gift of flowers in Italy must mean even less than in
America.

“Yes,” said Carlo, when she asked him this; “yes, the Signori mean
to present the compliments they cannot speak, by means of the so
beautiful bouquets.”

“Thank them very much,” said Patty, “they are most kind.”

But her own smiling bows of appreciation were quite as welcome

to the gallant Balotti as Carlo’s expressed thanks.

And now gloom settled on the handsome face of Signor Grimaldi.

“He wants that he too,” said Balotti.

This seemed obscure, at first, but the discontented expression

helped Patty’s quick wit, and she exclaimed, “Oh, Mr. Grimaldi wants
to give us flowers also?”

“Yes,” said Balotti, “or—or another.”

 “Yes,” said Flo, assisting him, “or something else. Well, Patty, we
must accept another gift,—I see that clearly. What do you suggest
that we can take with propriety, and thus bring smiles to Grimaldi’s
face as well as Spaghetti’s, I mean Balotti’s?”

Patty looked about on either side.

“Postcards!” she exclaimed, as she saw a vendor with his tray.

“Just the thing!” cried Flo. “Tell him, Carlo, that the young ladies
would be overjoyed to receive the gift of half a dozen postcards
each.”

Carlo translated this, and Signor Grimaldi’s face broke into wide
smiles as he sprang in his turn from the carriage.

“Tell him only a half dozen, Carlo,” warned Patty, for Grimaldi’s
enthusiasm betokened his buying the whole tray, and sending the
man for more.

But he obeyed Carlo’s strict orders, and returned, bringing Flo and
Patty each six of the most celebrated monuments of Florence.

The girls made charming protestations of gratitude and

appreciation of this courtesy, and the drive continued. The two
Italians, pleased with their own performances, seemed content to sit
and beam pleasantly for the remainder of the way, and soon they
were at the portals of the Pitti Palace.

As the young men had promised they were able to show them
through some magnificent Royal apartments, rarely shown to
strangers, and where even Carlo himself had never been before.

The sights were most interesting, and after a pleasant hour spent
there, they all drove back to the hotel. The Italian gentlemen took
leave, and through the interpretations of Carlo, Patty asked them to
return late in the afternoon and take tea with them, and this the
young men readily promised to do.
 CHAPTER XV

GOOD-BY TO FLORENCE

M
R. Fairfield was not at all displeased to learn that the two girls
had gone to the Royal Palace with the Italian men, for he
trusted to Carlo’s notions of propriety, and was quite willing to
abide by his decisions. But Snippy was less agreeable about it, and
declared that hereafter she should go with Miss Flo wherever she
went, headache or no headache.

“Now don’t be stuffy, Snip,” said Flo, in reply. “In the first place I
don’t care tuppence for those two native gallants, for I can’t talk to
them, and when I do, they misunderstand me.”

But the two young Italians seemed much attracted by the whole
Fairfield party, and nearly every day after that they dropped in to
tea, or invited them to go on little excursions, or brought small gifts
to Nan and the girls.

By degrees, too, Patty and Flo picked up a few Italian phrases,

and after a time were able to make some slight attempts at
conversation, which greatly delighted the two men.

So really they added not a little to the pleasures of the Fairfields’

stay in Florence, and when the time came for them to leave the
Italian gentlemen were quite inconsolable.

As a parting favour they begged that the whole Fairfield party

would lunch with them on their last day in Florence. This invitation
was accepted, and a delightful excursion was arranged to the
Cascine. Mr. Fairfield stipulated for an early luncheon, as their train
left for Venice at four, and he did not wish to be hurried at the last
moment.

“I hate to take an afternoon train, anyway,” he said to Nan. “I like

to start in the morning, and reach our destination in the afternoon.
But leaving Florence at four, we won’t reach Venice until ten or
after.”

“Well, it doesn’t really matter,” said Nan, “and the girls are so
anxious to go to this fête of Signor Grimaldi’s.”

The proprietor of the hotel also reassured Mr. Fairfield.

“You are going to the Royal Danieli Hotel, in Venice,” he said, “and
have your rooms engaged. Well, they will meet you on your arrival,
not only with gondolas, but with motorboats and steam launches,
and I assure you, you will have not the least care or responsibility.
Also, the whole place will be as bright as day.”

So it was arranged, and the day before the party Flo and Patty
packed their trunks and had everything in readiness. Also, on the
day before the party, Nan received a telegram from a friend of hers,
who was passing through Venice, and who urged her to come on
that day, in order that they might meet.

Nan was greatly disappointed not to see her friend, but she
positively refused to let them all leave a day earlier, and thus deprive
Flo and Patty of their anticipated pleasure.

Patty insisted that they should do this, but Nan wouldn’t agree,
and at last Patty said:

“Well, I’ve an idea. You and father go on to Venice to-day, by the

noon train. Then we’ll stay here for the party to-morrow, and Snippy
can take us to Venice quite well afterward.”
 This sounded plausible, but Mr. Fairfield said: “Here’s a better plan
still. Let Snippy and Nan go to Venice to-day, thus travelling by
daylight, and I’ll stay here with you two girls, and take you to Venice
after your luncheon party to-morrow. If any of us are to travel after
dark in an unknown country, I prefer to look after the trip.”

This was more sensible, as Snippy and Nan could easily catch the
noon train that day, and so give Nan an opportunity to see her
friend.

Hotel arrangements were made by telegraph, and Mr. Fairfield put

the two ladies on the train, knowing his wife had a safe and pleasant
escort in the grim but capable Englishwoman.

“We ought to do something extra gay to-night, Daddy,” said Patty,

“to console you for Nan’s absence. It was awfully good of her to
arrange it all this way, rather than disappoint Flo and me.”

“Yes, I think it was,” agreed Mr. Fairfield, “and I shall expect you to
entertain me hilariously.”

“I think,” said Patty, “the most fun would be just to go for a drive,
and shop somewhere and eat ices off those funny little tables that
stand out on the sidewalk.”

“That is indeed a daring proposition,” said her father, smiling, “but

I’ll take you. Get your hats and wraps.”

Flo and Patty were soon ready, and away they went for a drive
round Florence by night.

“It isn’t as brilliant as Broadway,” said Patty, looking about at the

fairly-well lighted streets.

“It’s lighter than London at night, though,” said Flo.

 “Yes, or London by day, either,” said Patty, who knew Flo never
resented good-natured chaff.

Then to Patty’s delight they stopped at a sidewalk café, and ate

ices and little cakes, while they enjoyed the novel scenes all about.

Often whole families would be gathered round the tables, and

little children would sit contentedly nibbling at buns or pastry.

“It’s lovely,” said Patty, with a little sigh, as she finished her ice; “I
wouldn’t live here for anything, but I do enjoy seeing it all.”

“So do I,” said Flo. “But I’m ’most sure I’ll like Venice better than
Florence. Shan’t you, Patty?”

“Yes, I expect so. I like Rome better, too; but still, Florence is a
lovely city. You ought to love it best, Flo, as it’s named after you.”

“Oh, it’s pretty enough, but I’ve always been just crazy to see
Venice.”

The girls chatted away, and Mr. Fairfield smoked a cigar, and then
said they must go back to the hotel and to bed, as they had a busy
day ahead of them, with their party first, and the journey to Venice
after.

“And I thank you, gracious ladies,” he added, “for giving me a

most pleasant evening.”

“Glad you enjoyed it,” said Patty; “I’ve had lots of fun, watching
the people and noticing their funny ways.”

On the way home they stopped at one or two shops that were still
open, and bought a few more of the delightful bits of bric-à-brac in
which Florence abounds.
 “I’m simply overburdened now, with little boxes, and carved
things, and mosaics, and plaster casts, but I must have this head of
Dante.”

“I’ve seven heads of Dante already, so I won’t get one,” said Flo.

“He must have been a hydra-headed monster,” said Patty; “I think

it fairly rains heads of Dante in Florence. But I’ve so many people at
home who’ll be glad to have one, that we’re sending a lot.”

The next day was fair and beautiful for their little excursion. Their
two Italian hosts came for them in an imposing equipage, and they
drove out to the park, or Cascine, as it is called.

Patty had been here before, but she always enjoyed the lovely
place, and was glad to pay it a farewell visit. The conversation was
rather limited, but they were used to that now, and laughs and
gestures often made up what they could not express in words.

Mr. Fairfield liked the two young men, and endeavoured to make
himself entertaining, so far as his slight knowledge of Italian would
allow.

The festival ended rather abruptly, as the travellers must run no

risk of losing their train, and the girls had to change their pretty,
light dresses for travelling garb.

“Why are you carrying your furnished handbag?” said Flo to Patty,
as they left the hotel. “We won’t be on the train over night.”

“No; but there isn’t room in my trunk for it, and, too, it’s
convenient to have brushes and things. We don’t reach Venice till
after ten o’clock, and I propose to take a nap in the evening hours.
I’m awfully tired now.”
 “So am I. Those natives tired me out.”

“Well, we’ve seen the last of them now.”

“I don’t know. They talk of going to Venice.”

“Oh, I hope not. Mr. Homer and Floyd Austin are to meet us there,
and I don’t want those smiling popinjays bothering around.”

“No, I don’t, either.”

The train was a comfortable one, and the party were soon
comfortably settled in it.

Mr. Fairfield had not been able to secure an entire compartment

for themselves, and as they occupied but three seats, an elderly
Italian couple came in with them.

This left one vacant seat, into which the girls piled their wraps and
some magazines and also some candy and flowers, which their
gallant admirers had sent them as a parting souvenir.

They had previously asked the Italian dame, by smiles and signs,
if she cared to use this vacant seat, but as she kept on her queer
little bonnet, and cape, she signed that she had no use for it. Mr.
Fairfield put all their bags and hats in the upper racks and they
settled down for a long, but not unpleasant ride.

For a time the girls chatted, and then Patty looked over some
magazines and papers, while Flo crocheted lace, which was a
favourite occupation of hers. The elderly Italian gentleman was
immersed in a newspaper, and his amiable-looking wife nodded as
she alternately dozed and wakened.

“I think,” said Mr. Fairfield, as he at last folded up his own paper, “I

think I can leave you two girls for half an hour while I go to the
smoking car. That kind-faced, motherly lady will do for chaperon,
even if you can’t talk much to each other.”

“Of course,” said Patty, “go ahead. There’s nothing to chaperon us

about, but I just adore that old lady’s looks. She has the air of
mothering the whole world.”

“That’s true,” said Mr. Fairfield, looking at the lady, whose eyes
were closed for the moment. “She’s one of the best types of Italian
matron. Well, then I’ll run away for a bit. The guard has punched
our tickets, so you won’t be bothered, and if any luggage official
speaks to you, refer him to me. They can always understand
English.”

He went away, and Patty hoped her father would find some one in
the smoker with whom he could talk, and so while away the time.

The Italian lady looked up as Mr. Fairfield left the compartment,

and at his smiling gestures of adieu, and his nod toward the girls,
she quite understood that she was to lend them her chaperonage,
and nodded assent with a beaming face.

“Amerika,” she said, smiling kindly at Patty.

“Si, Signora,” said Patty, in her pretty, polite way. “Amerique?” she
asked, pointing to Flo.

“Non, non,” said the dame; “Engleesh signorina.”

“Si,” agreed Patty, and there the conversation stopped, much to

Patty’s regret, for she wanted to talk to her new-found friend.

“I shall study Italian before I come again,” she said to Flo; “it isn’t
necessary for travelling purposes,—I mean guards and hotel clerks,
—but it is if you want to converse with your fellow travellers.”

“Yes,” agreed Flo; “but it’s awfully hard to learn.”

 In about an hour Mr. Fairfield returned, and then they all went to
the dining-car for dinner. The Italian couple went too, but they did
not sit at a table near the Fairfields.

“She’s lovely,” announced Patty. “I call her Signora Orsini, because

I feel sure she descended from that noble family.”

“In that case, it would be her husband who was of noble descent,”
suggested her father.

“Oh, yes, so it would. Well, it makes no difference. They’re Orsinis.

He’s as nice as she is, only he seems a very quiet man. They
scarcely talk at all.”

After dinner they returned to the compartment in the other car,

and found the Orsinis, as Patty called them, already there. The place
had been lighted up, and presented the appearance of a cosy little
sitting-room.

“These trains are most pleasantly arranged,” said Mr. Fairfield.

“And now I’ll leave you again for a short time, and have an after-
dinner smoke, then I’ll come back, and before we know it, the
evening will fly by, and we’ll be in Venice.”

“Stay as long as you like,” said Patty. “I feel as if I had lived with
Madame Orsini all my life, and I have a feeling she’s fond of me.”

“That’s the beauty of her not being able to understand you,”

teased Mr. Fairfield, with a twinkle in his eye.

“Oh, go along! If she could talk to me, and understand me, she’d
love me so she’d want to adopt me.”

“She can’t have you!” cried Mr. Fairfield, in mock alarm. “Don’t
come to so much of an understanding as that!”
 “No, I won’t. I’m not ready to leave you yet. Now, go, Daddy, and
have a calm, pleasant smoke with yourself.”

“Madame Orsini” bowed and smiled, and wagged her head

protectingly at the girls, as Mr. Fairfield went away.

“Now,” said Patty, “I just must see where we are at. I have a fine
railroad map of Italy, and I’m going to investigate it.”

She spread the map out before her and she and Flo traced their
route.

“You see,” said Patty, “here’s Florence; we left that and followed
this mark to Pistoja; I remember we passed through there while we
were at dinner. It’s too dark now to see the names of the places, but
Bologna is the next stop, and from there we go straight along this
line to Venice. Oh, here we are at Bologna.”

The train stopped and waited quite a time in the station. Patty and
Flo were greatly interested in looking from their windows at the
bustling crowd on the platform. It was brightly lighted, and travellers
were hurrying about, jostled now and then by vendors with trays or
push-carts.

“Stop that boy,” cried Patty, “let’s buy some grapes.”

They called the boy, who came to the train window and sold them
great bunches of delicious grapes, which Patty laid aside for an
evening repast.

“Why do they stay here so long?” asked Flo.

“I don’t know,” replied Patty, “unless they are taking on a load of

sausages. Isn’t this the place where they make Bologna sausages?”

“No, you goose, of course it isn’t.”

 “Oh, I think it is,” and Patty turned questioningly to the Italian
lady.

“Bologna? Sausages?” she said, with an inquiring smile.

“Bologna, si,” returned the dame, but “sausages” she could not
understand, so Patty gave it up.

At last the train started on again, and for a short time the trip was
uneventful. Then the Italian gentleman looked at his watch, spoke to
his wife, and rising, began to get his bags and coat from the rack.

“Why, they’re going to get out,” exclaimed Patty to Flo.

“So they are,” said Flo. “I don’t know why, but I somehow thought
they were going all the way through to Venice. Well, I shall always
remember the old lady’s pleasant face.”

The train was slowing down at a station, and the Italians shook
hands with the girls in farewell.

“Signor?” said the old lady, looking at Patty, with a doubtful

expression; “ritorno?”

“Oh, yes,” said Patty; “he’ll return. Si, si, signor ritorno soon.”

It was not entirely intelligible, but the train had stopped, and the
guard had flung the door open.

He announced some official information, which was as so much

Greek to the two girls, then, with a final nod of good-by, the old lady
clambered down the steps after her husband, and the guard
slammed the door again.

“Parma,” said Flo, reading the name on the station sign; “I

suppose they are going after violets, don’t you, Patty?”
 “Yes, probably they’ll pick big bunches along the roadside. But,
Flo, we’ve lost our chaperon. It isn’t at all the thing for two correct
young ladies to be all alone in a railroad train at night.”

“Well, your father will be back in a few minutes.”

“Yes, of course he will. I’m not a bit afraid, but I know daddy
won’t like it. Still, it’s his own fault. We couldn’t help it, if our friend
would get out to pick Parma violets.”

“’Course we couldn’t,” said Flo.

 CHAPTER XVI

AN EXCITING ADVENTURE

A
NOTHER half hour went by, and Patty, looking at her watch,
said, “Why, it’s after nine o’clock! We will now eat our grapes. I
meant to offer some to that dear old lady, but she preferred
violets, so I had no chance.”

The girls ate the grapes, and though they didn’t refer to it, each
secretly wished Mr. Fairfield would come back.

“It does seem queer,” said Patty at last, “for father to stay so long
away. But of course, he thinks the Orsinis are still with us, and if
they were, I wouldn’t give a thought to father’s long absence.”

“He’s probably fallen asleep,” said Flo.

“Of course he has! That’s just it! His dinner and his smoke made
him sleepy, and he dropped off before he knew it. Well, if he doesn’t
wake up before, he’ll have to come and get us when we get to
Venice.”

“Maybe he’ll sleep right through.”

“Well, when we get to Venice, I’ll get out then, and hunt up the
Royal Danieli men, and they’ll find him.”

“How capable you Americans are! I don’t mind confessing that I’m
a bit scared.”

“Pshaw! what is there to be scared at? We’re as safe here as we

can be. Nothing can harm us. The guards would look after us if
there were any danger, but there isn’t any.”
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