FONTANONE DELL' ACQUA FELICE
SEVERAL tears watered the violets. Frieda Ralston was seated on one of a
flight of stone steps bordering the antique fountain, with an immense
stone lion on either side of her and in high eminence behind her the
figures of the prophets. But Frieda was not in the slightest degree
interested at this moment in Roman art. For one hour, recorded on the
face of the small watch in her pocket, she had been engaged in wandering
up and down likely looking streets in search of their hotel, only to
return to her starting place again. And this when she had only gone a
block and a half away in the first place.
Neither had the wayfarer trusted entirely to her own judgment. In spite
of Ruth's repeated warnings against talking to strangers, she had once
accosted a man in a queer uniform, thinking him a policeman. He wore a
dark blue coat, blue-gray trousers, a white cap and belt, so how could a
newcomer have known him to be a member of the Roman garrison? However,
when once the soldier had discovered Frieda's desire, his directions
were so explicit, so accompanied by much waving of his hand and
statements of "destra" (right) and "sinistra" (left), that Frieda
believed her way clear at last. Nevertheless, though doing exactly what
she believed she had been told, the result was the same. Frieda had
again to return to her fountain, a now painfully familiar spot. In the
course of this wandering, however, she had passed an ancient church with
a high flight of steps, where she paused to gaze for a few moments in
awe and wonder. A number of pilgrims were climbing the wooden steps on
their knees and children were running about among them offering rosaries
and small wooden images for sale. Frieda had purchased a St. Joseph and
then regretted her investment, for at least half the crowd of children
followed her back to her resting place. They were still whining about
her begging for pennies, when some time ago she had given them all the
change she had. Yet they would _not_ leave her alone. Happening to
glance down at her arm Frieda now made the painful discovery that her
beloved gold-link purse had disappeared. Still the poor child had her
violets!
They were no great comfort, however, for, sighing, she glanced through
an opening among her persecutors to see if aid might be found anywhere.
There not far away did she not behold the familiar figures of Richard
Grant and his mother, the acquaintances who had been so scorned toward
the close of their sea voyage.
With a little extra energy the lost girl might have called to them. For
they were loitering and studying the pages of their guide-book,
evidently on their way to visit the famous church which had previously
attracted her attention. Once Frieda believed that she saw them glance
in the direction of her fountain. But their purpose must have changed,
for the next instant they moved off toward the church.
Nevertheless, in spite of her need, the wanderer did not stir or call
out. For how could she ask assistance of people to whom she had been so
rude and overbearing but a short time before? And she was so near their
hotel, surely Ruth would send some one to look for her or come herself
in a few minutes. No, she must wait a while longer and perhaps, when
rested, if no one had found her, try to discover her own way again.
Often Jim Colter had told the Ranch girls to search for things first
with their heads before beginning to explore with their hands and feet.
Yet it was pretty difficult to think clearly, and when weary and
discouraged to remember how one has managed to get lost. This habit of
getting separated from her family was a trying one, and certainly this
time Ruth and the girls would be angry as well as frightened.
[Illustration: "DON'T BE FUNNY, DICK; I'M LOST AGAIN"]
Not long after Frieda was wishing sincerely that she had put her pride
in her pocket and begged Dick's and Mrs. Grant's help in spite of all
that had passed. She was frightened as well as tired. The children had
run away on finding that the Signorita's purse had gone. But a few yards
from her seat an Italian had been curling his black mustache for quite
an extraordinary length of time, staring all the while at the little
blonde girl on the fountain steps.
"If you don't mind speaking to me this once, Miss Frieda, would you
explain just why you are ornamenting the steps of this particular
fountain alone for so long a time?" a friendly voice inquired.
Frieda jumped to her feet. There were the amused brown eyes, the square
jaw and the athletic shoulders of Mr. Richard Grant. However, he was
at the present moment engaged in holding his red Baedeker open and in
slowly reading aloud: "This fountain is known, I believe, as 'Fontanone
dell' Acqua Felice,' which, if I recall my Latin correctly, means 'water
of happiness.'"
"Don't be funny, Dick, please," begged Frieda, forgetting titles and
squeezing two left-over tears out of her eyes; "I'm lost again!"
"I rather supposed so," the young man replied, "so I left mother to moon
among the Saints in the church nearby, while I came back to look after
you. You see, we thought we recognized you sitting here and yet could
hardly believe our eyes. Tell me what has happened and where you wish to
go?"
A moment later, after a second careful consultation of his guide book,
Frieda was escorted through the streets of Rome by a youth, who was
unconcernedly carrying her large basket of violets in one hand and
feeding her chocolates from a box which he held in the other. He did not
seem to bear the least malice, and Frieda herself was extremely
cheerful, considering her talent for getting into scrapes.
She even promised gratefully to accept the gift of a red Baedeker of her
own and not to depend on their chaperon's possession of one.
Arriving at the Hotel l'Italia Frieda begged that Dick Grant come in
with her and let her family know of his presence in Rome and of his
kindness to her. In reality she wished for a stranger to be present so
that she might in a measure escape the disapproval awaiting her.
And this time Frieda was correct in her judgment, for Ruth and the girls
were more irritated with her than alarmed. And even after her
explanation as to just how the accident happened Ruth seemed
unreasonable. Actually, right in Richard Grant's presence, she scolded
Frieda more than she had before in years. However, the young man did
have the good sense to turn his back and be engaged in earnest
conversation with Jack during the worst of Ruth's tirade, for which the
younger Miss Ralston was truly grateful. She was also grateful to her
sister Jack for inquiring after Mrs. Grant just as though nothing
unpleasant had occurred between them. For Jack asked either that Mrs.
Grant come to see them or that they be permitted to call on her.
When Dick had finally departed to join his mother (who must have been
weary of waiting, except that her good nature was as certain as her bad
taste), Frieda found as usual that it was Jean's teasing which was
harder to bear than any scolding. For just as they were at last about to
leave their hotel and right in the presence of the English lady and her
two daughters who were returning, Jean pulled a long pale blue ribbon
from her pocket (one of Frieda's own ribbons) and tied it in a kind of
lasso about the younger girl's wrist.
"Better keep a string attached to our one ewe lamb, don't you think,
Ruth dear?" she inquired innocently. And the strangers stared with a
kind of cold surprise, when Ruth was obliged to produce the pair of
scissors she always carried in her hand bag to cut the knot, so close
had the ribbon been drawn.
For the rest of the day Frieda kept close to her sister and Olive,
feeling too deeply wounded with the other members of their party to care
to have much to say to them.