VENICE AT LAST
Very early the next morning, Snippy, who had fallen into a light doze,
was awakened by a tapping at her door.
Hastily flinging on her dressing-gown, she opened the door to see Mr.
Fairfield standing there with a smiling face that betokened good news.
He waved a telegram at her, and exclaimed: “The girls are all right,
Snippy. We may congratulate each other!”
“Thank Heaven!” cried the delighted woman, and then her eyes eagerly
devoured the telegram Patty had sent.
“Bless her heart!” she said; “she’s a good girl, is Miss Patty, Mr.
Fairfield. And to think of those two dear children alone in Milan! How
soon can I start?”
Mr. Fairfield smiled at her ready acceptance of Patty’s suggestion, and
replied:
“You must get your breakfast first. The girls are all right now, you
know. I’ve telegraphed them that we’ve received their message and will
send for them. You can reach them by noon, I think, and have them back
here before sunset. I’ll go for them, if you prefer.”
But Snippy declared herself quite willing to go, so, after an early
breakfast, she set out for Milan.
Accustomed to travelling, she did not mind the journey at all, and
in her gladness at Flo’s safety, she was once again her own staid,
sensible self.
She reached the hotel duly, paid the bills the girls had incurred, gave
Mrs. Ponderby a generous gift from Mr. Fairfield, and many earnest
thanks from them all.
“It’s so nice that you can’t scold me, Snippy,” remarked Flo, after
they were in the train for Venice; “somehow, I think you’d like to
scold somebody, and you know that I wasn’t a bit to blame. You daren’t
scold Mr. Fairfield; Patty deserves only praise; so, poor thing, you’ve
nobody to berate, have you?”
“I blame myself, Miss Flo,” said Snippy, primly, “that I ever let you
out of my sight.”
“Oh, well, Snips, all’s well that ends well, and we’ll have a booful
time in Venice.”
Flo never took Snippy very seriously, so the two girls gave themselves
up to enjoyment of their journey, and looked forward eagerly to their
arrival in Venice at last.
Patty sprang from the train straight into her father’s arms, and the
welcoming kiss he gave her told her how glad he was to have her safely
beside him once more.
“And now,” said Nan, after they had all welcomed each other, “we’ve
just time for a leisurely water trip back to the hotel. This is our
gondola, the flowers are in honour of your arrival.”
Nan pointed to a graceful craft which was waiting for them. It was a
well-shaped, freshly-painted gondola, and its black sides and shining
metal made it quite distinct from the more dingy affairs all around.
Also, the gondolier wore a resplendent sash of bright colours, and his
handsome Italian face was good-natured and smiling.
“It’s ours,” said Nan, proudly; “I mean, while we’re here. I picked
it out yesterday, and it’s the finest gondola in all Venice, eh,
Donatello?”
The gondolier showed his white teeth in an assenting grin, though he
scarcely understood the question.
“It’s angelic!” declared Patty, as she stepped in. “And the lovely dry
carpet! I thought of course the bottom of a gondola was of a wet and
sloppy nature.”
“You goose!” cried Nan. “But sit down, Patty, and drink it all in.”
“What! the canal?” cried Patty, but she sat down and looked about her
with that awed thrill that the first sight of Venice brings to all good
Americans.
It was not far from the sunset hour, and the cabin of the gondola had
been removed, so they could see the gay scenes all about.
“It’s perfect!” said Patty, as she gazed delightedly at sea, and sky,
and buildings. “It’s all my fancy painted it, only I didn’t think it
would be a bit like this!”
“I did,” said Flo. “It’s exactly like the postcards of it, only bigger.”
“So it is,” said Nan; “I recognised that myself. And the more you see
of it, the more you’ll love it.”
Then they came to the Rialto Bridge, and Patty wanted to get out and
walk across it, but her father said there wasn’t time then, she must
wait till the next day. So she and Flo just sat still and drifted
calmly along, both feeling that the scene was too lovely even for
words of appreciation.
On they swept, round the great curves of the Grand Canal, and now and
then the gondolier sang out the name of a house or a church they were
passing.
“He’s worse than an elevated road conductor,” said Patty. “I can’t make
out a word he says; but then I don’t want to. I don’t care to-night
which church is which, and if the Borgias had lived in Browning’s
house, I should make no objection.”
“Well, here’s the Piazzetta,” said her father; “you must learn this, as
you’ll spend a lot of time here. It leads to the Piazza of St. Mark,
and is the meeting place of all Venice.”
“Then I suppose you’ll call St. Mark’s the meeting-house,” said Patty;
“it sounds provincial to me.”
“Don’t be disrespectful,” said her father; “before two days have
passed, you’ll be everlastingly making tracks for the Piazza.”
“Not I,” said Patty; “I expect to live in a gondola. Can’t I have one
all to myself, Father? Just for Flo and me, I mean. You and Nan will be
always wanting this one.”
“We’ll get another, if you like, girlie. But I won’t let you and Flo
go alone in it. Snippy and I are to accompany you always hereafter.
Why, first thing you knew you’d be back in Milan! But here we are at
our hotel.”
The gondola turned softly round into a side canal which led past the
steps of the Hotel Royal Danieli, and they all stepped out.
Patty soon learned the knack of gracefully balancing herself as she
disembarked, but Flo was nervously uncertain of her steps.
“I don’t like the wabbly things!” she exclaimed, as she almost slipped
upon the wet lower step of the hotel entrance.
“Oh,” said Nan, “you’ll get used to bobbling around in a day or two.
They’re really lots easier to get into than your London ’buses.”
“Indeed they are,” said Patty. “I love ’em. I’m going to try to have
water introduced into the New York streets. It’s the nicest sort of
road.”
Then they all went into the beautiful hotel, which used to be the
palace of a great Italian family.
The elaborate architecture and decorations, and many of the magnificent
pieces of furniture were still there, and the grand staircase, with
lights and palms and flowers, was an impressive sight.
“Well,” said Patty, “this makes ‘the grandeur that was Rome’ look like
three United States dimes!”
“Oh, Patty!” cried Nan, “how can you use slang in Venice?”
But the allusion was lost on Flo and Snippy, who knew little of
American jests.
Their rooms looked out on the Grand Canal, and there was a wide board
sidewalk between the hotel and the water.
This was crowded with people promenading up and down, both Italians and
foreigners.
“Well,” said Patty to Flo, through the open door of their adjoining
rooms. “Will you look at that! If it isn’t like the board walk at
Atlantic City!”
Flo had never seen Atlantic City, but she, too, was fascinated by the
brilliant pageant, and the two girls sat in the window, gazing out,
quite forgetting that they had been told to change their frocks for
dinner. Nan came in, trailing her pretty white draperies.
“Why, girls, haven’t you begun to dress?” she said. “You must hurry. We
want to dine and then go Venicing by moonlight.”
“Ooh, ee!” cried Patty; “I’ll be attired in two minutes. Hurry up,
Flo. Snippy will hook you, and Nan will help me, won’t you, ducky
stepmother o’ mine?”
“Yes, if you’ll fly ’round,” said Nan, laughing, as Patty shook down
her sunny tangle of curls, and then shook it up again, and twisted a
white ribbon through it.
“What shall I wear, Nan? Open my trunk and get out anything you like.”
“This light green thing, with silver lace on it, comes first,” said
Nan, diving into Patty’s trunk.
“All right, I’ll wear that. Do I want a hat?”
“No; your hair looks lovely. Here’s a white and silver scarf you can
take, to wear out after dinner.”
“All right, honey. Here, hook me up, please; where’s my priceless
string of Roman pearl beads?”
“Here they are, but I think your pink coral prettier.”
“Not a bit, you colour-blind infant. These pure white pearls, warranted
pure white wax, are the only thing to wear with this green and silver
symphony.”
“Yes, you’re right,” said Nan, as Patty, with toilette completed, stood
fair and sweet for inspection. “You always do wear just the right
things, Patty.”
“So do you,” was the affectionate reply, and arm in arm they went down
the great staircase.
The party all met in one of the drawing-rooms, and Mr. Fairfield
surveyed his pretty wife and daughter with the pride he always felt in
their charm and attractiveness.
Flo, too, looked dainty and well-dressed, and Snippy, in her black
satin, was a perfect model of an English duenna.
“Come on,” said Nan, to her husband, “let us go in to dinner.”
“Wait a moment,” said Mr. Fairfield, looking at his watch. “It isn’t
quite time.”
“Yes, it is, Daddy,” said Patty, who was darting about in her
excitement; now looking out of the window,--now admiring the
appointments indoors. “Lots of people have gone to the dining-room.”
“And here are lots more to go,” said her father, triumphantly, as three
smiling young men, resplendent in evening clothes, made a simultaneous
and sudden appearance.
“Why, you blessed boys!” cried Patty, as with outstretched hands and
shining eyes she greeted Peter Homer, Floyd Austin, and Caddy Oram.
“Rejoiced at being reunited to their long-lost friends, the young
men rolled their eyes in ecstasy,” said Austin, and as he nudged
the others, they all three struck an attitude and rolled their eyes
ridiculously toward the ceiling.
“Oh, I’m so _glad_ to see you!” exclaimed Patty; “how dear of you to
come while we’re here! Isn’t it, Flo?”
“Yes, awfully jolly,” said Flo, who was glad to see the boys, but could
not be so spontaneous of manner as Patty.
“Now we’ll go to dinner,” said Mr. Fairfield, and then it came out that
he had known the three young men were in Venice, and had invited them
to dinner that night as a surprise to Patty and Flo.
It was a merry dinner, indeed. Snippy and the elder Fairfields were so
glad to have the girls safely with them again that they were fairly
beaming with joy.
And as for the five young people, they were just bubbling over with the
merriment of youth and happiness.
“Have you had a good time all through Italy?” asked Peter Homer, of
Patty.
“Oh, yes, indeed it has been the pleasurablest pleasure trip I could
imagine. Everything has gone right,--except,” she paused suddenly, as
she remembered the episode of the night before. But she resolved not
to bring up the subject then, so she went on, saying, “except that of
course we were lonely in Florence without you three, and the other
Wonderers. But we can wonder through Venice together, and oh, won’t it
be lovely! I haven’t seen Venice at all yet, except just the row up
from the station.”
“Venice is Heaven and water,” said Peter Homer, and Austin droned out:
“Having made a pretty good epigram, he waited for the applause due him.”
“He’ll get it, too,” said Patty, softly clapping her hands. “Venice
_is_ Heaven and water. I’ve already noticed it, and should have said it
myself, if I’d thought of it.”
“Never mind,” said Floyd, consolingly; “you can say it to the next
bunch of people you meet, and then you’ll get some nice applause.”
As soon as dinner was over, Mr. Fairfield invited the whole party to
go for a moonlight row. He had engaged a barca, which is larger than a
gondola, and it held them all comfortably.
As they glided out into the Grand Canal, Patty fairly held her
breath at the marvel of the scene. The moon, not far from full, sent
silver-crested ripples along the surface of the water. The strange
and wonderful buildings loomed weirdly against the sky. On the bridges
and quays were sparkling lights and merry people; while ever and again
other silent, dark gondolas glided swiftly past their own craft.
“Oh,” said Patty,--“oh!” Realising the beauty of the whole effect, even
Floyd Austin refrained from making his nonsensical speeches, and all
sat silent and absorbed, as the gondoliers plashed their oars.
“Sing, Patty,” said Nan, at last.
“Yes, do,” said everybody, but Patty said:
“No, that would be out of the picture. Ask the gondoliers to sing.”
“No,” said Peter Homer, quietly. “You sing first, Patty, and then we’ll
have them sing a barcarole.”
“I’d do anything to hear them sing a barcarole. What is it? It sounds
like something to eat.”
“Patty!” cried Flo, “don’t talk of eating in this enchanted place!”
“Well, I won’t,” said Patty, good-naturedly. “What shall I sing?”
“Some pretty little sentimental thing,” suggested Floyd. “Soft and low,
you know.”
“I don’t know much sentimental music,” said Patty, “but I’ll sing
_Secrets_.”
So as the boat silently sped along the water, eluding other boats here
and there, guided by the skilful gondoliers, Patty’s sweet voice sang
softly, to a gentle, charming air:
“SECRETS
“Away and away from the busy town,
Soft on the sea the stars shine down;
And nobody knows of the stars and the sea,
But Mine and Me.
“Away and away the wind breathes low,
The branches are waving to and fro;
And nobody knows of the wind in the tree,
But Mine and Me.
“Away and away in a far somewhere,
The roses are red and sweet and fair;
And nobody knows of a rose that may be,
But Mine and Me.
“Away and away on a blue lagoon,
Shines softly,--softly,--the silvery moon;
And nobody knows of the wavelets’ plea,
But Mine and Me.”
The last strains rang out across the water, and as Patty’s voice
ceased, a whispered “Brava!” was heard from one of the gondoliers.
“Brava, indeed,” said Peter Homer. “Thank you, Patty, for a great
pleasure. Now, the gondoliers shall sing for you in return.”
They were easily induced to do so, and their Italian songs kept time to
the rippling dip of their trained touch of the oar.
“I’m in the seventh heaven,” murmured Patty, as a song came to an end.
“And water,” supplemented Caddy. “Don’t forget your new-found epigram.”
“But I’m not in the water,” rejoined Patty, laughing. “What is that
church? You may as well make up your minds to tell me every time, for
I’m not going to try to remember. I don’t think one ought to remember
anything in Venice, but just drift along and look and wonder.”
“That is the Santa Maria della Salute,” said her father.
“Indeed!” said Patty, saucily. “And why are the statues around its dome
all on bicycles?”
“They’re not! Patty, I’m ashamed of you!”
“Well, they look as if they are? Don’t they, Caddy?”
“Exactly. But they are bicycles only by moonlight; in broad daylight
they are quite different. I’ll bring you to-morrow, and show you.”
They rowed around in desultory fashion, enjoying the evening, now and
then waxing merry and talking nonsense, and again, growing pensive, as
the moonlight demanded.
At last they stopped at the Piazzetta, and Mr. Fairfield took the party
to the Piazza for ices.
“Oh,” cried Patty, as she saw the gay scene; banners flying, a band
playing, lights sparkling; people walking about, and sitting at small
tables; “oh, why didn’t we come here sooner! Moonlight and water pale
beside this fairyland! Oh,--ooh!”
Patty almost danced about in glee. She loved gay sound and sight, and
this was so novel and so brilliant it delighted her beyond measure.
“There, there, child,” said her father; “calm your transports. Remember
this is your first night in Venice. You must learn to get used to it.”
“I will,” said Patty, rapturously. “I’d love to. Just give me time!”
Peter Homer was watching her with an intense interest in her naïve
enjoyment.
“You are seeing Italy the way I want you to,” he said, as they all sat
down at the little tables.
“Is this your Venice?” asked Patty, glancing about at the crowds.
“Yes, it’s all my Venice. I mean the way we’re seeing it to-night. The
rapid impressions of the moonlight and water, followed by this gay and
lively scene, _is_ Venice. And to-morrow--many to-morrows, I shall show
you other sides of the city’s charm, until you can mingle all your
memories into a perfect picture of the whole.”
“You are so good to me,” said Patty; “I like to have you take such an
interest in my sight-seeing.”
“And I like to take it, but suppose you see if you can take an interest
in these ices and cakes that are approaching us.”
“I just guess I can!” said Patty. “I’m as hungry as if I were in New
York!”