EXPLANATIONS
"I am sorry," Aunt Caroline was saying, as she and Irma and Uncle Jim
drifted along in a gondola, "that you will lose Milan. Perhaps you might
have gone up with your uncle on his trip last week, but it seemed hot."
"It was hot," interposed Uncle Jim. "And I had so much business that I
could have given no time to showing Irma around. She could have seen the
Cathedral, of course, which, after all, is one of the most beautiful in
the world, and different from the others you have seen in Italy; and she
could have visited one or two delightful galleries. But I doubt that
your head will retain an impression of half those you've already
visited. If you will accept my impression of Milan, you will know just
what it is, a busy, bustling city, full of energetic people who are
making their way upward. If the rest of Italy could catch the spirit of
Milan, the whole country would soon be prosperous. In fact the spirit of
independence is so strong that car conductors, policemen, and
shopkeepers, as well as cabmen, are insolent, and inclined to look down
on the _forestieri_. Sometime, when you return to Italy in cooler
weather, you can visit Milan; but be thankful you didn't go there with
me last week."
"We shall have a warm journey back to Naples, and if your business were
not so pressing, I should be inclined to go to Switzerland. While she is
over here, Irma ought to see----"
"Oh, no, no," interrupted Irma, without waiting for Aunt Caroline to
finish the sentence. "Really I do not need to see more. I ought, that
is, I _must_ go home."
"Why, my dear child," cried Aunt Caroline, "I had no idea you were
getting homesick. I thought you were enjoying everything."
"Yes, I am enjoying everything," replied Irma, "and that is why I feel
as if I can hardly wait to see them all at home. I just long to tell
them about everything, and I don't want Tessie to grow up before I see
her again. And if Katie gets to Cranston before I do, she will take Nap
away, and perhaps I may never see him again. Oh, I am glad we are going
home." Irma's voice now broke completely, and she made no attempt to
hide her tears.
"There, my dear, it is the warm weather. The climate of Venice is too
relaxing----"
"We'd get home sooner, Irma, if we should give up our Mediterranean
passage and take a boat from Havre or Cherbourg. Perhaps you would like
to start to-morrow with Mrs. Sanford's party. You wouldn't lose sight of
Katie then," said Uncle Jim mischievously.
"Nonsense," rejoined Aunt Caroline. "A few days more or less will be
nothing to Irma, when once her face is turned toward the United States."
"I feel better now," cried Irma. "Those were only makebelieve tears, but
I do feel better to be going home. I am glad that we are not to be away
three months more, and, if you please, I would rather not go to the
Bridge of Sighs to-day."
"You can look at it without any qualms," said Uncle Jim, "for our
matter of fact historians say that since that bridge was built more than
two hundred years ago, only one prisoner has been sent across to the
_pozzi_, under sentence of death."
"_Pozzi?_" asked Irma.
"Yes, _pozzi_, or wells, is a good name for those dungeons across from
the palace. The water used to rise two feet in them, and the poor wretch
had to spend his time on a kind of trestle. I went through the _pozzi_
the other day, but I shouldn't care to have you or your aunt there; they
are too depressing for tender-hearted people."
"Why not take a last look at the Doge's Palace to-day; that would be
more cheerful," suggested Aunt Caroline.
"Certainly," and in a short time their gondola was at the steps near St.
Mark's, the usual old man rose from his slumbers and steadied the
gondola with his hook, and the three, after getting their tickets,
wandered through the immense halls of the Doge's Palace.
"When I was here the other day," said Irma, "the carvings and gildings
and the enormous paintings dazzled me. Yes, I feel it is the same now,
and I believe, after all, I care more for the general impression. I
cannot remember each separate painting."
"Why should you try to?" asked Uncle Jim. "These gray-bearded doges in
their caps and ermine-trimmed cloaks are much alike, whether Titian or
Veronese, or some other one of the great masters painted them."
"Doesn't it seem as if those old doges were pretty conceited," said
Irma, "to have themselves painted in sacred pictures with the Madonna
and Christ?"
"But you will notice that they are generally in an attitude of humility,
and perhaps in that way they meant to attribute their greatness to
something besides themselves."
"A Doge could not do whatever he wished. Weren't they something like our
presidents, simply elected to be the executive officer of the state?"
asked Aunt Caroline.
"Yes, it was the Great Council, and not the Doge, that held the supreme
power, at least until the time of the Council of Ten. But the Doge,
although at first chosen for only a year, was often re-elected term
after term, and with his councillors he often had great power."
"Yet the Venetians didn't like him to have too great power?"
"Oh, no. You noticed the black tablet in the great hall in place of the
portrait of Marino Faliero, beheaded for his ambition."
"Yes, I have read about him, but I feel almost sorrier for Ludovico
Manin, the last Doge. You know the French made him abdicate in 1797, and
they burnt his Doge's bonnet, and the Libro d'oro--the Golden Book of
Venetian nobility under the Liberty-tree, and they say this nearly broke
his heart, although he lived a number of years longer. When he died he
left all his fortune to some charity."
"The history of Italy is full of tragedies," responded Uncle Jim. "So
don't waste your sorrow on any one man, even though he is the last of
the doges."
A little later the three were in front of St. Mark's.
"I must look my last at the Piazza," said Irma.
"But I thought you were coming down this evening to hear the band play."
"Oh, yes, but there will be such a crowd that we shall only sit at the
little tables."
"Yes, and sip lemonade."
"Of course. It is Muriel's party. It is singular that we have seen her
so little. But the music and the lemonade and all we shall have to say
to each other--for she goes away to-morrow--will prevent my thinking
much of the Piazza. Just now," and Irma half closed her eyes, "I am
imagining the day when the Venetians gathered here to decide whether or
not they should help the Crusaders. What a grand sight it must have
been; and now, I open my eyes and see nothing but pigeons."
"Aunt Caroline," said Irma, as they glided homeward, "I like Venice
better than any other place. There seem to be more really old buildings
here than anywhere else. I have not tried to remember the great pictures
as I did in Rome and Florence. I have a general impression of Bellini
and the Vivarini, Titian and Veronese and Tintoretto, they are the great
Venetian painters, but I cannot describe any one picture."
"We hardly expect a girl of your age to care for artistic details,"
responded Aunt Caroline, smiling. "You could probably tell more about
the palaces."
"I am not sure that I could describe a single one of them, so that any
one would recognize it. It is the effect of Venice as a whole that
pleases me, even if it isn't just what artists paint it. The palaces are
really much grayer than they look in pictures, and there are never many
sails on the canal, and even down toward the Lido there is seldom one of
those bright painted sails."
"Is there any other thing that falls below your expectations?"
"Oh, some things are different, but I like them all the better. I used
to think that only gondolas and small pleasure boats went on the Grand
Canal. But there are so many other things--these little steamboats that
pass constantly up and down, and take people so quickly and cheaply, and
those large _barche_ that are like express wagons. Why, the other
morning I sat at my window before breakfast, and first a large gondola
passed, loaded with vegetables; and then a larger one piled high with
bricks for building; and then it really looked so funny--some family was
moving, and there was a boat full of furniture, with the mother and
children sitting at one end, while the father and eldest son were
pushing it on with their long sticks. Then the gondolas, too! I thought
they were only pleasure boats; but the other day, when I saw a funeral
procession going across to the island where the cemetery is, I realized
they took the place of horses and carriages for everything."
"I believe there isn't a horse in all Venice," said Uncle Jim, "and
only two or three at the Lido. But here we are," and a moment later they
had landed at the hotel.
That evening, in spite of the charm of the music on the Piazza, and the
evident gaiety of the crowd of listeners, the young people of the
Sanford and Curtin parties were less gay than usual. Muriel, the next
morning, was to start for the Dolomites, and later in the day Mrs.
Sanford and her party were to begin their journey to Paris, allowing a
few days for Switzerland on the way.
"Irma," whispered Richard, in one of the pauses of the music, "I must
tell you that I think Marion and Katie have struck a bargain about Nap.
It seems Marion was able to prove that that ring we have seen Katie wear
around her scarf really belongs to him. He showed her his initials
inside. They were very small, but could be seen under a glass. He lost a
purse one day when he visited the Rag Fair in Rome."
"Yes, I was with him," said Irma.
"Well, the same day Katie and a friend whom we met at our hotel in Rome
also went to the fair. The ring was offered for sale at one of the
booths, and Katie took a great fancy to it. She ought to have known it
was stolen; for she got it for almost nothing."
"Then she can afford to give it back to Marion; for of course she ought
to do so."
"That's just the point. Katie hates to give it up; I heard her talking
to Marion about it. She said she'd like to buy it, but he wouldn't
listen to that. Then he began to talk about your little dog, and I am
pretty sure it ended in Katie's promising to give up all claim to the
dog if Marion would let her keep the ring. Rather it was just the other
way. Marion made the offer and Katie agreed, but it amounts to the same
thing, and as soon as Katie is out of the way Marion will tell you."
It happened, however, that after all the good-byes had been said to
Muriel and her mother and Mademoiselle Potin, the other young people and
their elders walked home to their hotel. It chanced that Katie was near
Irma part of the way, and thus had a chance to announce her decision
about Nap.
"After all," she said, "a dog is a great trouble, and Nap is so much
better acquainted with your family that I think I will let him stay with
them."
"Oh, thank you," replied Irma, wishing she felt free to tell Katie what
she had heard about Marion's offer. "Thank you," she repeated. "It would
break my little sister's heart to give him up, and I should feel very
badly myself."
At this moment they reached a bridge where they went single file. When
they were on the level road again, Irma found herself beside Aunt
Caroline, and she had no chance to discuss Nap either with Katie or
Marion.
"Our last evening together!" exclaimed Richard, as they reached the
hotel. "There's a faint moon, and if so young a thing as that can sit up
late, why not we?" and before Aunt Caroline and Mrs. Sanford had time to
protest, four young people were seated around the little table on the
balcony overlooking the Canal, and Richard had sent the waiter for what
he called "a last lemonade."
Marion had not joined the others. He stood with his hand on the railing.
The water was lapping the steps just below him.
"Don't fall in," cried Richard, from his seat at the table. "You look as
if you were meditating a bath. But it's late, and in spite of the moon
the water is cold."
As Richard spoke the girls turned their heads in Marion's direction,
and there, under their very eyes, Marion was hurling his coat from him.
With his hand on the railing a moment later he had sprung into the Grand
Canal.
The others jumped to their feet; Katie screamed, and in an instant
Richard might have plunged after Marion, had he not seen a reason for
Marion's act. Some one had fallen into the water, and Marion had made
his wild leap to rescue him. It all happened very quickly, and when, a
few minutes later, rescuer and rescued stood on the balcony some
distance from where Marion had gone in, the latter was seen to be a boy
of about ten. He was evidently more frightened than hurt, and he
whimpered a little as the crowd gathered around him.
"I don't see how it could have happened," cried Katie. "No one _ever_
falls from a gondola," and her tone implied that this particular boy
could not possibly have been in need of rescuing.
"But he _did_ fall in; you can see that for yourself; a small boy can
always get into impossible mischief."
There was certainly no doubt that this particular small boy had managed
to elude both his mother and the gondolier. Sitting on the prow, he had
been screened for the moment by the cabin. Then a sudden impulse had led
him to creep to the very end, where he raised himself to shake his hand
in defiance at the gondolier. At this moment a passing steamboat gave a
new motion to the gondola and threw the little fellow into the water.
"Oh, but really it was nothing," cried Marion. "The water was not deep,
and the gondolier would have been in almost as soon as I--and----"
"Nonsense, nonsense, boy; when you do a brave thing take the credit that
is your due."
Irma started at the voice. She was one of the crowd that had drawn
nearer to Marion.
"I saw the whole thing," continued the voice. "You acted without a
shadow of fear, but this chill may be bad for you."
"Come, Marion, I will go with you to your room," and Richard led the
unresisting Marion away, only too glad to escape the eyes of the curious
who had come from the numerous reading and reception rooms on the first
floor, at the rumor of an accident.
"Billy," said the mother of the boy, who had caused all the excitement,
"this is the last time I'll let you sit up after eight o'clock, no
matter how you tease."
"Madame," interposed the voice that a few moments earlier had praised
Marion, "I would advise you to take your little boy at once to his room.
His escapade might have cost him his life, and might have had serious
results for my nephew, who is only recovering from the effects of a
shock to his nerves. Put your little boy to bed at once, Madame."
Then the mother and the little boy and a number of sympathizing friends
walked off, while the fairy godfather, for of course it was he whose
voice Irma had recognized, took Irma's hand in his.
"Well, my child, we haven't met since I brought you back from Hadrian's
villa. I found I couldn't safely keep so near Marion without really
explaining myself. But the time hadn't come. He wrote me a pretty savage
letter before he left New York. He thought I was one of those who had
accused him of cowardice. This was a mistake on his part. But in the
mood he was in three months ago, it would have been useless to try to
change his mind. I had occasion to come to Italy myself, and there
seemed to be no reason why I should not come on the ship with him. I
knew that in the company of your aunt and uncle and yourself," and the
old gentleman smiled at Irma, "he would have influences that ought to
lift him out of his depression."
"Did Uncle Jim and Aunt Caroline know?" asked Irma.
"Yes, they knew after a while that I was hovering near. But I did not
mean to dog Marion's steps, especially after I had seen at Rome that he
was beginning to be himself again. At first Marion was unaware that I
had come to Europe, but when a letter of apology was forwarded from him
to me, I thought the time had come to tell him. So I had written him
that I would see him soon.
"He is really a fine, manly fellow, and it hurt him very much that he
should have been so unjustly blamed. But I know that you, as well as
your uncle and aunt, have been very patient with him, and now, well, now
I must have a little talk with him before he falls asleep. I am to sail
with you from Naples. Good night."
Irma thought it quite the natural thing for the fairy godfather to
disappear in this sudden fashion. When she had answered the questions
that Richard showered upon her, she ran up to Aunt Caroline's room.
"So you have always known about the fairy godfather."
"I had never known him by that name until you gave it to him," said Aunt
Caroline, smiling. "But as Mr. Skerritt, I have always felt that he was
one of Marion's best friends. I spoke of him to you the other day when I
told you Marion's story. Perhaps he mentioned that he is going back on
the ship with us. Do you realize that in three days you will be sailing
away from Italy?"
"It is hard to realize it."
"But you are glad to go home?" queried Aunt Caroline.
"I am a little more homesick than when I left home," responded Irma,
"but I have enjoyed every minute in Italy."
The evening before leaving Venice Irma made a long entry in her diary:
"No one knows how glad I am to be going home. Four months is a long time
to be away from one's own country, and especially from one's family. Of
course I have enjoyed everything, and I have learned even more than I
expected, and I am so grateful for the trip. But there's no place I
would rather see now than Cranston.
"To-night I had such a surprise. Aunt Caroline came to my room, carrying
a large pasteboard box. Then she opened it and showed me a lovely amber
necklace, just like one I had admired in Florence. 'This is a present
for you from Marion,' she said, 'and these other little things he hopes
you will give to Tessie and the boys and Mahala. You will know how to
divide them.'
"I won't attempt to describe them, only I know Tessie will be delighted
with the little flock of bronze pigeons, because I have written her
about the pigeons of St. Mark's. There was even a silver-mounted leather
collar for Nap. 'You may wonder at Marion's thoughtfulness,' explained
Aunt Caroline, 'but he says you have taught him to think of others
besides himself, and he appreciates your patience with him when he was
so unamiable.'
"It is true that Marion _did_ seem rather disagreeable at first, and
perhaps I didn't try to like him because I was so disappointed that he
was not a girl. But now--well, I only hope Chris and Rudolph will know
as much as he does when they are his age. So I told Aunt Caroline that
the whole trouble had been that I didn't try to understand him at first.
Then she smiled, and added, 'Marion is sure that he has learned a great
deal from you, especially how to govern his temper. But he says
particularly, that no one is to thank him for these things. It is as if
you had bought them yourself, for everything in the box is something he
heard you admire, when you and he were out together. I believe there's
something from every city we have been in. He says the money part
doesn't count at all for everything there represents your taste.'
"But I think I shall find some way of thanking him, if not now,
sometime when our trip is over, and really, if it hadn't been for
Marion, I am sure that I should not have had half as much fun."
_A Story for Younger Girls_
IRMA AND NAP
By HELEN LEAH REED
Author of "Amy in Acadia," The "Brenda" Books, etc.
Illustrated by Clara E. Atwood. 12mo. $1.25
[Illustration]
A brightly written story about children from eleven to thirteen years of
age, who live in a suburban town, and attend a public grammar school.
The book is full of incident of school and home life.
The story deals with real life, and is told in the simple and
natural style which characterized Miss Reed's popular "Brenda"
stories.--_Washington Post._
There are little people in this sweetly written story with whom all will
feel at once that they have been long acquainted, so real do they seem,
as well as their plans, their play, and their school and home and
everyday life.--_Boston Courier._
Her children are real; her style also is natural and pleasing.--_The
Outlook_, New York.
Miss Reed's children are perfectly natural and act as real girls would
under the same circumstances. Nap is a lively little dog, who takes an
important part in the development of the story.--_Christian Register_,
Boston.
A clever story, not a bit preachy, but with much influence for right
living in evidence throughout.--_Chicago Evening Post._
LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY
254 WASHINGTON STREET, BOSTON
HELEN LEAH REED'S
"BRENDA" BOOKS
The author is one of the best equipped of our writers for girls of
larger growth. Her stories are strong, intelligent, and wholesome.--_The
Outlook_, New York.
Miss Reed's girls have all the impulses and likes of real girls as their
characters are developing, and her record of their thoughts and actions
reads like a chapter snatched from the page of life.--_Boston Herald._
BRENDA, HER SCHOOL AND HER CLUB
Illustrated by Jessie Wilcox Smith. 12mo. $1.50.
One of the most natural books for girls. It is a careful study of
schoolgirl life in a large city, somewhat unique in its
way.--_Minneapolis Journal._
BRENDA'S SUMMER AT ROCKLEY
Illustrated by Jessie Wilcox Smith. 12mo. $1.50.
It is a wholesome book, telling of a merry and healthy
vacation.--_Dial_, Chicago.
BRENDA'S COUSIN AT RADCLIFFE
Illustrated by Alice Barber Stephens. 12mo. $1.50.
No better college story has been written.--_Providence News._
BRENDA'S BARGAIN
Illustrated by Ellen Bernard Thompson. 12mo. $1.50.
The story deals with social settlement work, under conditions with which
the author is familiar.--_The Bookman_, New York.
AMY IN ACADIA
Illustrated by Katherine Pyle. 12mo. $1.50.
A splendid tale for girls, carefully written, interesting and full of
information concerning the romantic region made famous by the
vicissitudes of Evangeline.--_Toronto Globe._
BRENDA'S WARD
Illustrated by Frank T. Merrill. 12mo. $1.50.
The story details the experience of a Chicago girl at school in Boston,
and very absorbing those experiences are--full of action and
diversity.--_Chicago Post._
LITTLE, BROWN, & COMPANY, _Publishers_
254 WASHINGTON ST., BOSTON, MASSACHUSETTS
NAPOLEON'S YOUNG NEIGHBOR
By HELEN LEAH REED
_Illustrated, 12mo. $1.50_
Mrs. Abell's story, retold and made vivid with a true story-teller's
art, forms the theme of the present book, which combines singularly well
the veracity of history and the attractiveness of fiction.--_Living
Age_, Boston.
It should have a very wide circulation, since it puts Napoleon, for the
first time, before the minds of children as a playmate and a friend; and
they will go back to him in later reading as one whom they enjoyed in
childhood. It should be in every public library, without fail, and you
describe it well as a captivating story.--COL. THOMAS WENTWORTH
HIGGINSON.
[Illustration]
A most beautiful story of the great Napoleon's exile on the island of
St. Helena, and his friendship for a little English girl. A book of
interest to children and grown-ups, magnificently written.--_Chicago
Advance._
In this readable and delightful volume the author portrays in story form
the character and doings of Napoleon Bonaparte in his days of exile at
St. Helena.--_Journal of Education_, Boston.
It has the advantage of being probably the only book for the young on
its subject in existence.--_New York Commercial._
The author understands the art of telling stories for young people in a
very entertaining manner. Her style is simple and natural, and even
historic facts are transmuted by her into entertaining tales.--_New York
Sun._
LITTLE, BROWN, & CO., _Publishers_, BOSTON
New Illustrated Edition of The Spinning-Wheel Series
THE SPINNING-WHEEL SERIES
BY LOUISA M. ALCOTT. New Illustrated Edition. Uniform in size with the
Illustrated Edition of The Little Women Series, printed from entirely
new plates, with new and attractive cover design. 4 vols. 12mo.
Decorated cloth, in box, $6.00. Separately, $1.50.
1. SPINNING-WHEEL STORIES
With 8 full-page pictures and vignette on titlepage by Wm. A.
McCullough. $1.50.
2. SILVER PITCHERS
With 8 full-page pictures and vignette on titlepage by J. W. F. Kennedy.
$1.50.
3. PROVERB STORIES
With 8 full-page pictures and vignette on titlepage by Ethel Pennewill
Brown. $1.50.
4. A GARLAND FOR GIRLS
With 12 full-page pictures and vignette on titlepage by Clara E. Atwood
and other artists. $1.50.
Four volumes of healthy and hearty stories so told as to fascinate the
young people, while inculcating sturdy courage and kindness to the weak
in the boys, and in the girls those virtues which fit them for filling a
woman's place in the home. The several artists have caught the spirit of
the author and have provided capital illustrations for these new
editions.
It is not rash to say that Miss Alcott's stories were never more
appealing to young readers than at the present moment. In spite of a
profusion of juvenile fiction, they have steadily held their own; and
they persistently refuse, through their inherent merits, to be elbowed
aside by pretentious modern stories of unnatural and unreal childhood
life. The very genuineness of character and incident, the homely appeal
to all that is best in young womanhood and young manhood, have made
"Little Men," "Little Women," and their successors classics in their
kind.--_Boston Transcript._
LITTLE, BROWN, & COMPANY
_Publishers_, 254 WASHINGTON STREET, BOSTON, MASS.
[Transcriber's Notes
Italic typeface in the original book is indicated with _underscores_.
Minor changes have been made to correct typesetters' errors; otherwise,
every effort has been made to remain true to the author's words and
intent.
Page 16, added the word "to" ("the seat next to Uncle Jim").
Page 74, changed "Wilful" to "Willful" ("Willful as ever").
Page 82, changed "dejeuner" to "dejeuner" ("at dejeuner on the morning")
Page 159, changed "Lief" to "Leif" ("earlier than our Leif Ericson").
Page 165, changed "Domenchino" to "Domenichino" ("I loved Domenichino's
Sybil").
Page 202, changed "see" to "seen" ("you are disappointed that we have not
seen")
Page 234, added the word "in" ("Katie looked in defiance at Irma").
Page 257, changed "Guiliano" to "Giuliano" ("and of Giuliano, with Day
and Night").]