JEAN HAS A SURPRISE AND GIVES ONE
Uncle Tom Curtis returned to Pittsburgh the next day, leaving Jean and
Beacon to stay with Uncle Bob until October. It was now April, and on
the Common and Public Garden the trees, which were beginning to break
into delicate foliage, were invaded by scores of scampering gray
squirrels so tame that they would eat out of one's hand. Often in the
morning when Jean walked to the office with Uncle Bob she would stop to
feed these hungry little creatures and also the flocks of friendly
pigeons clustering along the walks. Of course Beacon had to be left
behind when the family went on such strolls, for he was far too fond of
chasing everything he saw; afternoon was his gala time. Then, while
Jean flew on roller skates along the broad asphalt Esplanade bordering
the Charles River, Beacon would race up and down dodging the skaters,
playing with the children, and nearly tripping up the throngs of
nurse-maids who trundled their wee charges in the bright sunshine.
How quickly the days passed!
Already the Beacon Hill house had become a real home, and Uncle Bob
dearer each moment she stayed in it.
"You know, Uncle Bob, you would be really perfect if only you liked
dolls and could tie hair ribbons," said Jean teasingly.
Uncle Bob shook his head ruefully.
"I never could care for sawdust people," said he, "when there were so
many interesting real ones in the world. As for the hair ribbons,
perhaps I might learn to tie those in time, although I doubt if I ever
could make as perky a bow as Hannah does. I like the _perk_ but I
haven't the faintest idea how to get it."
Jean laughed.
She and her uncle had many a joke together.
"He is better at a joke than Uncle Tom is," confided Jean to Hannah.
In fact Uncle Bob joked so much that it was hard to tell when he was
serious, and so one day when he came into the library where Jean was
and swept all the dolls on the couch over into the corner, laughingly
demanding how Jean would like to go to Europe, she paid no attention to
him.
"Seems to me you are not a very enthusiastic or grateful young woman,"
said he at last tweaking a curl that hung low on her cheek. "Here I am
inviting you to tour the world with me and all you say is: 'I'll think
about it!' How's that for gratitude?"
"If you had any intention of taking me I might be more grateful," Jean
answered, fastening the gown of the doll she was dressing, and holding
her at arm's length to enjoy the effect.
"But I am entirely serious, my young friend; I never was more so. I am
imploring you to go to Italy, for go I must, and I have no mind to
leave you behind."
"To Italy? To real Italy, Uncle Bob? Do you mean it?"
"I surely do, dear child. Behold me, solemn as an owl. Ah, now you
begin to listen. It would serve you right if I should refuse to take
such an ungrateful lady. What say you? Should you like to go?"
"Like it! I'd love it! I've never been on an ocean trip in all my
life."
"You may not care to go on another after you've been on this one,"
chuckled Uncle Bob. "However, the fact remains that we are going. I
have charge of decorating a very beautiful house in the suburbs and I
am going over to Florence to order some marble stairways and
fireplaces. That is my excuse. Incidentally we can make a pleasant trip
out of it and see many places besides Italy."
"Could we go to Venice?" burst out Jean. "Venice is in Italy, isn't it?
I'd like of all places to see Venice with its water streets and its
gondolas."
"Yes, honey, you certainly shall see Venice and ride in all the
gondolas you like."
"Splendid!" cried Jean, clapping her hands. "When can we start? Let's
go right away," and springing up from the couch she whirled toward the
door.
"Slowly, slowly!" protested Uncle Bob. "Come back here to me a moment,
you flyaway. Many things must be decided before we sail for Italy. In
the first place there is Hannah; what shall we do with her?"
"Oh, Hannah must come along with us," Jean answered. "She'll have to.
We never could think of going to Europe and leaving good old Hannah,
who is so kind to both of us, now could we? Besides, she has to fix my
hair every morning, and mend my clothes. I'd be coming to pieces all
over Europe if Hannah didn't go."
"Well, then, that settles it. Hannah goes. I never could consent to
escort a young lady who might drop to pieces at any moment and strew
her belongings all along the route from Italy to Scotland. Now about
Esther, the waitress. She wants to go West and visit her brother; this
will be just the chance. Suppose we tie a long string to her and let
her go. Then we come to Beacon."
"Beacon would go with us, of course," Jean replied quickly. "You may be
sure I'd never leave Beacon at home. I'd rather not go myself."
"But, girlie, we couldn't very well----"
"Why, Uncle Bob! You don't mean to say you thought of leaving Beacon!
If you did I simply sha'n't go. That's all there is about it. I shall
never, never be parted from Beacon--never!"
"Listen, dear. Beacon wouldn't enjoy going. We could not get for him
the food to which he is accustomed, nor would they admit him to the
picture galleries which we shall visit. I doubt if he would even care
for the gondolas."
"No, I'm sure he would not like the gondolas," admitted Jean smiling
faintly, "because Hannah and I tried him on the swan-boats in the
Public Garden and he hated them; he just barked and snarled all the
time, and wriggled about so in my arms that he nearly went overboard
and carried me with him."
"That's just it! That is precisely the way he would feel on shipboard.
Now my plan is this. We'll send him out to Pittsburgh for Uncle Tom to
take care of until you get back. Then when you go out there in October
your doggie will be nicely settled in his other home and waiting for
you. In fact," confessed Uncle Bob a little sheepishly, "I wrote Uncle
Tom and asked how he would feel about adding a puppy to his household.
This is his answer:
"'_European plan excellent. Send Beacon. Next best thing to
Jean._'"
"Dear Uncle Tom! He is awfully good, isn't he?"
"Yes, he is. I fancy he will decide so, too, when he finds all his sofa
cushions torn, and his shoes chewed up," chuckled Uncle Bob. "Let him
take his turn at it."
Beacon provided for, the remainder of the European plan seemed simple
enough. To be sure there was Hannah, who at first flatly refused to be
separated from the golden dome of the State House or from the Boston
"Evening Transcript." At last, however, after much persuasion she
consented to suffer these deprivations for the common good, and brought
herself to purchasing the necessary clothing for Jean and herself. To
these she added French, German and Italian dictionaries because, as she
explained: "We might get lost or parted from your Uncle Bob somehow,
and you never can tell what will happen in those heathen countries
where the poor people cannot speak English. How men and women can live
in places where they talk those dreadful languages and use that queer
money when they might come over here to Boston----"
"That's right, Hannah," agreed Uncle Bob, playfully urging her on.
"And all that strange weather! Why, I read only the other day that in
Italy they just have summer all the year round. So foolish! They never
get any snow at all--think of that! It is such a slack and lazy way to
do always to be wearing one set of things and never getting out any
winter flannels. I shouldn't know where I was if I didn't chalk off the
seasons by my house cleaning, preserving, getting out the furs, and
putting them away. I just know those Italians live without any system.
How could they be expected to have any when it's summer all the time?"
She sniffed scornfully.
In fact Hannah sniffed a good many times before the great ship which
was carrying them to Naples docked beneath the shadow of Vesuvius. The
staterooms she termed little coops, and the berths nothing more nor
less than shelves.
"When I go to bed, Mr. Bob, I feel exactly as if I was a sheet put away
in the linen closet."
Uncle Bob and Jean both laughed. Hannah kept them royally entertained.
"As for these clocks that strike every hour but the right one--I've
nothing to say," she went on. "If the captain prefers to ring two when
he means nine, well and good. He runs the ship and it is his lookout,
although I will say it is hard on the rest of us. He explains that it
has something to do with the watch--whose watch I don't know; his own,
I suppose. Evidently he has some queer way of telling time, some theory
he is free to work out when he is here in the middle of the ocean away
from land. Be glad, Jean, that you learned to tell time properly, and
that you live with people who are content to use the old method and do
not set themselves up to invent a system that is a puzzle to every one
but themselves."
Thus Hannah measured every new experience, applying to it the Beacon
Hill standard. If it conformed to what was done in Boston it was quite
correct, but if it varied in the least it was condemned as
"ridiculous."
To Jean, on the contrary, the voyage was one of unending delight. She
proved herself an excellent sailor, and was never tired of playing
shuffle-board on the deck or pacing to and fro with Uncle Bob in the
fresh breeze. And when at last Gibraltar was reached and she actually
beheld the coasts of Spain, Africa and Italy, her wonder grew until she
said she had to pinch herself to be sure she was alive and not
dreaming. It was a journey of marvels.
"I feel exactly as if I had gone down the rabbit hole with Alice," she
exclaimed, squeezing Uncle Bob's arm as they were disembarking at
Naples.
Uncle Bob was in such a hurry to reach Florence that the travelers did
not stay long in Naples--only long enough to visit the famous Aquarium
with its myriad of strange sea creatures, and to take a flying glimpse
of the Museum. It was at the latter place that Jean saw the celebrated
Naples Vase which, Uncle Bob told her, was found over a hundred years
ago in a tomb in Pompeii.
"It probably was made by very skilful Grecian workmen about the year 70
A. D. Think how wonderful it is that there were artists living many
thousands of years ago who knew how to make such a beautiful thing.
Look closely at it, Jean, for it is one of the art treasures of the
world."
Jean looked.
The vase, scarcely more than a foot in height, was of dark blue glass,
and had upon it in white a design of delicate Grecian figures.
"It was first made with a coating of white opaque glass entirely over
the blue," Uncle Bob explained. "Then the artist with extreme care and
some sharp instrument cut this beautiful picture of the harvest
gatherers. Notice, too, how the pattern is repeated on the handles. It
is a pity the base or foot of the vase is missing; it was probably of
gold and was doubtless stolen at some time. There is now made in
England a kind of pottery called Wedgwood, which has much this same
effect although, of course, it is far less perfectly fashioned."
"I'm glad I do not have this thing to dust," Hannah observed grimly.
"Well you may be, Hannah," Uncle Bob retorted, "for the vase is worth
thousands of dollars. There are in the world several very famous glass
vases--this is one; the Auldjo Vase, also from Pompeii and now in the
British Museum, is another; and the Portland Vase, which is there too,
makes a third. The design on the Portland Vase is considered even finer
than this. We shall see it and I will tell you its history when we get
to London."
What weren't they to see!
Jean's head was a jumble of fairy anticipations--of Crown Jewels,
palaces, gondolas, famous pictures, and scenes of undreamed of beauty.
The Tower of London merged itself with visions of Napoleon's Tomb,
while in and out of her mind flitted fragmentary pictures of Notre Dame
and the Vatican. Everything seemed so old!
"At first I stood with my mouth open when I was told things were built,
or dug up, or made hundreds of years ago," laughed Jean. "But now I
find I am growing fussy, and unless a thing is thousands of years old
it scarcely seems worth looking at. How horribly new they must think us
in America! Even Bunker Hill and the State House, Hannah, are very
modern," she added teasingly.
"Now, Jean, if this trip to Europe is going to make you turn up your
nose at your native land the best thing you can do is to face round and
go straight back home," was Hannah's severe reply.
"There, there, you dear old thing! Don't worry. I love my America, but
you should have learned by this time that I never can resist seeing you
bristle. But even you, bigoted as you are, must admit that a great deal
seems to have happened in the world before we on the other side of the
sea were alive at all."
"Much of it," observed Hannah with dignity, "was nothing to be proud
of, and it's as well they kept it on this side of the ocean."
From Naples Uncle Bob whirled his bewildered charges to Rome and then
to Florence, and while he was busy transacting business Hannah and Jean
were put in charge of a courier and taken to see so many pictures and
churches that Hannah begged never to be shown another masterpiece or
another spire so long as she lived.
"Bless your heart, Mr. Bob, if you were to lean the Sistine Madonna
right up against the table in my room I wouldn't turn my head to look
at it. And as for churches--I wouldn't accept Westminster Abbey as a
gift. Tell 'em not to urge it on me, for I wouldn't take it even if I
could get it through the customs free of duty. The things I'd like best
at this very minute would be an east wind and some baked beans."
But when they reached Venice and saw their first gondola even Hannah
was forced to admit that it far outshone the Boston swan-boats. The
travelers arrived late at night, and on passing through the station
came out on a broad platform where, instead of cabs and cars,
numberless gondolas floated, illumined by twinkling lights.
"Oh!" murmured Jean in a hushed whisper.
It was indeed a beautiful sight. Before them a stretch of water flooded
by the full moon wandered off into a multitude of tiny canals shut in
on either side by murky dwellings of stone or brick. In and out of
these dim little avenues plied boatmen who shouted a warning in shrill
Italian as they rounded the turns.
Uncle Bob lost no time in summoning a gondolier, and soon the party
were being swept along by the sturdy strokes of a swarthy Venetian who,
Hannah declared in an undertone, looked like nothing so much as a
full-fledged brigand. She could not be persuaded to take her hand off
her luggage, but sat clutching it with all her strength until she
arrived at the hotel. Jean, on the other hand, was too excited by the
novelty of the scene to know or care what the boatman looked like. Her
one fear seemed to be that if she went to bed and allowed herself to
fall asleep the wonderful water streets might vanish forever. It took
all Uncle Bob's pleading to make her close her eyes. At last, however,
she did and when she opened them in the morning her very first thought
was to fly to the window and see if the canals were still there.
No, it was not a dream!
There were the moving gondolas, the narrow water streets, and the
glorious dome of Del Salute directly opposite across the sparkling
expanse of the Grand Canal.
Jean suppressed a cry of delight, and scurried into her clothes.
"Now, Uncle Bob," she announced at breakfast, "I want to go straight
out in a gondola the minute I have finished my chocolate and rolls. I
think I am pretty good to stop for them at all. I want to go and stay
until noon. May I?"
"Well, let me think a second, little girl," replied Uncle Bob. "I am
afraid I must run over to the bankers' directly after breakfast, so I
won't be able to start right away; I can, however, take you later."
Then as he saw Jean's face fall he added, "You and Hannah may go early
if you like and come back for me at eleven. How will that do?"
"It will do beautifully only I wish you could be with us. How shall we
know how to get a boatman, or tell him where to take us? I am sure I
couldn't, and Hannah's Italian is not very good, although," with a
mischievous smile, "I suppose she could use her dictionary."
"I will arrange everything with a gondolier before I leave for the
bankers'," Uncle Bob answered. "Now I must be running along. Suppose
the gondola is here at half-past nine."
"The earlier the better," cried Jean.
Promptly at the hour set the gondola glided up to the steps of the
Grand Canal Hotel where Jean and Hannah were waiting. It was an
unusually beautiful gondola, with scarlet curtains and a gilded prow
carved in the shape of a woman's head.
Jean sprang forward, all eagerness, her eyes on the magic apparition.
Then suddenly her foot slipped on the slime left by the tide on the
marble step, and she would have fallen into the water had not a young
boy, with rare presence of mind, leaped forward and caught her.
Another moment and Hannah, white with fright, had the girl in her arms.
"Oh, my dear child!" she wailed. "My precious lamb! Thank goodness, you
are safe. Think if you'd been drowned before you had had a chance to
see Venice at all! But you are quite safe now, honey. Don't be
frightened. Young man," and she turned to the boy, "that was a good
deed of yours. What is your name? But there--how silly to be asking him
when he can't understand a word I'm saying. I forgot no one could
understand anything in this queer, upside-down town where the streets
are water when they ought to be land."
To her utter astonishment, however, the boy answered in English, which,
although slightly broken, was perfectly intelligible.
"My name is Giusippe Cicone."
"Say it again," demanded Hannah. "Say it more slowly."
"Giusippe Cicone."
"Giusippe," echoed Hannah, "Giusippe Cicone. There! Giusippe Cicone. I
got it better that time. Giusippe Cicone. Now I have it! Well, Master
Giusippe Cicone, it was very good of you to save this little lady from
a ducking in your canal which, if I may be permitted to say so, is not
as clean as it might be. We are very much obliged to you, and here is
some money to pay you for being so quick."
The boy shook his head.
"I could not take money for saving the señorita from the water,"
protested he proudly. "I was glad to do it. I could not take pay."
"Well, I thank you very much," Jean ventured shyly.
He helped Hannah and the girl into the waiting gondola and then stood
on the steps shading his eyes with his brown hand as the gondolier made
his way to the oar.
"Perhaps you can tell us where we can find you if we should want to see
you again," called Hannah as the distance between them widened.
"Certainly. I am at Murano." He pointed across the lagoon to a distant
island.
"Murano?"
"Yes, I work there. Every one knows me at the glass works."
[Illustration: "EVERY ONE KNOWS ME AT THE GLASS WORKS"]
He waved his hand and was soon lost to sight.
"I do wonder who he is," speculated Jean, who had now quite recovered
from her fright and could smile at the memory of the episode. "And how
strange that he understood English!"
"I don't call it strange," Hannah responded. "English is the only
sensible language, and probably this boy realizes it. I think it speaks
well for his discrimination."
"Anyway, he was a gentleman not to take the money; and yet he looked
poor," reflected the girl.
"One may be a gentleman despite poverty, thank goodness," Hannah said.
"Your uncle will probably insist upon hunting him up and thanking him.
I can't see, Jean, how you came to slip that way. Wasn't the boatman
holding on to you?" and for the tenth time every detail of the disaster
had to be gone over.
"Well, all I can say is that if anything had happened to you I never
should have dared show my face to your Uncle Bob. And think of your
Uncle Tom at home--he would have things to say! They would both blame
me even if it was not my fault," sighed Hannah.
"Of course it wasn't your fault. How could you possibly be to blame if
I was so heedless as to rush ahead without looking where I was going?
I'm always doing that, Hannah; you know I am. I am always in such a
hurry to enjoy the things I like that I never can wait a moment. This
is a good lesson for me. I just hope the salt water won't spoil my new
tan shoes. Come! Let us talk of something pleasanter. Isn't it too
perfectly lovely out here? Look back at the shore and see how St.
Mark's and the Campanile stand out. I know those already, because I
remember seeing pictures of them in my geography. Oh, I am so glad we
are here! I am sure we shall have a wonderful time in Venice even if I
did begin by nearly drowning myself in the canal."
"It is all very well to laugh about it now," Hannah answered solemnly,
"but it was no laughing matter when it happened--no laughing matter!"