IT was a merry party of four that started off next morning to visit the Roman Forum.

In the spacious, open carriage Patty and Violet sat facing Lancaster and Mr. Homer, and they drove slowly through the streets of Rome, remarking their favourite points of interest on either side.

“First, let’s go and hug the Coliseum,” said Patty, so they went in that direction.

“Want to go in?” asked Peter Homer, as they approached the entrance.

“No, not to-day,” said Patty. “I’ll just give it a good squeeze, so it will know I haven’t forgotten it.”

Patty spread her arms toward the great structure, her blue eyes filled with loving affection.

“I hope your somewhat dilapidated friend appreciates your devotion,” remarked Peter, smiling at Patty’s fervour.

“It isn’t dilapidated!” she retorted. “It has only just reached perfection.”

“The perfection of old age,” said Violet. “I love it, too, but I’m not as idiotic about it as Patty. I see its defects.”

“I don’t,” insisted Patty, stoutly, “for it hasn’t any.”

“Good for you,” cried Lank. “That’s true loyalty, not to see the imperfections of your friends, whether they have any or not. But here’s the Forum, fairly running to meet us.”

“Oh, isn’t it great!” exclaimed Patty, as she looked eagerly at the picturesque ruins standing out sharply against the blue Italian sky.

“What was the Forum for, in the first place?” asked Violet.

“In earliest times it was a market-place,” said Peter, “but later——”

“Oh,” broke in the irrepressible Patty, “then, I suppose, this little Roman went to market, this little Roman staid home.”

“But no little Roman had roast beef,” said Lank. “At least, I suppose they might have done so, but it doesn’t seem appropriate.”

“They had it, I’m sure,” said Violet, “but under a different name. Didn’t they, Mr. Homer?”

“Probably. They seemed to have everything that was good to eat,—and some things that weren’t.”

As the party intended to spend the whole morning in the Forum, they dismissed their cab at the entrance.

“Now,” said Peter Homer, as they went down among the ruins, “we won’t have any maps or guidebooks, we’ll just wander around and wonder.”

“But you know what all the ruins are, don’t you?” asked Patty.

“Oh, yes; I know the names of the temples and things. I’ll tell you those as we come to them. This noble collection of pedestals was once the Basilica Julia.”

“Let’s play house,” said Patty, promptly. “I’ll be Julia, and live here. I’d love to be a Roman matron.”

“But the Julia in question wasn’t a Roman matron,” said Peter; “in fact, this basilica was named in honour of Mr. Julius CÆsar.”

“Oh,” said Patty, “and they called him Julia as a pet name, I suppose. How sweet of them!”

“We can play house just the same,” said Violet. “I’ll live in the temple of Saturn; it’s roomy and well ventilated. What do you choose, Mr. Homer?”

“I’ll live under the arch of Septimius Severus. It’s not so large, but it’s roofed in case of rain.”

“The Temple of Vespasian, for mine,” said Lank. “It isn’t in very good repair, but perhaps the landlord will fix it up; and anyway, I’ll be near sister, if she wants me.”

And so these four ridiculous young people went to their chosen abodes.

Patty surveyed the wide expanse of her house with satisfaction, and then taking a pack of postcards from her bag, proceeded to identify the different monuments.

Soon Violet came flying over. “How do you do, Madame Julia?” she said. “Is the Honorable CÆsar at home?”

“No,” said Patty, rising with great dignity, and bowing to her guest. “He had to go to market,—to the Forum, I mean. It’s his day to make a speech to the Senate or something.”

“I’ve brought my cards,” said Violet, dropping back into a modern American mood. “Don’t you get the columns mixed up?”

“Yes, I do,” said Patty. “But I don’t care much. You can wonder better, if you’re not sure of your facts.”

“Of course you can,” said Homer, who, with young Van Winkle, came just then within hearing of the two girls. “Pardon my interruption, Madame Julia, but I’ve brought a Roman Senator to call on you. Allow me to present Augustus Van Winkleinus, from the ancient City of Philadelphia.”

“Ha,” said Patty, “methinks we have met aforetime. Art not Lankius the Rotund?”

“I art not!” declared Lank, “I art but a stripling youth.”

“A good-natured one, forsooth,” said Patty, laughing.

“Good nature, but bad art,” said Violet. “Peterus Homerus, what is the noble building next us, with its three columns left standing?”

“I know,” cried Patty, “it’s the Temple of Castor and Pollux.”

“Don’t call it that,” said Mr. Homer. “Just say the Temple of Castor. It sounds better to trained ears.”

“All right, I will,” said Patty. “What was it for, anyway?”

“For various commercial uses. Indeed, it was a sort of an office building at one time. It contained the testing-office for weights and measures. But that doesn’t add to its interest. Just look at the blue sky between those perfect columns, and let that be your only memory of the Temple of Castor.”

“Isn’t it strange,” said Patty, reminiscently, “you said you wished you could show me Italy in your own way, and here you are doing it!”

“Yes, and I’m glad I have the opportunity. How do you like my way?”

“I love it,” said Patty. “But all ways lead to Rome, so I suppose that’s how you happened to get here just now.”

“I suppose so,” returned Homer. “But Senator Lancastrius Van Winkleius and I came over to invite you Roman matrons to dine with us in my Triumphal Arch. Will you come?”

“What have you to dine on?” asked Violet.

“Ah, that’s the triumph! You come and see. It isn’t correct to ask your host such a question.”

So the four proceeded to the Arch of Severus, and there on some stones they found a box of sandwiches and a small pile of fruit.

“Primitive service, but good food,” remarked Peter, and the girls suddenly realised that they had a fine twentieth-century appetite.

“This is great,” declared Patty, as she sat on an old block of marble, with a sandwich in one hand and a bunch of grapes in the other. “I approve of your method of ‘seeing Italy,’ and I think a triumphal arch the best place in the world to eat sandwiches.”

“And then you see,” said Peter, “it fixes this particular arch in your mind; and when wiseacres speak of Septimius Severus, you can say to yourself, ‘Ah, yes, his is the Arch of the Sandwiches.’”

“I shall never forget it,” said Violet, helping herself to some fruit. “I feel a personal friendship for old Severus.”

“Incidentally,” went on Peter, “you may as well fasten in your memory the facts that this arch was built about 200 A.D., in commemoration of the victorious wars of our friend Severus. These not very beautiful sculpturings represent his soldiers, but as art had begun to decline when these figures were cut, you needn’t bother about them much.”

“I think they’re rather nice,” said Patty, examining the multitudinous small figures in bas-relief, “but I’m glad I haven’t to learn all their names, for there are so many more attractive sculptures.”

“There are indeed. But I want you to remember the arch as a whole. And now that you’ve eaten every last crumb, step outside, and take a look at the beautiful thing.”

The quartette lined up, facing the arch, and Peter pointed out its special points of beauty and excellence.

“Where is there another arch, very similar to this?” he asked, at length, and his three hearers tried to think.

“I know!” said Patty, her eyes shining, “it’s in Paris. Not the Arc de Triomphe, that has only one front door,—but the other, the Arc du Carrousel!”

“Right you are,” said Peter, approvingly. “The Arc du Carrousel was modelled after this one. Remember that, when you have a remembering fit.”

“But the Carrousel one has a flight of horses on top,” said Patty.

“Right again, my acute observer. However, Mr. Severus once had six fine horses and a chariot on top of this one. Also a statue of himself and his two sons. So, you see, it’s a bit of a ruin after all.”

“It is so,” said Violet. “So much so that, until now, I’ve liked the Arch of Constantine better; but now that’s tottering on its pedestal.”

“Oh, that arch is all right,” declared Lank; “I’ll never go back on Constantine’s Triumphal Bungalow.”

“There’s a well-known arch modelled after that, too,” said Peter. “Where is it, my children?”

But none of the three could answer that, so Peter said:

“Well, you are a brilliant class! Why, the Marble Arch in London, of course.”

“Pooh,” said Patty, “that’s no more like Constantine’s Arch than chalk’s like cheese.”

“Nevertheless it was patterned from it.”

“Then they must have carried the pattern in their heads! Why, the Marble Arch is all white and smug, and sharp edges,—and Constantine’s is all lovely and brown and gummy.”

“Gummy?”

“Yes; sort of fuzzy and crumbly; not as if it had just been washed up by a scrub-lady, like the Marble Arch.”

“Your language is not truly technical, but I’m glad you have a feeling for arches,” said Peter, laughing at Patty’s scornful face.

“’Deed I have. Let’s go back and look at Constantine’s Arch, while we have this one in mind.”

“Come on, let’s do that same,” said Lank. “And then we must be getting back to our bereaved parents.”

“So we must,” said Patty. “I forgot all about going home. Well, good-by old sandwich man, you put up a first-class arch, I think.”

“And my hotel chef put up first-class sandwiches, I think,” said Peter.

“They were so,” said Violet, enthusiastically. “I don’t know how you happened to think we’d be hungry.”

“Oh, when people want bread they’re not satisfied with stones, not even carved ones,” said Peter; and then they all trudged slowly up the foot-path toward the entrance gate.

Patty kicked affectionately at the fragments of columns and bits of carved marble that bordered the path.

“I wonder where that used to be,” she said, pausing before a broken stone face, which showed only the mouth and chin.

“Right under somebody’s nose,” said Lank, with a grin, and Violet reproved him for being so foolish.

“I like foolishness,” said Patty, smiling at the boy; “but I mean I wonder where the whole statue was.”

“You may as well wonder about that as anything else,” said Peter. “I’m wondering if we can find a cab that will leisurely convey us home.”

“By way of Constantine’s Arch,” reminded Patty.

They soon found a carriage and the four climbed in.

“Let’s be a club,” said Patty, who loved to organise things. “Then we can go and see things regularly.”

“Not very regularly, the way we see them,” said Peter. “But I’ll join your club. Shall we call it the Roamin’ Club?”

A howl of derision greeted this jest, and Lank added to the fun by saying, “No, let’s just call it the Romers, and then we can Rome all around.”

“Don’t be idiotic,” said Violet. “I propose the Wanderers’ Club, that’s more sensible.”

“But there’s been a Wanderers’ Club,” objected Patty; “how about the Wonderers’ Club, instead?”

“Capital,” said Peter. “Just the Wonderers, then we can wonder as much as we like while we’re wandering.”

“Flo will have to belong to it,” said Patty. “She’s coming to-day.”

“Anybody can belong,” said Peter, “who is willing to wonder.”

“Shall we have regular meetings?” asked Violet.

“Oh, dear no,” said Patty, “we won’t have anything regular about it. We’ll just meet when we feel like it, and go wondering about together.”

“The fun will be,” said Peter, “wondering when the next meeting will take place.”

“And wondering where it will be,” added Patty.

They drove home slowly, here and there catching glimpses of wonderful perspectives and splendid vistas, to which Peter Homer called their attention in his casual, humorous way.

Patty said little, but leaning back in the rather bumpy old vehicle, she revelled in the beauty all around her, and stored it away in her memory for future years.

“We’ve had a perfect morning,” said Patty, as she joined her parents at luncheon. “Peter Homer,—we all call each other by our first names now,—is the loveliest man to go about with. He knows everything, but he never flings information at you till you want it.”

“A fine trait,” observed her father. “I’m like that, myself.”

“Yes, you are, Daddy,” said Patty, with an affectionate glance. “But even you don’t know the books full of wise stuff that he does. And he’s so kind and funny.”

“He does seem to possess all the virtues,” said Nan; “and I’m glad he’s here, Patty. You seem to have several pleasant friends.”

“Yes, the Van Winkles are all right. Our sort, you know. I’m glad to see some Americans once more. This afternoon Flo will come, and she’s far from American, I can tell you.”

A few hours later, Patty was lying down in her own room, resting after her morning’s excursion, when she was roused by a tap at the door.

She jumped up and opened it, and there was the smiling face of Flo Carrington.

“You dear thing,” she cried, bouncing into the room, and flinging both arms round Patty, “I’m here.”

“So you are,” said Patty, “and I’m awfully glad to see you. Come in, and sit down.”

“I’m jolly well glad to get here,” said Flo, as she threw herself into an armchair. “The journey was horrible. Snippy almost turned back several times.”

“Well, you’re here now, and it’s all right,” said Patty, soothingly. “I’m so glad your mother let you come.”

“She didn’t want to; not a bit. But I teased her so, I gave her no peace till she said yes. And why shouldn’t she? She’s been promising me the trip for years. But she hated to have me leave her.”

“She’s satisfied to have you travel with Mrs. Snippy?”

“Oh, Snippy’s name is really Mrs. Postlethwaite. But that’s so long, I call her Snippy for short. You must do so too, she’s used to it from everybody. Yes, indeed, mumsie trusts me to her. Oh, Snippy is governess, maid, courier, chaperon, Baedeker, and booking office, all in one.”

“And are you comfortably fixed here?”

“My word, yes! We have rooms like valentines. Come, see them.”

Flo jumped up, and taking Patty by the arm led her to the rooms, which were furnished in the same over-ornate style as the Fairfields’ apartment.

“Snippy, dear,” said Flo, “this is Patty, my very good friend.”

“Pleased to meet you, miss,” said Snippy, as she rose to curtsey.

She was a grim-looking old lady, one that might be characterised as a ‘dragon,’ but she had a gleam of humour in her eye, which went to Patty’s heart at once.

“You’ve been to Rome before?” said Patty, by way of making conversation.

“Yes, miss, I’ve been almost everywhere. It’s my bad luck never to be let to rest long in my own country.”

“Oh, come now, Snippy,” said Flo; “you’re glad to be in Rome, you know you are.”

“Not in this stuffy place, Miss Flo. Italian air is bad and close enough, without stifling a body with velvet hangings pulled all about. And thick carpets, snug from wall to wall. As well be shut up in a jewel-case!”

“It is exactly like a jewel-case,” said Patty, laughing at the apt illustration. “All the rooms in Rome are, I believe.”

“Well, I like it,” said Flo; “and I’m so glad to be with you, Patty. I don’t mean to bother you, you know, but you’re glad I came, aren’t you?”

“Of course I am,” said Patty, though conscious of a feeling that Flo might sometimes be an insistent companion. But she was ashamed of this thought as soon as it came, and said, cordially; “and I’ll take you to lots of lovely places. We’ve a new club, ‘The Wonderers,’ and you’re to be a member of that. And to-morrow I’m giving a small afternoon tea, with you as guest of honour. It will have to be a very small tea, for I only know half a dozen people in Rome. But Floyd Austin and Caddy Oram are coming soon,—isn’t that fine?”

“Yes, I like both those boys. Oh, what fun we will have. I’m so glad I came. Snippy says I have to keep up my practising every day, and study my Italian. But I don’t want to,—I just want to have fun like you do.”

“It’s your mother’s orders, Miss Flo,” said Snippy, in a gruff voice of great firmness; “and her orders I must see carried out.”

“You’ll see me carried out if you make me work so hard,” said Flo. “Tell her so, Patty.”

“Can’t Miss Carrington have a holiday, occasionally?” asked Patty, in her most wheedlesome way, but the stern Englishwoman shut her lips together with a snap, and then opened them to say, “No, Miss Fairfield; I have my orders.”

“Wow!” thought Patty, after she had returned to her own room, “I’m glad I don’t have to travel with a duenna, or whatever they call those snippy people.”