THE Fairfields were to leave Rome for Florence at ten o’clock in the morning, and Flo and Snippy were to go with them. Patty’s regret at leaving Rome was somewhat lessened by her father’s promise that they should return there for a week or two after visiting Florence and Venice.

“For you know, Father,” she said, “I really ought to come back here and brush up my memories of Roman history, before going back home.”

“Yes,” agreed Mr. Fairfield, “particularly as your knowledge of Roman history is confined to picnics in the Forum, lunches on the Palatine, and tearooms on the Spanish Steps.”

“Well, I do know a few important facts about the Roman Emperors; and if I get them mixed up, that’s because there were so many of the Emperors and so few of me.”

“You’re a frivolous puss, Pattykins, but as you’re on a pleasure trip, I don’t suppose you can take time for useful information.”

“But that’s just what I do get. Dusty, musty, fusty knowledge about the inner workings of the Roman Empire isn’t a bit useful to a great, big girl like me. And the varied bits of information that I pick up with both hands as I go along will cheer and amuse me all my life.”

“I believe you’re right, you wise child. You know how to have a good time, anyway, and I’m glad of it. Now, run along, and say your good-bys to that flock of young people waiting for you.”

Patty was all ready to start on their journey, and her travelling costume of blue Rajah silk that just matched her eyes was both appropriate and becoming. Her straw hat was trimmed with blue roses, which, though not of Nature’s tint, were most harmonious, and she wore a long filmy blue veil, which was a characteristic article of her attire.

“Why do you always have these uncertain things trailing around you, Patty?” asked Floyd, as an end of the veil brushed against his cheek.

“Oh, they’re so comforting,” laughed Patty, as she disentangled her scarf from his grasping fingers.

The Wonderers had gathered in the palm garden to say good-by to Patty.

Milly Mills was in tears, for Patty had been very kind to her, and the strange, silent girl had learned to love her dearly.

“I wonder what we’ll do without our Patsy,” said Violet, as she caressed Patty’s hand.

“Follow her up,” said Lank, promptly. “I’ve been trying to persuade the governor to go on to Florence, and though he says no, he’s sort of half-hearted about it. Perhaps you can coax him ’round, sister.”

“Perhaps I can,” said Violet, smiling hopefully. “I’ll try anyway. And if not, we’ll meet in New York, won’t we, Patty?”

“Yes, indeed. We’re going to have a reunion there some day, and all the Wonderers will walk on Broadway and Fifth Avenue, hunting for something to wonder at.”

“And finding it, too!” said Lank. “We’ll show Europeans that little old U. S. A. is O. K.”

“Sounds like a riddle,” said Caddy Oram. “But I’m going to the States some day, and indeed we will have a reunion. If we can’t have the whole eight at once, we’ll reune, a few at a time.”

“Do come,” said Patty, cordially; “all of you, whenever you can.”

Then they all exchanged addresses, and promised to write letters, and send pictures, and meet whenever possible, and then the hotel omnibus was at the door to take the travellers to the station.

“Come, Patty,” said her father, as she lingered for a last word to Milly, “you’ll make us all miss the train if you spin out your farewells any longer. Hop in, now.”

He helped Patty into the omnibus, jumped in himself, and then they were off, leaving the young people and Mr. and Mrs. Van Winkle waving handkerchiefs after them.

“Isn’t it funny?” said Flo, after they were settled in their chairs in the train, and rolling toward Florence, “how, as soon as you leave one place, your mind flies ahead to the place you’re going to?”

“Yes, it is,” agreed Patty. “Now, I just love Rome, and I love that whole bunch of people we’ve left behind us, but I’m already wondering what Florence will be like. What’s it like, Snippy?”

“Well, Miss Patty, it isn’t a bit like Rome, to begin with.”

“No; I suppose not. There are no ruins.”

“No, miss; but there are beautiful gardens, and pictures and statues till you ’most wear your poor eyes out.”

“Yes, and break the back of your neck. Picture galleries are worse than quinsy sore throat.”

“But that’s in front,” said Flo, laughing. “Pictures make you ache in the back of your neck.”

“They make me ache all round,” declared Patty. “I love ’em, but they wear me out.”

“Oh, Patty,” cried Flo, “look at the orchards with the trees tied together! Isn’t it lovely?” Patty looked from the window at the thick ropes of grapevines which festooned one tree to another in the orchards past which their train was flying.

“Great!” she exclaimed, her eyes shining at the beautiful sight. “They look like the Alpine travellers, who are roped together for safety.”

“Nonsense,” said practical Flo, “what’s the use of roping yourselves together if you’re standing still? They’re not moving.”

“Well,” said Patty, “our train goes so fast that it makes them look as if they were moving; so it’s well they’re tied together.”

“You’re a goose,” remarked Flo, as if that settled the matter. “I say, Patty, isn’t this a funny car?”

“I suppose it is to you,” said Patty, looking around at the drawing-room car they were in.

“It’s unusual in Italy, I’m sure, and I never saw one like it in England; but it’s exactly like the parlour-cars we have in America.”

“Is it? Well, I like it a lot better, like this, where we’re all in one room, and can see our fellow passengers, than to be shut up in those little compartments and only see our own party.”

“Yes,” said Patty, doubtfully; “but the other way is more cosy. I’ve no desire to see my fellow travellers, have you?”

“Yes; I like to look at them, and wonder what they’re like. For instance, see those two young Italian men, over there. I’m sure they’re nobles, counts probably. Aren’t they handsome?”

“Flo Carrington, you stop looking at handsome young Italians or I’ll call Snippy’s attention to you.”

“Oh, they don’t know I’m looking at them.”

“Don’t they, indeed! Well, they do, and you must stop it.”

“I have stopped,” said Flo, looking out of the window. “But aren’t they stunning?”

They were handsome young fellows, and had an air of dignity such as might well befit an Italian noble. Flo and Patty demurely refrained from glancing at them, save for a furtive glance now and then, but Flo declared she must make a sketch of them. She undertook it, but the train jolted too much to make drawing a pleasure, so she abandoned the project. Soon the guard came through, asking for those who wished to lunch in the dining-car, and tickets were given for seats at table.

“I perfectly love to eat on an Italian train, don’t you?” said Patty, as they found their places for luncheon.

“Yes, I do,” said Flo, “except I don’t like the spaghetti and things they love to eat.”

“Oh, I do. And I’m sure when I get home I can cook macaroni in true Italian fashion, and delight all my friends.”

“It wouldn’t delight me, I hate it. But I love the fruit.” And well she might, for the rich luscious fruits of Italy are surpassed nowhere on the globe, and they are bestowed on travellers in unstinted quantities.

Mr. and Mrs. Fairfield sat at one of the tables arranged for two, while Snippy and the two girls sat at a quartette table.

As there was thus a vacant seat, another passenger was assigned to it, and to the surprise and secret glee of the girls it was one of the young Italian men they had noticed in the other car.

Flo and Patty looked down at their plates in an effort not to smile at each other, and Snippy glared at the young man as if he were an intruder.

Presently he made a civil remark in Italian, and as Snippy was able to talk fluently in that tongue, she answered him, politely, but rather shortly.

“Doesn’t he speak English at all?” said Patty, with great interest.

“No,” said Snippy, sternly, “eat your luncheon and don’t look at him.”

“Good gracious!” said Patty, secure in the knowledge that the stranger couldn’t understand her, “I don’t want to look at him. But I just want to know if he’s a count. Do ask him, Snippy dear. Flo thinks he is—and I think he isn’t.”

“Well, he isn’t, Miss Patty. He’s a soldier.”

“A soldier! How interesting. Can’t we talk to him a little, Snippy, with you to translate, you know.”

Snippy hesitated. The young man was exceedingly polite and well-bred, and had already asked if the young ladies spoke Italian. Even her careful instincts could suggest no reason why they should not converse, with herself as interpreter.

So, in very conventional language she introduced Signor Grimaldi to her two young charges, and he bowed with the ease and grace of a distinguished cavalier.

“Ask him where he’s going,” said Patty, who knew that Snippy would frame the question less curtly.

A few words of Italian passed between them, and then Snippy informed the waiting ears that the Signor was going to Florence.

“What hotel?” asked Flo, and the information was soon gained that he was going to the same hotel that they were themselves.

“Heavenly!” said Patty, rolling her eyes, dramatically. “Tell him we’re enchanted, and that we think he’s a lovely man, and that he looks as if he had just stepped out of a comic opera, and that——”

“There, there, Miss Patty, how you do run on. I shall tell him none of those things. He’s a very chivalrous gentleman, and I don’t want him to think you a forward young person.”

“He can’t think anything about me, Snippy, except what you tell him. So tell him I’m a lovely lady,—a duchess, disguised as an American.”

“He’d never take you for a duchess, Patty,” said Flo; “tell him I’m a duchess, Snip, and that this other young woman is my maid.”

“I’ll tell him nothing; I’m ashamed of your foolishness, Miss Flo.” And Snippy proceeded to eat her luncheon with such a dragon-like air that the Italian soldier wondered what he had done to deserve reproof.

Presently he spoke again to Snippy, regarding the scenery, and to make amends for her previous coolness she answered him affably. Then there ensued an interested conversation, for Snippy was a cultivated and well-informed woman, and the young man was courteous and entertaining.

Besides which, he was greatly attracted by the two pretty girls and wished the duenna would bring them into the conversation.

“The young ladies,—have they visited Florence before?” he asked finally, in Italian, and Snippy felt in honour bound to pass the question on in English to eager Patty and Flo.

“We must answer prettily,” said Patty, with a demure face, though her eyes were dancing, “or else Snippy won’t let us talk to him at all. Say to the Signor, please, that we have never before been in Florence, and does he think we’ll like it.”

Snippy sniffed a little, but translated the message to the Italian.

“The Signor says,” she translated again, “that he is sure you will like Florence and Florence will like you.”

“Remark to him,” went on Patty, “that we thank him for his politeness, and we’d like to know if the gentleman who was with him in the other car is travelling with him, and what is his noble name.”

“The other gentleman is with him. His name is Signor Balotti, and he too is a soldier.”

“Then,” put in Flo, “inquire of his soldiership why they are not fighting.”

“He says,” resumed Snippy, “that they do not fight because there is no convenient war. But he does not regret that, since it gives him opportunity to meet three charming ladies.”

“Oh, Snippy-Snip,” said Patty, “are you sure you’re translating truly? Didn’t he say one charming lady, and two ill-mannered girls.”

“If he didn’t, it’s only because he is himself too polite to say so,” said Snippy, but there was a twinkle in her eye, and Patty could see that she had quite decided in favour of the young man’s desirability as an acquaintance.

They all rose from the tables then, and Snippy introduced the Italian to Mr. Fairfield. Though not fluent in the language, Mr. Fairfield could make himself understood, and while the ladies returned to the drawing-room car, he remained behind for a smoke and a chat with the young man.

When he returned, he electrified the two girls and Nan by telling them that Signor Grimaldi was a very desirable acquaintance indeed, as was also his chum, Signor Balotti. The men had arranged to meet them again in Florence, and would doubtless be a decided acquisition to their circle.

“I told you so!” said Patty. “I knew he was the salt of the earth as soon as I looked at him.”

“Pooh, I told you so first,” said Flo. “But I wish he could talk English. I don’t care much about knowing people I can’t talk to.”

“Nor I,” said Patty. “I hope we will find some Americans or English at the hotel.”

They reached Florence about mid-afternoon, and drove directly to their hotel, on the bank of the Arno.

“What a lovely river!” said Patty. “At least it’s clean. The Tiber is so yellow, and so is the Thames. The Seine isn’t much better,—indeed none of them can compare with our own Hudson.”

“But this whole place is beautiful,” said Flo, as they looked from their cab on the trees and gardens of beautiful Florence.

The day was very warm, and there was a glare of sun everywhere, so our travellers were glad to reach their hotel and go right to the apartments awaiting them.

Flo and Patty had communicating rooms, and had soon exchanged their travelling costumes for teagowns and were waiting for the tea which they had ordered sent up.

They peeped out between the slats of their blinds, and saw the river directly below them.

“Isn’t it picturesque?” said Patty. “I love it already. After an hour or so, father says it will be cool and pleasant for a drive, so we’ll see a little of the place this afternoon.”

“Lovely,” said Flo, “but here’s our tea, Patty, so come and drink it.”