CHAPTER XI
FONTANONE DELL' ACQUA FELICE
SEVERAL tears watered the violets. Frieda Ralston was seated on one of a flight of stone steps bordering the antique fountain, with an immense stone lion on either side of her and in high eminence behind her the figures of the prophets. But Frieda was not in the slightest degree interested at this moment in Roman art. For one hour, recorded on the face of the small watch in her pocket, she had been engaged in wandering up and down likely looking streets in search of their hotel, only to return to her starting place again. And this when she had only gone a block and a half away in the first place.
Neither had the wayfarer trusted entirely to her own judgment. In spite of Ruth's repeated warnings against talking to strangers, she had once accosted a man in a queer uniform, thinking him a policeman. He wore a dark blue coat, blue-gray trousers, a white cap and belt, so how could a newcomer have known him to be a member of the Roman garrison? However, when once the soldier had discovered Frieda's desire, his directions were so explicit, so accompanied by much waving of his hand and statements of "destra" (right) and "sinistra" (left), that Frieda believed her way clear at last. Nevertheless, though doing exactly what she believed she had been told, the result was the same. Frieda had again to return to her fountain, a now painfully familiar spot. In the course of this wandering, however, she had passed an ancient church with a high flight of steps, where she paused to gaze for a few moments in awe and wonder. A number of pilgrims were climbing the wooden steps on their knees and children were running about among them offering rosaries and small wooden images for sale. Frieda had purchased a St. Joseph and then regretted her investment, for at least half the crowd of children followed her back to her resting place. They were still whining about her begging for pennies, when some time ago she had given them all the change she had. Yet they would not leave her alone. Happening to glance down at her arm Frieda now made the painful discovery that her beloved gold-link purse had disappeared. Still the poor child had her violets!
They were no great comfort, however, for, sighing, she glanced through an opening among her persecutors to see if aid might be found anywhere. There not far away did she not behold the familiar figures of Richard Grant and his mother, the acquaintances who had been so scorned toward the close of their sea voyage.
With a little extra energy the lost girl might have called to them. For they were loitering and studying the pages of their guide-book, evidently on their way to visit the famous church which had previously attracted her attention. Once Frieda believed that she saw them glance in the direction of her fountain. But their purpose must have changed, for the next instant they moved off toward the church.
Nevertheless, in spite of her need, the wanderer did not stir or call out. For how could she ask assistance of people to whom she had been so rude and overbearing but a short time before? And she was so near their hotel, surely Ruth would send some one to look for her or come herself in a few minutes. No, she must wait a while longer and perhaps, when rested, if no one had found her, try to discover her own way again. Often Jim Colter had told the Ranch girls to search for things first with their heads before beginning to explore with their hands and feet. Yet it was pretty difficult to think clearly, and when weary and discouraged to remember how one has managed to get lost. This habit of getting separated from her family was a trying one, and certainly this time Ruth and the girls would be angry as well as frightened.
"Don't Be Funny, Dick; I'm Lost Again"
Not long after Frieda was wishing sincerely that she had put her pride in her pocket and begged Dick's and Mrs. Grant's help in spite of all that had passed. She was frightened as well as tired. The children had run away on finding that the Signorita's purse had gone. But a few yards from her seat an Italian had been curling his black mustache for quite an extraordinary length of time, staring all the while at the little blonde girl on the fountain steps.
"If you don't mind speaking to me this once, Miss Frieda, would you explain just why you are ornamenting the steps of this particular fountain alone for so long a time?" a friendly voice inquired.
Frieda jumped to her feet. There were the amused brown eyes, the square jaw and the athletic shoulders of Mr. Richard Grant. However, he was at the present moment engaged in holding his red Baedeker open and in slowly reading aloud: "This fountain is known, I believe, as 'Fontanone dell' Acqua Felice,' which, if I recall my Latin correctly, means 'water of happiness.'"
"Don't be funny, Dick, please," begged Frieda, forgetting titles and squeezing two left-over tears out of her eyes; "I'm lost again!"
"I rather supposed so," the young man replied, "so I left mother to moon among the Saints in the church nearby, while I came back to look after you. You see, we thought we recognized you sitting here and yet could hardly believe our eyes. Tell me what has happened and where you wish to go?"
A moment later, after a second careful consultation of his guide book, Frieda was escorted through the streets of Rome by a youth, who was unconcernedly carrying her large basket of violets in one hand and feeding her chocolates from a box which he held in the other. He did not seem to bear the least malice, and Frieda herself was extremely cheerful, considering her talent for getting into scrapes.
She even promised gratefully to accept the gift of a red Baedeker of her own and not to depend on their chaperon's possession of one.
Arriving at the Hotel l'Italia Frieda begged that Dick Grant come in with her and let her family know of his presence in Rome and of his kindness to her. In reality she wished for a stranger to be present so that she might in a measure escape the disapproval awaiting her.
And this time Frieda was correct in her judgment, for Ruth and the girls were more irritated with her than alarmed. And even after her explanation as to just how the accident happened Ruth seemed unreasonable. Actually, right in Richard Grant's presence, she scolded Frieda more than she had before in years. However, the young man did have the good sense to turn his back and be engaged in earnest conversation with Jack during the worst of Ruth's tirade, for which the younger Miss Ralston was truly grateful. She was also grateful to her sister Jack for inquiring after Mrs. Grant just as though nothing unpleasant had occurred between them. For Jack asked either that Mrs. Grant come to see them or that they be permitted to call on her.
When Dick had finally departed to join his mother (who must have been weary of waiting, except that her good nature was as certain as her bad taste), Frieda found as usual that it was Jean's teasing which was harder to bear than any scolding. For just as they were at last about to leave their hotel and right in the presence of the English lady and her two daughters who were returning, Jean pulled a long pale blue ribbon from her pocket (one of Frieda's own ribbons) and tied it in a kind of lasso about the younger girl's wrist.
"Better keep a string attached to our one ewe lamb, don't you think, Ruth dear?" she inquired innocently. And the strangers stared with a kind of cold surprise, when Ruth was obliged to produce the pair of scissors she always carried in her hand bag to cut the knot, so close had the ribbon been drawn.
For the rest of the day Frieda kept close to her sister and Olive, feeling too deeply wounded with the other members of their party to care to have much to say to them.