“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.”