“He must have been a hydra-headed monster,” said Patty; “I think it fairly rains heads of Dante in Florence. But I’ve so many people at home who’ll be glad to have one, that we’re sending a lot.”
The next day was fair and beautiful for their little excursion. Their two Italian hosts came for them in an imposing equipage, and they drove out to the park, or Cascine, as it is called.
Patty had been here before, but she always enjoyed the lovely place, and was glad to pay it a farewell visit. The conversation was rather limited, but they were used to that now, and laughs and gestures often made up what they could not express in words.
Mr. Fairfield liked the two young men, and endeavoured to make himself entertaining, so far as his slight knowledge of Italian would allow.
The festival ended rather abruptly, as the travellers must run no risk of losing their train, and the girls had to change their pretty, light dresses for travelling garb.
“Why are you carrying your furnished handbag?” said Flo to Patty, as they left the hotel. “We won’t be on the train over night.”
“No; but there isn’t room in my trunk for it, and, too, it’s convenient to have brushes and things. We don’t reach Venice till after ten o’clock, and I propose to take a nap in the evening hours. I’m awfully tired now.”
“So am I. Those natives tired me out.”