The train was slowing down at a station, and the Italians shook hands with the girls in farewell.
“Signor?” said the old lady, looking at Patty, with a doubtful expression; “ritorno?”
“Oh, yes,” said Patty; “he’ll return. Si, si, signor ritorno soon.”
It was not entirely intelligible, but the train had stopped, and the guard had flung the door open.
He announced some official information, which was as so much Greek to the two girls, then, with a final nod of good-by, the old lady clambered down the steps after her husband, and the guard slammed the door again.
“Parma,” said Flo, reading the name on the station sign; “I suppose they are going after violets, don’t you, Patty?”
“Yes, probably they’ll pick big bunches along the roadside. But, Flo, we’ve lost our chaperon. It isn’t at all the thing for two correct young ladies to be all alone in a railroad train at night.”
“Well, your father will be back in a few minutes.”
“Yes, of course he will. I’m not a bit afraid, but I know daddy won’t like it. Still, it’s his own fault. We couldn’t help it, if our friend would get out to pick Parma violets.”