Patty sprang from the train straight into her father’s arms, and the welcoming kiss he gave her told her how glad he was to have her safely beside him once more.
“And now,” said Nan, after they had all welcomed each other, “we’ve just time for a leisurely water trip back to the hotel. This is our gondola, the flowers are in honour of your arrival.”
Nan pointed to a graceful craft which was waiting for them. It was a well-shaped, freshly-painted gondola, and its black sides and shining metal made it quite distinct from the more dingy affairs all around. Also, the gondolier wore a resplendent sash of bright colours, and his handsome Italian face was good-natured and smiling.
“It’s ours,” said Nan, proudly; “I mean, while we’re here. I picked it out yesterday, and it’s the finest gondola in all Venice, eh, Donatello?”
The gondolier showed his white teeth in an assenting grin, though he scarcely understood the question.
“It’s angelic!” declared Patty, as she stepped in. “And the lovely dry carpet! I thought of course the bottom of a gondola was of a wet and sloppy nature.”
“You goose!” cried Nan. “But sit down, Patty, and drink it all in.”
“What! the canal?” cried Patty, but she sat down and looked about her with that awed thrill that the first sight of Venice brings to all good Americans.
It was not far from the sunset hour, and the cabin of the gondola had been removed, so they could see the gay scenes all about.