“Aimless and amiable,” she replied, smiling at him.
“Ha! ’tis a mood that well befitteth mine own. Let’s go and feed the pigeons.”
“All right, let’s. Flo’s having her hair washed, and Nan and father have gone off somewhere, so I’m glad to have somebody to play with.”
“H’m—a doubtful compliment,—but I’ll forgive you. Get your hat.”
Patty flew for her hat and cloak, and paused to look in at Flo’s door.
“I’m going to the Piazza,” she said, “with Floyd, to feed the pigeons. Come on over, when your hair is dry.”
“All right, I will,” said Flo, as intelligibly as she could through masses of wet locks.
Patty ran on downstairs, and joined Floyd, and together they sauntered along toward the Piazza.
“I can’t imagine being busy in Venice,” said Patty, looking at the idlers of all castes that were everywhere about. “I don’t see how they ever get anything done.”
“They don’t,” said Floyd; “nobody has anything to do,—or if he does, he doesn’t do it. Let’s cross over here, and look in the shop windows.”