They stood on the sidewalk in front of the Palace—and saw, spread out before them, the blue water, sparkling with gold ripples; the blue sky, flecked with soft, white clouds; and all the beautiful vista of Venice.
“I don’t know,” said Patty, thoughtfully. “I didn’t enjoy it as a spectacle, but I wanted a memory of those prison cells, as well as of the beautiful things. Oh, here comes Flo,—isn’t she the beautiful thing, with her raving locks all freshly washed and ironed!”
Flo came smiling toward them, followed by the inevitable Snippy, who, having had her lesson, never let her young mistress stir without her. But nobody minded, for Snippy was an agreeable, if not very merry companion, and, too, she had a kind habit of effacing herself from the conversation, when the young people wanted to chatter nonsense.
The last evening of their stay in Venice, Mr. Fairfield gave a water-party. They had made a number of pleasant acquaintances, and these, in addition to their own immediate party, made about two score.
Several gondolas had been engaged, and these the gondoliers, with rival pride, had decorated gaily.
Lanterns swung from the cabins, and flowers and gay streamers gave the craft a festal air. The gondoliers, too, wore brilliant garb, and as the fleet floated away from the hotel, it was a picturesque sight.
Patty wore a fluffy, light blue dress, and a long, light blue cloak, lined with white silk, which enveloped her from head to foot. It had an ermine collar, for the evenings were growing chill; and a dainty blue toque, edged with ermine, sat saucily on Patty’s gold curls.
“You look a picture!” said Peter Homer, as he handed her into a gondola.
“An old master?” asked Patty, smiling gaily at him.
“No, indeed. Rather like one of your new American masters, who draw such fascinating girls.”