The little steamer carried Rafael and his passengers to the Lido in a quarter of an hour, giving them time for a bath in the salt water, and a cup of tea at the casino; and also a moment at the little church dedicated to the patron saint of the fishermen, where Edith left a coin as she had promised to do.
Then they returned across the water to the church of San Giorgio for a view of the sunset, the sight in Venice which artists love most. It was the most wonderful sunset that Edith had ever seen. The low sun gave out a glory of color, and waves of golden light flooded the city, crowning every tower and dome with a great radiance.
"So much gold makes it seem like the Heavenly City," Edith said softly.
To the north lay the white-crowned Alps, to the east the blue Adriatic; and Edith never forgot the glory of that hour.
A fisher's boat swung slowly through the Lido port, and moved toward its mooring-place at a group of rose-tinged piles. In just such a boat Columbus must have sailed when he was a boy. The rounded prow was decorated with a flying goddess blowing a trumpet; on the masthead there was perched a weathercock and a little figure of a hump-backed man, like the one hidden away in St. Mark's. A great sail, painted deep red, caught the sea-breeze and carried the boat slowly over the shimmering, rose-colored water.
Edith drew a long breath of the salt air, and clasped her hands with delight at the picture.
Some workmen, driving piles to mark the ship channel, were chanting an old song,—one that has been sung for centuries by the pile-drivers of Venice,—and Rafael translated the words for her, as the men raised the heavy wooden hammer:—
"Up with it well,
Up to the top;
Up with it well,
Up to the summit!"
Each line of the Italian words ended with a long "e-e-e," or an "o-o-o," and the American girl laughed at the strange song.
"It is just the time and place to paint a picture, or write a poem about the Venetian sunset," she said.