re the
vases and tazzas from white glass with enamel work or filigree of
delicately blended colors. It was the Venetians, too, who invented
engraved glass, where a design is scratched or cut into the surface
with a diamond or steel point of a file. And our mille-fiori glass,
which came to us way back from the Egyptians, is another famous
variety. This is made from the ends of fancy colored sticks of glass
cut off and arranged in a pattern. You will see it in the shops here."

"I think you Venetians are wonderful!" Jean exclaimed.

"Ah, senorita, you have yet to see one of the finest things we have
done," was Giusippe's grave reply. "You have to see the San Marco with
its mosaics!"

"Yes, we surely want to go there," put in Mr. Cabot. "Do you think you
could be our guide, Giusippe?"

"I could go to-morrow, senor; because of the festa I am free from work.
I would like to show you San Marco, of all things, because I love it."

"I am sure no one could do it better," replied Mr. Cabot, well pleased.
"To-morrow at nine, then. We will be ready promptly. You shall tell us
the rest of your fascinating Venetian history and make Venetians of
us."

"I will come, senor."

"You shall be paid for your time, my boy."

"Alas, senor! That would spoil it all. I could not then show it to you.
Forgive me and do not think me ungrateful. But my San Marco is to me
the place I love. I show it to you because I love it. I have played
about it and wandered in and out its doors since I was a very little
child. I am proud that you should see it, senor."

"As you will. To-morrow then."

"Yes, senor."

Another moment and Giusippe was gone.

"A remarkable boy! A most remarkable boy!" ejaculated Mr. Cabot. "He
knows his country's history as I fancy few others know it. Could you
pass as good an examination on yours, Jean?"

Jean hung her head.

"I'm afraid not."

"Nor I," Uncle Bob remarked, patting her curls kindly.

CHAPTER IV

UNCLE BOB ENLARGES HIS PARTY

In accordance with his promise Giusippe came promptly the next morning
and the four set out for the San Marco. It was a beautiful June day.
The piazza was warm with sunshine, and as groups of tourists loitered
through it the pigeons circled greedily about their feet begging food.

"Why, Uncle Bob, these pigeons are exactly like the ones at home--just
as pretty and just as hungry," Jean said.

"Should you like to stop a moment and feed them, little girl?"

"Oh, do