t air of
pride, which highly amused his two sisters. But their teasing and
laughter did not trouble Stevie in the least. "Laugh all you like I
don't care," he retorted, one day. "It's my way, and I like it," which
amused the little girls all the more, for, as Eva said, "Everybody knew
Stevie liked his own way, only he never had owned up to it before."

There was something, however, that did trouble the little boy a good
deal: though he was born in New York City, he had no recollection of it
or any other place in America, as his mamma's health had failed, and
the whole family had gone to Europe for her benefit, when Stevie was
little more than a year old. They had traveled about a good deal in
the eight years since then, and Stevie had lived in some famous and
beautiful old cities; but in his estimation no place was equal to his
beloved America, of which Mehitabel Higginson had told him so much, and
to which he longed to get back. I fancy that most American boys and
girls would have enjoyed being where Stevie was at this time, for he
and his papa and mamma, and Kate and Eva, and Mehitabel Higginson, were
living in a large and quite grand-looking house in Venice. The
entrance hall and the wide staircase leading to the next story were
very imposing, the rooms were large, and the walls and high ceilings
covered with elaborate carvings and frescoes; and when Stevie looked
out of the windows or the front door lo! instead of an ordinary street
with paved sidewalks, there were the blue shining waters of the lagoon,
and quaint-shaped gondolas floating at the door-step or gliding swiftly
and gracefully by.

The children thought it great fun to go sight-seeing in a gondola: they
visited the beautiful old Cathedral of St. Mark, and admired the famous
bronze horses which surmount Sansovino's exquisitely carved gates,
sailed up and down the double curved Grand Canal, walked through the
Ducal Palace and across the narrow, ill-lighted Bridge of Sighs--over
which so many unfortunate prisoners had passed never to return--and
peeped into the dark, dismal prison on the other side of the canal.

It was all very novel and interesting, but Stevie told Mehitabel, in
confidence, that he would rather, any day, listen to her reminiscences
of her long-ago school days in her little New England village home, or,
better still, to her stories of George Washington, and the other great
spirits of the Revolutionary period, and of Abraham Lincoln