were flushed as they bent over the crowded sheets so soon
to be scanned by dear eyes at home. How much there was to tell of the
events of the past week! Drives through the streets of the famous city;
through the lovely Cascine; up to San Miniato and Fiesole; visits to
churches, palaces, and picture-galleries; days filled to overflowing
with the new life among foreign scenes.

Suddenly Barbara, throwing aside her pen, exclaimed:--

"Betty dear, don't you sometimes feel most horribly ignorant?"

"Why? when?"

"Oh! I am just writing about our visit to Santa Croce the other day. I
enjoyed so much the fine spaces within the church, the softened light,
and some of the monuments. But when we came to those chapels whose walls
are covered with paintings,--you remember, where we met that Mr. Sherman
and his daughters who came over on the _Kaiser_ with us,--I tried to
understand why they were so interested there. They were studying the
paintings for such a long time, and I heard some of the things they were
saying about them. They thought them perfectly wonderful; and that Miss
Sherman who has such lovely eyes said she thought it worth coming from
America to Italy just to see them and other works by the same artist.
Mr. Sumner, too, heard what she said, and gave her such a pleased,
admiring look. After they had gone out from the chapel where are
pictures representing scenes in the life of St. Francis, I went in and
looked and looked at them; but, try as hard as I could, I could not be
one bit interested. The pictures are so queer, the figures so stiff, I
could not see a beautiful or interesting thing about them. But I know I
am all wrong. I do want to see what they saw, and to feel as they felt!"

"I liked the pictures because of their subject," said Bettina; "that
dear St. Francis of Assisi who loved the birds and flowers, and talked
to them as if they could understand him. But I did not see any beauty in
them."

"We must learn what it is; we must do more than just look at all these
early pictures that fill the churches and galleries just as we would
look at wall paper, as so many people seemed to do in the Uffizi gallery
the other day," said Barbara, emphatically. "This must be one of the
things papa meant."

Just here came a knock on the door.

"May we come in, Margery and I?" asked Malcom. "Why! what is the matter?
You look as if you had been talking of something unpleasant."

Bettina told of Barbara's trouble.

"