ntenance with undisguised
satisfaction.

Uncle Dan looked on indulgently, and Pietro's passengers, over the way,
found the scene worthy of attention, as did others of the floating
audience. The golden head, bent over the swarthy little cherub, was a
sight that would have attracted Oliver Kenwick's notice, for example,
even if he had had no personal interest in the chief actor. He was with
some New York friends, in a gondola three or four boat-lengths away, and
so absorbed was he in the little drama, that, when a remark was
addressed to him that called for a retort, his gift of repartee quite
failed him.

Presently the sound of wind instruments again made itself heard, and
again the procession emerged from the narrow by-ways where the blessing
had been plentifully strewn, and moved up the quay toward the
three-arched bridge. By this time the poor little saints and angels were
pretty tired and draggled. The small St. John, in a very bad temper, was
banging about him with his cross, while the queen of heaven, reduced to
tears of anguished fatigue, had been picked up in the strong arms of her
father, where she was on the point of dropping asleep. "Pickle Johnny,"
too, was getting fretful again, having exhausted the charms of
scent-bottle and toy looking-glass, and May was beginning to repent of
her bargain.

"Give him to me," said Pauline. "He is sleepy, poor little tot!"

She took him in her arms, and in thirty seconds the little tot was fast
asleep. Oliver Kenwick became once more available for social purposes.
There was nothing picturesque, nothing effective about this; it would
not have attracted attention, any more than the sight of a young mother,
holding her sleeping child.

The gondola lay with its stern toward the bridge, which the procession
was crossing, and Pauline sat facing the open lagoon, where the sunset
light already showed warm and mellow. She turned a bit in her seat, to
see the bright banners and the candle-flames cross the bridge, and
presently the high priest with his attendants had paused upon the
central arch. At the stroke of a bell the Host was lifted, and all the
populace fell upon their knees. Vittorio, in his snowy costume, knelt at
the stern of his boat, Nanni, darkly clad, inclined his head and bent
his knee, while the little children in his gondola dropped like a flock
of doves upon the floor, where they huddled together, heads down, and
eyes peering out. Old fishermen in their blue bl