h beggars
who importunately followed the carriage; while, no sooner had they
reached the village itself than they were besieged by at least a dozen
women selling the straw baskets which are the specialty of Fiesole.

"Ecco, signor! Ecco signorina! Vary sheep! Vary sheep!" resounded on
all sides, each vendor thrusting her wares forward so that progress was
impossible.

"What a plague this is!" said Raeburn. "They'll never leave you in
peace, Erica; they are too well used to the soft hearted signorina
Inglese."

"Well, then, I shall leave you to settle them," said Erica, laughing,
"and see if I can't sketch a little in the amphitheatre. They can't
torment us there because there is an entrance fee."

"All right, and I will try this bird's eye view of Florence," said
Raeburn, establishing himself upon the seat which stands on the verge
of the hill looking southward. He was very fond of making pen-and-ink
sketches, and by his determined, though perfectly courteous manner, he
at last succeeded in dismissing the basket women.

Erica and Brian, in the meantime, walked down the steep little path
which leads back to the village, on their way encountering a second
procession of Brothers bearing a coffin. In a few minutes they had found
their way to a quiet garden at the remote end of which, far from the
houses of Fiesole and sheltered on all sides by the green Apennines, was
an old Roman amphitheatre. Grass and flowers had sprung up now on the
arena where in olden times had been fearful struggles between men and
beasts. Wild roses and honeysuckle drooped over the gray old building,
and in between the great blocks of stone which formed the tiers of seats
for the spectators sprung the yellow celandine and the white star of
Bethlehem.

Erica sat down upon one of the stony seats and began to sketch the
outline of the hills and roughly to draw in the foreground the further
side of the amphitheatre and broken column which lay in the middle.

"Would you mind fetching me some water?" she said to Brian.

There was a little trickling stream close by, half hidden by bramble
bushes. Brian filled her glass and watched her brush as she washed in
the sky.

"Is that too blue, do you think?" she asked, glancing up at him with one
of her bright looks.

"Nothing could be too deep for such a sky as this," he replied, half
absently. Then, with a sudden change of tone, "Erica, do you remember
the first day you spoke to me?"

"Under murky