t to be the priest, had instantly called the
other servants and flopped down upon her knees to receive his blessing,
and the sprinkling of holy water which always accompanied it. Behind
Teresina knelt Maria, the cook, and Antonia, the house-maid, with their
hands clasped and their heads reverently bent, and it was only when they
had all received a generous dose of water which was not at all holy that
they raised their heads and saw the grinning face of Beppo and the empty
flower-pot in his hand. Teresina started wrathfully to her feet, and if
the real priest had not been heard coming up the stairs at that moment
things might have gone badly with Beppo. As it was, the real priest
followed the bogus one so quickly that there was just time for the
children to slip to their knees before Padre Ugo, who was short, fat,
and breathless, entered, followed by an acolyte carrying the vessel of
holy water.

Padre Ugo was in a tremendous hurry, for he had many other places to
visit that morning. He fairly ran through the rooms, sprinkling each
with a dash of holy water, mumbling a prayer and raising his hand in
blessing, then racing on to the next, with all the household trailing
behind him like the tail of a kite. He blessed the kitchen and
pantries, he even blessed the cat which was washing her face by the
kitchen range. Not being a religious cat, she put up her tail and fled
into the coal-hole, where she stayed until the priest had gone.

The only room in the whole house to be missed was the one occupied by
the governess. That poor lady had locked herself in with her headache,
and she was a Protestant besides, so that room had to go unblessed the
whole year through.

When Padre Ugo had gone, Teresina was obliged to give her whole
attention to the baby, and it was not until she and the Twins were ready
for the street that at last she said stiffly to Beppo, "To-morrow
morning, Don Beppo, you will find that the hares have left no Easter
eggs in the garden for such a naughty boy as you."

CHAPTER TWO.

IN THE PIAZZA.

The clock in the reception hall had already struck eleven, when the two
children, dressed in their best, followed by Teresina, passed out
beneath the carved stone arch of the palace door into the streets of
Florence. Their way lay through the edge of the beautiful Boboli
Gardens, where lilacs bloomed, and birds were singing as they built
their nests, past churches and palaces, across the Ponte Vecchio, on