one could help it," said Bettina, with shining eyes.

"Or could help painting pictures," added Barbara. "Just look at the
colors of sky, hills, and city. No wonder Fra Angelico thought of angels
with softly glittering wings and dressed in exquisite pinks and violets,
when he lived here day after day."

"Just wait, though, until we come down at sunset," said Mr. Sumner.
"This is indeed beautiful, but then it will be most beautiful, and you
can enjoy the changing colors of sunset over Florence, as seen from
Fiesole, far better as we loiter along on the road, as we shall do
to-night, than when in a carriage, as we were two or three weeks ago. Of
course, there is less color now than in summer, yet it will be
glorious, I am sure. We are most fortunate in our choice of a day, for
it is warm, with a moisture in the atmosphere that veils forms and
enriches color. We should call it 'Indian summer' were we at home."

Before they had quite reached the old city at the top, the carriage
containing Mrs. Douglas, Miss Sherman, and Howard overtook them, and the
latter sprang out to join the walking-party.

Such a day as followed! Lunch in the grove behind the ancient
Monastery!--visits to the ruined Amphitheatre, the Cathedral, and Museum
so full of all sorts of antiquities obtained from the excavations of
ancient Fiesole!--loitering in the spacious Piazza, where they were
beset by children and weather-beaten, brown old women, clamoring for
them to buy all sorts of things made of the straw there manufactured;
and everywhere magnificent views, either of the widely extended valley
of the Mugnone on the one side, or of Florence, lying in her amethystine
cup, on the other!

Finally, giving orders for the carriage to follow within a certain time,
so that any tired one might take it, all started down the hill. They
soon met a procession of young Franciscan monks, chanting a hymn as they
walked--their curious eyes stealing furtive glances at the beautiful
faces of the American ladies.

"I feel as if I were a part of the fourteenth century," said Miss
Sherman. "Surely Fra Angelico might be one of those passing us."

"Only he would have worn a white gown instead of a brown one," replied
Mrs. Douglas, smiling. "You know he was a Dominican monk, not
Franciscan."

"But look on the other side of the road," cried Malcom, "and hear the
buzzing of the wires! an electric tramway! Here meet the fourteenth and
the nineteenth centuries!"

In a