that country had been
his home. He had travelled widely, yet had always returned to Italy.
"Next year I will go back to America," he had often thought; but there
was still a shrinking from the coming into contact with painful
associations. Only his sister and her children were left of the home
circle and it were happier if they would come to him; so he had stayed
on, a voluntary exile.

Not yet thirty years of age, he looked even younger as with shining eyes
he watched the little group on the deck of the big approaching
steamship. Of the strength of his affections no one could be doubtful
who witnessed his warm, passionate embraces when, after long delay, the
ship and shore were at last bound together.

"And can these be the little Barbara and Betty who used to sit on my
knees?" he asked in wonder, as Mrs. Douglas drew forward the tall girls
that they might share in his greeting.

"I thought I knew you, but am afraid we shall have to get acquainted
all over again."

The following morning when, after breakfast, the young people had been
put into a carriage for a drive all about the city, Mrs. Douglas had a
long conversation with her brother. He told her of the pleasant home in
Florence which he had prepared for her, and some of his plans for the
coming months.

"But will not the care of so many young people be too much for you, my
sister? Have you counted well the cost of added thought and care which
our dear Doctor's daughters will impose? Tell me about them. Are they as
sterling as their father and mother? I must believe they are neither
giddy nor headstrong, else you would never have undertaken the care of
them. Moreover, their faces contradict any such supposition. They are
beautiful and very attractive; but are just at the age when every power
is on the alert to have its fill of interest and enjoyment. Did you
notice how their eyes sparkled as they took their seats in the carriage
and looked out upon the strange, foreign sights?"

"Yes," answered Mrs. Douglas. "We must do all we can for them that this
visit to the Old World shall be as truly a means of culture as their
parents desire. You know I wrote you that it is difficult for the
Doctor to afford it, but that he felt so earnestly the good that such an
opportunity must bring his girls that he could not bear to refuse it. As
for me, I love Barbara and Betty dearly and delight to care for them as
for my own. Their influence is wholesome, and our little Marge