they approached; for it was the Miss Sherman whom Barbara and Bettina
had admired so much on the _Kaiser Wilhelm_, and whom, with her father
and sister, they had met once before in this same church.

Coming rapidly forward, Mrs. Douglas introduced her companion.

"She is alone in Florence," she explained to her brother a moment later
when the others had passed on, "for her father has been suddenly
summoned home, and her sister has accompanied him. She is a bright,
charming young woman, who loves art dearly, and I am sure we all shall
like her. I felt drawn to her as we talked together several times on our
way over. I think we must have her with us all we can."

After an hour spent in the Bardi and Peruzzi Chapels, whose walls are
covered with Giotto's frescoes, the little group separated. Malcom,
Margery, Barbara, and Bettina walked home along the Via dei Pinti, or
Street of the Painters. While the others chatted, Barbara was unusually
silent. She was thinking how much she had learned that morning, and
exulted in the knowledge that there was not quite so vast a difference
between herself and Miss Sherman as existed the last time they met in
Santa Croce.

For Barbara had entered into the study of this subject with an almost
feverish fervor of endeavor. Though she felt there was much to enjoy and
to learn all about her, yet nothing seemed so important as a knowledge
of the old painters and their pictures; and the longing to be able to
think and to speak with some assurance of them haunted her continually.

Bettina sometimes looked at her sister with wonder as she would sit hour
after hour poring over Mr. Sumner's books.

"I always thought _I_ loved pictures best," she thought; "but Bab cares
more for these old ones than I do."

Chapter VI.

Lucile Sherman.

_In life's small things be resolute and great
To keep thy muscle trained; Knowest thou when Fate
Thy measure takes? Or when she'll say to thee,
"I find thee worthy. Do this deed for me?_"

--LOWELL.

[Illustration: A GLIMPSE OF FLORENCE.]

The tourist who devotes a few days to Florence, or a few weeks even, can
have no conception of what it means to live in this city; to awake
morning after morning and look out upon the lines of her hills and catch
glimpses of their distant blues and purples; to be free to wander about
at will through her streets, every one of which is crowded with legend
and romance; to look upon her palaces