he would make
studies of the peasant, the _contadini_. Jack had written, "There is pie
in Venice when we are there; Mama knows how to make pie; pie cannot be
purchased elsewhere. Love is the price thereof!" And pie is very
filling. Yes, he would go to Europe on fifteen dollars per week and find
paradise in the bright particular Venetian Pie!

V

After many days a great change came to pass. Everybody knew that Paul
Clitheroe had disappeared without so much as a "good-by" to his most
intimate friends. Curiosity was excited for a little while, but for a
little while only. Soon he was forgotten, or remembered by no one save
those who had known and loved him and who at intervals regretted him.

And Miss. Juno? Ah, Miss. Juno, the joy of Paul's young dreams! Having
been launched successfully at his hands, and hoping in her brave,
off-hand way to be of service to him, she continued to write as much for
his sake as for her own; she knew it would please him beyond compare
were she to achieve a pronounced literary success. He had urged her to
write a novel. She had lightly laughed him to scorn--and had kept
turning in her mind the possible plot for a tale. One day it suddenly
took shape; the whole thing seemed to her perfectly plain sailing; if
Clitheroe had launched her upon that venturesome sea, she had suddenly
found herself equipped and able to sail without the aid of any one.

She had written to Paul of her joy in this new discovery. Before her
loomed the misty outlines of fair far islands; she was about to set
forth to people these. Oh, the joy of that! The unspeakable joy of it!
She spread all sail on this voyage of discovery--she asked for nothing
more save the prayers of her old comrade. She longed to have him near
her so that together they might discuss the situations in her story, one
after another. If he were only in Venice they would meet daily over
their dinner, and after dinner she would read to him what she had
written since they last met; then they would go in a gondola for a
moonlight cruise; of course it was always moonlight in Venice! Would
this not be delightful and just as an all-wise Providence meant it
should be? Paul had read something like this in the letters which she
used to write him when he was divided against himself; when he began to
feel himself sinking, without a hand to help him. Venice was out of the
question then; it were vain for him to even dream of it.

So time went on; Miss. Juno be