esently.

"It is up to the steps of that house there."

"It is up to all the steps, mother, so that people can get into their
gondolas at their very door; don't you see?"

"It goes ahead of everything!" exclaimed Rupert, who had scarce spoken.
"It's like being in a fairy story."

"I can't see much beside water," said Mrs. Copley. "Water above and
water below. It must be unhealthy. And I thought Venice had such
beautiful old palaces. I don't see any of 'em."

"We have passed several of them," said Lawrence.

"I can see nothing but black walls--except those queer painted sticks;
what are _they_ for?"

"To the gondolas in waiting."

"What are they painted so for?"

"The colours belonging to the family arms."

"Whose family?"

"The family to whom the house belongs."

"Dolly," said Mrs. Copley, "we shall not want to stay here long. We
might go on and try Rome. Mrs. Thayer says spring-time is the best at
Naples."

"It will all look very different, Mrs. Copley, when you see it by
sunlight," said Lawrence. "Wait a little."

Dolly would have enjoyed every inch of the way, if her mother would
have let her. To her eyes the novel strangeness of the scene was
entrancing. Not beautiful, certainly; not beautiful yet; by mist and
rain and darkness how should it be? but she relished the novelty. The
charmed stillness pleased her; the gliding gondolas; the but half
revealed houses and palaces; the odd conveyance in which she herself
was seated; the wonderful water-ways, the strange cries of the
gondoliers. It was not half spoiled for her, as it was; and she trusted
the morning would bring for her mother a better mood.

Something of a better mood was produced that evening when Mrs. Copley
found herself in a warm room, before a good supper. But the next
morning it still rained. Dark skies, thick atmosphere, a gloomy outlook
upon ways where no traveller for mere pleasure was to be seen; none but
people bent on business of one sort or another. Yet everything was
delightful to Dolly's eyes; the novelty was perfect, the
picturesqueness undeniable. What she could see of the lagoon, of the
vessels at anchor, the flying gondolas, the canals and the bridges over
them, and the beautiful Riva, put Dolly in a rapture. Her eye roved,
her heart swelled. "O mother!" she exclaimed, "if father would only
come!"

"What then?" said Mrs Copley dismally. "He would take us away, I hope."

"Oh, but not until we have seen Venice."

"_I_