rickster was time, as he always
becomes when one wishes hours to be long! I think Poor Jr. had made
himself forget everything except that he was with her and that he must
be a friend. He committed a thousand ridiculousnesses at the stations;
he filled one side of the compartment with the pretty chianti-bottles,
with terrible cakes, and with fruits and flowers; he never ceased his
joking, which had no tiresomeness in it, and he made the little journey
one of continuing, happy laughter.

And that evening another of my foolish dreams came true! I sat in a
gondola with the lady of the grey pongee to hear the singing on the
Grand Canal;--not, it is true, at her feet, but upon a little chair
beside her mother. It was my place--to be, as I had been all day, escort
to the mother, and guide and courier for that small party. Contented
enough was I to accept it! How could I have hoped that the Most Blessed
Mother would grant me so much nearness as that? It was not happiness
that I felt, but something so much more precious, as though my
heart-strings were the strings of a harp, and sad, beautiful arpeggios
ran over them.

I could not speak much that evening, nor could Poor Jr. We were very
silent and listened to the singing, our gondola just touching the others
on each side, those in turn touching others, so that a musician from
the barge could cross from one to another, presenting the hat for
contributions. In spite of this extreme propinquity, I feared the
collector would fall into the water when he received the offering of
Poor Jr. It was "Gra-a-az', Mi-lor! Graz'!" a hundred times, with bows
and grateful smiles indeed!

It is the one place in the world where you listen to a bad voice with
pleasure, and none of the voices are good--they are harsh and worn with
the night-singing--yet all are beautiful because they are enchanted.

They sang some of our own Neapolitan songs that night, and last of all
the loveliest of all, "La Luna Nova." It was to the cadence of it that
our gondoliers moved us out of the throng, and it still drifted on the
water as we swung, far down, into sight of the lights of the Ledo:

"Luna d'ar-gen-to fal-lo so-gnar--
Ba-cia-lo in fron-te non lo de-star...."

Not so sweetly came those measures as the low voice of the beautiful
lady speaking them.

"One could never forget it, never!" she said. "I might hear it a
thousand other times and forget them, but never this first time."

I perceived