Irma in Italy: A Travel Story

by Annie F. Johnston

  CHAPTER XIV

  NAP--AND OTHER THINGS

  A whole day as strenuous as the morning Richard had provided would havebeen too much for Irma's strength. Fortunately Aunt Caroline came to herrescue, and insisted on a rest during the early afternoon, andprescribed a drive later. But after driving a short time, Aunt Carolineherself suggested visiting the Oratory of San Bernardino, and one or twoother churches where certain masterpieces of Sodoma and other greatartists were to be seen.

  In the evening, after dinner, Uncle Jim brought in a number of letters,forwarded from Rome. There were three for Marion, whose face brightenedperceptibly as he glanced at the envelopes.

  "Here are two from Cranston," added Uncle Jim, as he gave Irma hers.

  "Cranston," exclaimed Katie, "is there any one here from Cranston? Thatis where my grandmother lives."

  "I know it," rejoined Irma, whereupon Katie tossed her head with alittle air of exaggerated surprise, as if to say, "And how does ithappen that you know anything about my grandmother?"

  "But I do not know your grandmother," continued Irma. "She has been awayever since I lived there. It is only Nap,--the little dog----"

  She could not bring herself to say "your little dog," even if she hadbeen willing to admit Katie's ownership.

  Instantly Katie comprehended. "Oh, you are the girl," she said, "whofound my little Pat."

  "Rescued him," began Aunt Caroline, who well knew the story.

  "Whereby hangs a tale," added Uncle Jim.

  "A dog's tail?" queried Richard, with a boy's desire to make a joke,although he didn't yet understand the story of this particular Nap.

  "I am sure I am very much obliged to you for taking care of my dog,"said Katie, "though my relations would have kept him for me."

  "They didn't seem able to," thought Irma.

  "Well, he's Irma's dog now," said Uncle Jim decidedly. "You would bequite sure he knows to whom he belongs if you could see him follow Irmaabout, as I saw him last summer."

  "Nap, as you call him, 'Pat' as I say, is still my dog. I have nevergiven him away. Every one knows that," and Katie looked in defiance atIrma.

  "As the bone of contention is so far away, by which I do not mean thatPat is unduly thin, it seems as if we might leave the subject in peacefor the present."

  "Of course," continued Katie, "I did not expect to be in Europe so long.But I am to join grandma in Paris next month, and a week or two later weshall sail. I shall be glad enough to see Pat again."

  There was no more just then for Irma to say. She wondered if Katiereally meant what she said. Later, when they were alone, she would askher.

  Soon Katie left the sitting-room, and Marion and Irma and one or twoothers for whom letters had come proceeded to read them.

  Richard, who had been politely silent for some time, now turned toIrma, when he saw she was at leisure. "Would you mind telling us aboutthe little dog. All I could understand was that Katie intends to haveher own way about something, and when that is the case, it is very hardto make her change her mind."

  "I should like to hear about it, too," said Marion. "I know just alittle about Nap."

  "I'll tell you what," cried the resourceful Richard. "There's a littlebalcony outside, at the end of the hall, just large enough for four. Ifwe go there, Ellen, Marion, and Miss Derrington, we can have the wholestory, without disturbing any one else."

  "There's really little enough to tell," began Irma, as they seatedthemselves outside. "Only, about three years ago, a little less,perhaps, when I first went to Cranston to live, one morning I met a boywith a small dog. He asked me to buy it to save it from being shot. Thelady who owned it was going abroad, he said, and had ordered it shot.But he thought it cruel, and was willing to sell it. Well, I took agreat fancy to the little creature, he had such lovely brown eyes; andwhile I was wondering whether I could buy him, Gertrude came along, andbetween us we bought him. Gertrude is always so generous." For a momentIrma was silent, as her mind went back to that memorable October day,and to the way in which the little dog had helped settle themisunderstanding between her and Gertrude.

  "Then we had to name him, and happened to choose Nap, which sounds somuch like his original 'Pat' that he must have felt pleased."

  "But where does Katie come in?" asked Richard.

  "That's the strange part of it. We took Nap with us on an excursion toConcord, and there we ran across Ada Amesbury, who is old Mrs.Grimston's granddaughter. Nap and she recognized each other at once,because, you see, he really belonged to Katie Grimston, whose home, youknow, is in Concord."

  "Well, if Mrs. Grimston or Katie wished to have the dog shot, justbecause they were going to Europe, I can't see why they should object toyour having him!"

  "Oh, naturally that story of the boy's was only made up. He saw achance to get a little money by selling the dog, and Katie's familythought Pat was lost. Ada Amesbury was to have taken care of him inKatie's absence. When I first heard about it I thought I ought to giveNap up, but Mrs. Amesbury said it was fair for me to keep him untilKatie's return."

  "I should say so!" interpolated Richard.

  "But now Katie has stayed away so long it will be very hard for us topart with Nap, especially for my little sister Tessie,--Theresa, Imean."

  "Oh, you and Katie can surely settle the matter now," said Ellen. "Sheshould be glad enough to let you keep him. A dog is a great trouble toany one who travels much."

  "I suppose Katie will stay at home for some time after she returns.Perhaps I oughtn't to say Katie behind her back, but I know so many whospeak of her in that way. She has quantities of friends in Cranston."

  "Ellen," said Richard, "even though Katie is our cousin, don't you knowher well enough to be sure that if she has once said she would claimNap, she is not likely to give in, or give up, or whatever you call it?"

  "That's the worst of it," said Ellen; "she isn't easy to influence."

  "Oh, well," sighed Irma, "I suppose if she is so fond of Nap, she has aright to him. Of course we have written to Mrs. Grimston and Ada haswritten to Katie, but she has always said she expected to have the dogon her return."

  "You could easily get another pet dog," interposed Marion, who thus farhad taken no part in the discussion.

  "It couldn't possibly be the same," and Marion knew that Irma wasdespondent.

  "It is cold," cried Ellen. "Let us go back to the sitting-room," and asthey passed through the dimly lit hall, Marion saw Irma wipe away atear. Had she known that he noticed this, and had she thought the matterworth explaining, she might have told him that Nap was not aloneresponsible for the tear, but that behind it was the feeling ofhomesickness, her very strong desire to see Tessie and the boys and herparents, and yes, even Mahala and Gertrude, and in fact every one inCranston.

  Marion this evening was more sympathetic than usual, because he hadreceived a letter with better news than any he had had since leavinghome. Yet such was his reticence that he could not talk of it, even toAunt Caroline.

  On their return to the sitting-room, when Irma was introduced for thefirst time to Mrs. Sanford, she partly understood the reason forRichard's extreme energy. Mrs. Sanford was pale and delicate inappearance, and as Richard's father had long been dead, she could seethat he not unnaturally had to take great responsibility, and had had tomake plans that under other conditions would have been first proposed byhis mother.

  "It seems a great pity," he was saying to Aunt Caroline, "that youshould not go on with us to San Gimignano. It's a fine drive, rightthrough the heart of Tuscany, to the queerest old town. You may neverhave such a chance again."

  "Richard!" exclaimed his mother, smiling, even while her tone held moreor less reproof.

  "A chance, I mean, to go with us."

  "One carriage would hardly hold seven persons."

  "No, there would be two carriages, and each would have a pair of thesefine Sienese horses. I have never seen stronger or better kept beasts inEurope, and one carriage shall be driven by that rosy-cheeked_cocchiere_
, who has been so devoted to you, mother, and we'll find histwin for the other carriage, and when any two in one carriage grow tiredof any other two, why they will change places with the others. And we'llhave two huge luncheon baskets for supper on the way, for of course toavoid the heat we must leave late in the afternoon. Oh, it will begreat; and it's only twenty-five miles, and if you wished you couldn'tgo by train, nearer than Poggibonsi."

  "You seem to have it so well arranged that the rest of us need not sayor do anything," said Uncle Jim, with an attempt at sarcasm that couldnot cut very deep.

  "Well, what do the others say? You, Marion, for example?"

  "Oh, it might be worth trying," responded Marion, and when no one reallydisagreed with Richard, he felt that the matter was settled as hewished.

  The next day Aunt Caroline and Uncle Jim devoted themselves to theAccademia. With Ellen and Marion, Irma did walk through the Accademia,with its countless pictures, a complete exhibition of the renownedSienese school, but there were very few paintings before which she caredto linger.

  "You won't go shopping with me?" asked Aunt Caroline, as she turnedaway. "They make fine old furniture here and beautiful carved frames."

  "Yes, and genuine old masters,--madonnas, bambinos, and all the saints,"said Marion. "Some one has been telling me about them."

  "Ah, but I am not looking for an old master," said Aunt Caroline, "and Ishall like the furniture all the better if it isn't old."

  The rest of this morning the young people strolled along the narrowpicturesque streets, occasionally going inside some old building whereRichard knew there was something to see, or standing at a corner, hewould give them the details of some bloody street combat between Guelphsand Ghibellines. Once he took them up into a high building, from whichthey viewed the old city wall, and from the same window he pointedtoward the field of Montaperto where the Sienese completely routed theirgreat enemies, the Florentines.

  "The battlefield is six miles away," he explained. "I am only pointingin its general direction. It's hard to believe that the Sienese killedtwelve thousand Florentines and made six thousand prisoners, though thatwas when Siena had a hundred thousand inhabitants, instead oftwenty-five thousand, as now."

  Richard took them to the Litza, the pretty park that is thronged withSienese, old and young, every afternoon, and he explained the nearnessof the farms that Irma had noticed between the Litza and the back oftheir hotel.

  Finally in the afternoon she went with Richard and Marion to visit thehouse of the famous Saint Catherine, in the street of the dyers, forCatherine's father, Bernincasa, had been a dyer, and in this small houseCatherine was born in 1347.

  Every room of the small house on this steep street had been turned intoa chapel or oratory. Life-size paintings of St. Catherine were on thewall. The pavement she had trodden was covered with wooden slats. Therooms where, as a little girl, she had helped her mother in her humblehousehold tasks were now richly decorated with paintings. There was acertain solemnity in all the rooms, in the smaller oratories, as in thelarger lower church. The pictures on the walls spoke of the saint's gooddeeds, and Richard told stories he had read of her kindness to the poor,of her comfort to prisoners, in one case staying by young Niccolo diToldo, holding his head even while the executioners were severing it.One of her missions was to the pope at Avignon, another to Rome, whereshe went with a band of her disciples, and her influence made itselffelt wherever she was.

  "She must have been a wonderful woman. Her memory is as fresh in Sienaas if she had lived but last year, and the reverence for her began evenbefore her death, more than six hundred years ago."

  The rest of the afternoon passed quickly, and all the young people spentthe evening pleasantly together. Although Irma was aware of a slightunfriendliness on Katie's part, the two girls talked and laughed aboutCranston people, some of whom Katie knew better than Irma, as she hadmade many visits at her grandmother's in Cranston.

  When the day dawned when Mrs. Sanford and her party were to drive toSan Gimignano, it was clear that Richard had carried his point. AuntCaroline at breakfast announced that she had decided to shorten her stayat Siena. "Our trunks have already gone on to Florence, and there isnothing to prevent our driving to San Gimignano with the Sanfords." Theplan pleased Irma, who was really anxious to see the strange town thatRichard had described. Uncle Jim professed to be resigned to anythingthat suited Aunt Caroline; and Marion, although he said nothing, wasevidently interested in what promised to be a novel experience.

  Accordingly, toward four o'clock, two large comfortable carriages droveup to the door of the _pension_, each drawn by a pair of sturdy horses,with a young, red-cheeked, amiable driver. All the employes of thehouse, down to the cook and a little scullion, lined up beside the door,with hands extended for the centimes and francs that Uncle Jim andRichard doled out, some of the boarders waved a good-by from the littlebalcony--and then they were off.

  At first Marion and Aunt Caroline were in the carriage with Mrs. Sanfordand Katie.

  "Families do get so bored by one another travelling," said Richard."That's one reason I hoped we might take this trip together. Any one whogrows particularly tired of any one else has only to ask to exchange tothe other carriage. Ellen and I usually get on very well together, butKatie----"

  "Hush, Richard," and Ellen laid a warning finger on her brother's lips.

  The road over which they travelled was hard and smooth, and althoughhouses were few, there was much of interest on every side. Richardinvented many tales by the way, about noble Florentines riding thisroad, only to be waylaid and killed by Sienese rivals. In his storiesthe Sienese were always as successful as they were in the paintings onthe walls of the public buildings in Siena. Once they stopped to lookback, and the coachman chose the most favorable point for a last view ofthe city wall, with one of the old gates.

  Richard and Ellen both understood Italian, and spoke it fairly well.

  "I have just been complimenting the _cocchiere_ on his accent," saidRichard, "and he took it quite as a matter of course. He says that everyone knows that only in Siena can one hear the true Italian, and that thestrangers who wish to speak Tuscan properly come to Siena to study."

  "I thought that it was Florence where one must go," said Ellen.

  "Hush, hush," whispered Richard; "if our coachman should understand you,I should fear for our lives. The very horses might run away and dash usinto a ditch. Florence and Siena forsooth!"

  The coachman himself did his part in entertaining them. He pointed outthe entrance to one estate, and told a story or two about its owner,whose house was set far back and hidden from the road by extensivewoods.

  "Where do the working people live who cultivate these great farms?"asked Ellen, and the man answered by pointing to a large house in thedistance. "Sometimes twenty or thirty people live in one of the housesof the _contadino_, or farmer. Their real home is in some town, but theystay with the farmer while he needs them."

  Even with the best of company a long ride on a warm afternoon becomestiresome. After a time Irma found herself counting the milestones, orkilometre stones, and she saw that instead of being perfectly plainblocks, most of them had some little carved ornament. On one hill theysaw a wall that enclosed an old town, and the coachman could hardly findwords to express the rapidity with which the population was diminishing.

  "Why in the world should any one wish to live on the top of a hill?"asked Uncle Jim. "It was all very well when war was their occupation,but in these piping days of peace it would be too much like work to haveto mount that hill daily for the protection of that old castle wall."

  After a while the party came to a place where they could draw up by theside of the road and examine their lunch baskets.

  "The first hotel luncheon I ever saw," exclaimed Uncle Jim, "withoutchicken legs and butterless rolls."

  "You never before had me to order for you," said Richard. "I know theirtricks and their manners, and so I did a little shopping on my ownaccount. At this time of d
ay I knew we would need nothing verysubstantial, and now you may praise the Sienese fruit and pastry to yourheart's content, for that luncheon came chiefly from the little shops,and not from the landlady's larder."

  "We can show appreciation without mere words." And soon the luncheonwas finished to the last crumb, with due appreciation.

  The air was cooler, and shortly they were passing through a factory townat the foot of a hill. As working hours were just over, people weresitting at their open doors, or going in and out of the little shops,much as they would in a New England village. Indeed, Uncle Jim said itmade him think of a certain New Hampshire town that he knew well, until,as the horses clattered up the hilly street, suddenly at one side werethe high substantial walls of a mediaeval town.

  Through an open gate they could see the old, narrow streets and highhouses. In the beginning there had been but a castle here, around whichthe town had grown. Now, in modern times, it had spread all over thehill, or perhaps had spread up from the little mill that had had itsfirst humble beginning on the stream below.

  "I seem to be looking at history as it is made," said Irma.

  "That's a fine way of putting it," cried Richard.

  "Irma sees things exactly as they are," added Uncle Jim.

  Soon they had descended the other side of the high hill they had solately mounted. Ahead of them, and still a good distance away, wasanother hill with a coronet of slender towers.

  "San Gimignano!" exclaimed Richard.

  "I have never seen it before, but I know it from the pictures. Isn't itpicturesque? I wanted to surprise you, Ellen, so I have said hardlyanything to you about it. But you all know," and he included Uncle Jimand Irma in his remarks, "that you are soon to be inside of the one townin Italy that has kept its old mediaeval towers. If the whole town is asquaint as the towers, you will thank me for bringing you here."

  "We thank you now," said Uncle Jim.

  "Why is the carriage ahead waiting for us?" asked Ellen.

  "Katie thought you might like to come in here for the rest of thejourney."

  "Probably Katie herself wishes to change," whispered Richard.

  Whereupon Ellen jumped lightly from the carriage, and a moment later sheand Katie had exchanged places.

  San Gimignano lost none of its picturesqueness as they drew near it,passing olive orchards and vineyards as they went up the hill.

  "What a beautiful country!" cried Irma. "The people up there must bevery happy if it is all as pretty."

  It was now growing dusk, and the horses took the last turn very quickly.Irma noticed that Katie was quiet. Could it be that she and Marion hadhad some disagreement? The driver hurried on through an arched gateway.

  "Oh, a narrow, city street," cried Irma, in a tone of disappointment.

  "No matter," responded Richard, as their horse clattered along. "We'llget some fun out of it to-morrow. Now, in the dusk, I'll admit it doeslook rather like a tenement district."

  After their long, warm drive, it wasn't a pleasing prospect to findtheir hotel on this narrow street instead of in a pleasant garden, asKatie said she had pictured it.

  "At least it is different from any other hotel we have seen," saidEllen, philosophically, "and we hoped San Gimignano would be ratherqueer."

  "But not this kind of queerness," Katie continued to protest.