OREGON-SUNDAY JOURNAL, PORTLAND, SUNDAY, MORNING DECEMBER
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' AN EPISODE IN VENICE. W
IT was half-past ten in the morning of a glorious
Fourth of July in Veniceglorious with radiant
sunshine) blue sky, and' shimmering waters.
There was no display 'of flags and bunting,' no
sound of fire-crackers, nothing that makes the
day noticeable in America,' and Dorothy Sf one
man, of Chicago, aged eleven, walking beside
her. father that bright morning, never once thought
what day it was. . r .
They had arrived ( in Venice early, after traveling
all night, and Mrs.. Stoneman, suffering with a head
ache, having sought the quiet of her room, it chanced
that Dorothy and her father started for a few; hours'
sight-seeing by themselves. '
Arjiome Dorothy had prided herself upon being one
of the most patriotic girls in the country. Just before
the Fourth she had always made out a list of fire
works for her father to bring her what she considered
necessary for the proper celebration of the day. Hav
. inir no brothers, Elmer Dewey, who lived next door,
used to come over and assist both in selecting the fire
works and in celebrating with them. He had given
her a small flag when they said good-by, and she had
promised to carry it all day and to think of him on
the Fourth of July, wherever she might be.
This had been only three months ago. But when
going from place to place in a foreign country it is
not always an easy matter even to keep trace of what
day of the week it is; ami there being no preparations I
going on, as theje are in America, to remind them of
the approach of the F6urth, it slipped into place like
,any ordinary day, and no one recognized it.
A short walk brought Dorothy and her father to the
front of a great church, before a recess, high up over
the entrance of which stood four bronze horses, and
Mr. Stoneman, taking a book from his pocket, came to
a standstill. :
It was doubtless all well worth looking at, but soon
an object caught Dorothy's -eye that was of much
greater interest to her than churches or bronze horses.
A little girl of about her own age was crossing the
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bareheaded, and her small face was full of winning
gentleness. She was all brown, hair, eyes' and com
plexion varying in shade from chocolate to cream,
and her frock looke'd as if it had faded for the purpose
of blending with the tints of the wearer. Across one
shoulder she carried a sort of wooden yoke, some
thing like an Indian bow, from each end of which was
suspended a small copper bucket filled with water.
Mr. Stoneman was. gazing upward, absorbed in con
templation of the bronze horses, and the girl observ
ing his attitude and apparent interest stopped, slipped
the yoke from her shoulder, and placing the buckets
upon the ground, came close beside him and looked up
in the same direction with frowning curiosity.
It may have been that she. thought something was
about to take place with those horses, or perhaps she
could not understand why the tall stranger was gazing
at them. Whatever it was, after a short scrutiny she
turned away, and in doing so came face to face with
The little girls looked at each other, and then both
smiled at once, one in English and the other in
Italian, but it needed no interpreter to make either
understand. . , . . .
Dorothy put out her hand and caressingly touched
the somewhat soiled one of her companion, and tfitf
smiling continued. All at once, as if some recollecr
tion had come to her, the small brown water-carrier
turned to where her buckets were standing, and raising
the yoke to her shoulder, with-a backward glance
showing her face still illuminated, trotted awaywand
disappeared round an adjacent corner.
Mr. Stoneman being still absorbed in the study of
the front of the church. Dorothy walked to the corner;
a moment later, to see if her new acquaintance was
still in sight.
Yes, there she was stopping at an open door ; -.and
Dorothy ran down the narrow street to exchange
smiles with her once more, the little brown maiaen?
put down her buckets, and the children drew near and
looked into each other's face again. There was a gull
as wide as the world between them, but the living in-,
stinct of childish sympathy spun its invisible thread
An untidy woman, and a little tot who evidently had
tnA a morning walk before being washed, stopped
Z ,inr to rare at the unusual sight of the little
American in their neighborhood. Half a dozen boys
thm. and before
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Dorothy was aware she was the center of a curiou
gfItU suddenly occurred to her that she was out of her
father's sieht and had betted return. Edging her way
out between the spectators, she tripped back to the
CIt looked like the same corner she had turned a few
minutes before, but before l going many steps .bfflonJ
it she discovered that she had made a mistake. There,
was nothing in sight that sh remembered. Retracing
her steps, she tried again; but instead of tom.ng to the
church where she had left her father, slie found her
self at the end 0f a street where a short flight of stone
$T St? Dohy "w'ith a sudden thrill-a
that went from her heart out to the ends of her
finKiTwd tow and back again-that he. was lost!
l ief f ather had reneatedly warned her not to wander
from his sight. She vlvidlv" remembered the; warning
n0ShVwas too frightened' to cry. Round" the corned
and Sd another narrow street she ran, over a bridge
?hat sVrnedto her excited senses tobe stretched ,
across the canal by magic at her approachA; v ...
faces wYre passing 16-andTfror- their
S3 hounot Unfriendly, only, added to her
Sam! She was about to start again, m another.d.-
rection, when her heart save -a 'bound of ioy. Sud
denly, as though she had come up out of the stones
of the street, the little brown water-carrier stood be-
fore her I
- Dorothy had known in her life what -it was to be
glad, but ne er before had she felt the gladness of that
moment; . v ' . .
Before the smile of the brown maiden had widened
sufficiently, to ,ahow . half 'her : white teeth, Dorothy's'
arms were" elapsed about her, and in the great uni
versal language of tears she made known her trouble.
Several passers-by stopped, and there was much talk
ing and gesticulating, as if all were offering advice,
which doubtless was the case, -and then the Venetian
AN INSTANT LATER THE BOY, CAP IN
girl took Dorothy by the hand, and with an under
standing between them as perfect as if it had been
expressed in words, they left the chattering group and
tripped back up the quaint old street.
Over'a bridge or two, and then a few yards beside
a canal, it was but a very short distance, although
Dorothy seemed to have gone miles, when a sudden
turn brought .them into the square where the great
fhurch stood. The bronze horses looked quite like
amiliar friends to Dorothy, who, dropping her com
panion's hand, ran to the place where she had left her
father.
There were a number of people moving about the
square, but Mr. Stoneman was nowhere to be seen.
Dqroth'y looked in every direction, and then the tears
returned and again flooded her blue eyes.
The. little Venetian undoubtedly understood the situ
ation, for she took Dorothy's hand once more, and
pointing in an opposite direction, murmured some un
intelligible words and Dorothy, drying her tears, went
willingly with her in the direction indicated.
A fe,w minutes' walk brought them to the side. of
fhe square, where a broad flight of steps led downto
the water, and a row of long, slender black boats, or
gondolas, were moored.
They paused at the top, and the little brown girl
looked up and down among the boatmen lying idly
about. - Very likely she was looking for some gondolier
who was known to understand English. Dorothy's
glances also wre wandering about, and all at once
they fell on something thai set her heart beating again
in the most violent manner.
There, on the shining blue-green waters before her,
was a gondola silently gliding toward the place where
they were standing. The only occupant beside the
Italian who stood up profiling it was a boy somewhat
Older than herself.'wearing a sailor-cap and blouse.
But it was neither the fine gondola nor its occupants
that caused the commotion under Dorothy's bodice.
it was the fond, familiar sight of an American flag
ftvhich she saw flying at the stern of the boat! Never
before, though she loved them well, had the Stars and
Btripes appeared half so dear and beautiful to her.
vvitn a cry oi welcome tnat startica tne laiers aoour
the landing, she ran down the stone steps, and reached
fhe water's edge just at the moment that the graceful
feondol i came . ongs.de.
An instant later the boy. can in hand, was standing
beside her. He was a head taller than she, with the
friendliest gray eyes imaginable, and hair that looked -bronze
in the sunshine.
Dorothy saw that he was almost as distinctly Ameri
can as the flag. Eagerly, as if she feared he might
escape, before she could make known her need, she
burst out, in a tone the genuine distrss of which there
was no mistaking: v,; :
"Oh, excuse me,, but you are" an" American, are n't
you? and won't you please help me to find my fattier?
I 've" lost hinv and don't know my way or or any
thing." The tears were coming again.
"'Don't don't cry.' said the boy, replacing his cap
with one hand., "You '11 soon find your father." And
then, 'by way of further consolation, he added: "One
can't get lost for' very king in Venice."
;Dorothy held an entirely different opinion, but she
did not contradict him. ' She brokenly told him of the
morning's experience, not forgetting the part the little
brown rirl (who had drawn near and was watching
them with deep interest) had plaved.
Do you remember the name of the hotel where you
are staying?" he asked, as she paused. to tuck away
her' handkerchief somewhere beneath the folds of her
frock.
hfeGrancLHote answered orotnyher-fact
liehtin? up. "Papa said h had quite a homelike
sound." .: :. , ; r; ; . ' 1.11
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' The boy's eyes looked friendlier than ever as he
said: .
"I don't know your name yet." 1
"Oh," exclaimed Dorothy, "I forgot we were
strangers 1" " Then they both laughed and the little
Venetian, 'being within the influence, smiled
"I 'm Dorothy Stoneman,'-' she continued, "and we
live in Chicago. And, oh, I 'd like to much to find out
her name I" indicating the little brown girl. "She, has
been so good to me !" .
' "That s easy to find out." replied the boy. And, to
Dorothy's surprise, he addressed the little Venetian in
her own, tongue.
"Her name is Bettina," he announced a moment later.'
"Please tell her how much I thank her," said Doro
thy,' "and that I want her to stay with me till I find
.my father, and he '11 give her some money."
This was duly interpreted; and the brown face
beamed. .. ; ' ''"
"Now." said the young knight, "I '11 take you to the
hotel. Your lather would very likely go hack there
' first, T believe, for i guide."
He spoke a few words in Italian to the man who had
, remained standing in the gondola, an apparently in
terested spectator throughout the interview. Silently
the boat was turned about and brought to a standstill
at .the steps. Dorothy was gallantly assisted to a seat.
Bettina stepped lightly in without help. Then the boy
seated himself, facing t Dorothy, and the gondola glided
out on the smooth, bright Water.
" ft was like a scene out of. a story-book, and in the
pleasant novelty of the situation Dorothv forgot her
troubles.
HAND, WAS STANDING BESIDE HER.
Before the hotel came in sight she and her new ac
quaintance were on terms of friendship that under or
dinary circumstances it would have taken weeks to
reach. In the exchange of confidences she learned that
her companion's name was Paul Mathews, that he and
his parents had been living in Venice a year, and that
their home was in Bostoiv where they expected to re
turn in the autumn, to which time he was longingly
looking forward.
The marble front' of the hotel was soon pointed out,
and. as they drew near, Dorothy recognized among
several figures on the porch the form of her father.
Some one in the group called his attention to the ap
proaching gondola, and then there Was a wavjng of
hands and the sound of voices exchanging happy greet
ings across the canal, and a few minutes later the little
party alighted at the steps.
Mr. Stofteman's face still wore an anxious look. Me
had been just about setting out with a guide to search
for Dorothy.
Introductions and explanations followed, and Bct
tina's eyes sparkled at sight of the silver coins that
Dorothy's father placed in her little brown palm.
To Paul he gave his warmest (hank, with many a
hearty handshake.
"After (his I shall be prouder (linn ever of "Young
America," added Mr.'Stonctnan, putting his arm about
Paul's shoulders. There are no hoys in the world
like those of my own country.''
It was the flag I .noticed hrst. cried Dorothy. If
it had n't ieen for (hat I might n't have seen Paul.
How lovely it is" looking a him admiringly "to
think you always carry our flag on your gondola I"
"But I don't always," renlied Paul, honestly; "only
on American holidays. Of course we celebrate' the
glorious Fourth, and this being the Fourth of July '
"Oh, no," gasped Dorothv, interrupting; "it can't
be!"
It had fallen like a bolt from a clear sky. A vision
of Chicago, and Elmer Dewey, and the flag that had
been lying folded in' the bottom of the trunk for three
months, came before her. . -
"Papa,x papa !" she cried reproachfully, "how could
we forget it?"
Mr. Stoneman stared blankly, and Bcttina's eyes grew
grave with wondering what all the excitement was
about.
"-There 's plenty of time yet to celebrate," ventured
Paul, who had not fully gra'sped the, situation.
VYou don't understand," sorrowfully replied Doro
thy. And then she told him about her playmate at
home, and of his parting gift, which she had promised
to display on Independence Day, wherever she might
happen to be.
"I '11 be so ashamed, to tell him that I fogot it was
the Fourth until almost noon," she concluded, with a
deep sigh. The thought of the offense against patriot
ism was overwhelming. "
"It can't be heloe," said Mr. Stoneman, in a sympa
. thizing voice. "We must get the flag out now, and
make the best of a, bad matter."
Paul had taken out his watch and was intently look
ing at it: then for the second time that morning fie
cameto Dorothy's rescue. This time he brought art
inspiration instead of a gondola, but it served her needV
just as well.
"We 've all forgotten about the difference of timej?'
he said, his gray eyes dark in their earnestness. "'It V
not quite five o clock in the morning in Chicago now;
. The people there are just wakinsr up."
The sunshine broke out on Dorothv's face and her
feet began to dance.. She grasped Bettina by her dis
ensaired hand, and in an ecstasy-of delight cried oistr
"Get the flagquic!. papa L Just thinkof it; Elmer '$
not P yet, the day is. n't beirun, and we have n't lost '
the Fourth bfjvt after all - ';; r j -
COPYRIGHT' IV THC CENTURY COMPANY
c
y JOIM MOW.
ou all have heard of Venice, that curious city on
the Adriatic Sea where the streets are canals and the
men go from place to place in gondolas instead of in
carriages. Long ago Venice was one of the wealthiest
i ities in the world : its great fleets brought home the
merchandise of the East, jewels and silks and spices;
its merchant princes built those beautiful palaces which
itand to-day beside the Grand Canal, most of them
sadly in need of repair, it is true, but majestic still,
though the plaster is falling from their weather-beater
walls. Perhaps Venice is even more beautiful now in
its decay than it was in the days of its greatest glory,
for age has a beauty of its own, softer and more deli
cate than that of youth. The bright colors which once
shone with dazzling brilliancy under the Italian sky
are now subdued and mellowed like those of an old
tapestry. So, though wealth and commerce are de
serting the city in the sea, its loveliness increases from
year to year and attracts to it thousand of, visitors
A CANAL
. from all parti of th? arth i from Germany and Eng
land and America, and even from far-away China and
Japan. These visitors corne in the greatest numbers in
the early springtime, for then the weather is best;
the days are clear and fine, and the bright southern
sun makes Italy warm and delightful when people in
more northern countries are still shivering with the
cold. So during the pleasant spring days the old
square of San Marco, the Public Gardens, and the
bathing beach at the Lido are crowded with strangers,
while the graceful black gondolas which dart through
the narrow canals are nearly all decorated with the
t
flags of foreign countries, among which the Stars and
Stripes are not lacking.
But it is on a moonlight night that Venice is most
beautiful. Then the lights along the quay adjoining the
Doge's Palace show throngs of laughing people; the
ancient mansions that line the . Grand Canal seem to
be. gazing calmly down at their brokrn reflections in
the dark waters, and the moon rides high in the
heavens abpve the white dome of the church of "Our
Lady of Salvation." Suddenly the soft strains of 1
tci music mi uic air. iney come irom a large
boat, all aclow with cav rnlnn vnA r.nl.rn T fint.
aiong tne center of the Grand Canal, rtie crowd on
the quay cease chattering and laughing for an instant,
the balconies of the hotels fill with eager listeners, and
the fleet gondolas which have been darting about itt
the moonlight cluster quicklj around the boat,' where j
boy is singing to the accompaniment of two or three
stringed instruments. i , ,
The young Venetian's beautiful Voice rises dear and!
strong on the still night air as he sings an Italian love
song. To many of his hearers his words are withouS
meaning, but the language of music is universal: j
singer needs ng iatcrprstcr. so the stranger, as Uk
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ANTIQUE STAIRWAY IN A PRIVATE FAUCI
IN VENICE
leans baCk on the cushioned seat of his gondola, under
stands as well as the native All discordant sounds are
hushed ; only a faint murmur from the people on the
quay, the soft rubbing of one gunwale against another
as the gondolas snuggle closely toother, and the lap,
difffr?; t nPP'eS mingIe i,h t,,c "nsarto make it
Z .? .tVer ftr"rd. when the music of that
song flashes through his memory, as music has a way
of doing, he-witt see again the moonlight and the daHc
SiheTay.ber
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