“We will begin at the beginning,” said Mr. Sumner; “one vital mistake often made is in not starting far enough back.  In order to realize in the slightest degree the true work of these old masters, one must know in what condition the art was before their time; or rather, that there was no art.  So we will first go to the Accademia delle Belle Arti, or Academy, as we will call it, and from there to the church, Santa Maria Novella.  And one thing more,—­you are welcome to go to my library and learn all you can from the books there.  I am sure I do not need to tell those who have studied so much as you already have that the knowledge you shall gain from coming into contact with any new thing must be in a great degree measured by that which you take to it.”

“How good you are to give us so much of your time, Mr. Sumner,” said Barbara, with sparkling eyes.  “How can we ever repay you?”

“By learning to love this subject somewhat as I love it,” replied Mr. Sumner; but he thought as he felt the magnetism of her young enthusiasm that he might gain something of compensation which it was impossible to put into words.

* * * * *

“Are you not going with us, dear Mrs. Douglas?” asked Bettina, as the little party were preparing to set forth on the appointed morning.

“Not to-day, dear, for I have another engagement”

“I think I know what mamma is going to do,” said Margery as they left the house.  “I heard the housemaid, Anita, telling her last evening about the illness of her little brother, and saying that her mother is so poor that she cannot get for the child what he needs.  I think mamma is going to see them this morning.”

“Just like that blessed mother of ours!” exclaimed Malcom.  “There is never anybody in want near her about whom she is not sure to find out and to help!  It will be just the same here as at home; Italians or Americans—­all are alike to her.  She will give up anything for herself in order to do for them.”

“I am glad you know her so well,” said his uncle, with a smile.  “There is no danger that you can ever admire your mother too much.”

“Oh!” exclaimed Barbara, as after a little walk they entered a square surrounded by massive buildings, with arcades, all white with the sunshine.  “Look at that building!  It is decorated with those dear little babies, all swathed, whose photographs we have so often seen in the Boston art stores.  What is it?  Where are we?”

“In the Piazza dell’ Annunziata,” replied Mr. Sumner, “and an interesting place it is.  That building is the Foundling Hospital, a very ancient and famous institution.  And the ‘swathed babies’ are the work of Andrea della Robbia.”

“Poor little innocents!  How tired they must be, wrapped up like mummies and stuck on the wall like specimen butterflies!” whispered Malcom in an aside to Bettina.

“Hush! hush!” laughed she.  “Your uncle will hear you.”