Or along which his disappointed father followed him in the fury of persecution, after he had given his life to poverty and deeds of love!  Look upon Mount Subasio, whither he so loved to retire for prayer!  See those very scenes in the midst of which he and his brethren lived six or seven hundred years ago!  Could it be possible that she and Barbara were about to do this?  It was almost as exciting as when the first thought of coming to Italy had entered their minds.

Finally the morning came; and through the winding valley they drove fifteen miles, until they arrived at the church Santa Maria degli Angeli, situated on a plain at the foot of the hill on which sits Assisi.  This immense church contains the Portiuncula,—­that little chapel so dear to St. Francis, in which he founded the Franciscan order of monks, and in which he died,—­and is a veritable Mecca, to which pilgrimages are made from all parts of the Roman Catholic world.

They spent some time here in visiting the different spots of interest within the church; in going out to see the tiny garden, where grow the thornless rose-bushes with blood-stained leaves, according to the old tradition, at which they were permitted to look through glass; and in listening to the rambling talk of a transparent-faced old monk in brown, Franciscan garb, who waxed more and more daring as he watched the interested faces of the party, until his tales of the patron saint grew so impossible that even poor Bettina’s faith was sorely tried, and Malcom stole furtive glances at her to see how she bore it all.

At length they were free, and went on up the hill to the city.  They stopped at a little hotel whose balcony commanded a magnificent view of the country, lingered a while, lunched, and then went out to visit the great double church of San Francesco, beneath which the saint is buried, and where are notable frescoes by Cimabue and Giotto.

When all was over, and they were taking their carriages for Perugia, Mr. Sumner said to his sister:  “If you do not mind, I will drive in the other carriage,” and so took his seat with Barbara, Bettina, and Malcom.  All felt a little tired and were silent for a time, each busy with his own thoughts.  Finally Barbara asked, in a thoughtful tone:—­

“Did you notice the names on the leaves of the travellers’ book at the hotel?  I glanced over the opposite page as I wrote mine, and among the addresses were Australia, Germany, Norway, England, and America.”

“I noticed it,” answered Mr. Sumner, “and of course, like you, could not help asking myself the question, ’Why do travellers from all parts of the Christian world come to this small city, which is so utterly unimportant as the world reckons importance?’ Simply because a good man was once born, lived, and died here.  Surely one renews one’s faith in God and humanity as one thinks of this fact.”

“May not the paintings alone draw some visitors?” asked Malcom, after thinking for a few moments of his uncle’s words.