The Story of Glass | Page 8

vases--this is one; the Auldjo Vase, also from Pompeii and now in the
British Museum, is another; and the Portland Vase, which is there too,
makes a third. The design on the Portland Vase is considered even finer
than this. We shall see it and I will tell you its history when we get to
London."
What weren't they to see!
Jean's head was a jumble of fairy anticipations--of Crown Jewels,
palaces, gondolas, famous pictures, and scenes of undreamed of beauty.
The Tower of London merged itself with visions of Napoleon's Tomb,
while in and out of her mind flitted fragmentary pictures of Notre
Dame and the Vatican. Everything seemed so old!
"At first I stood with my mouth open when I was told things were built,
or dug up, or made hundreds of years ago," laughed Jean. "But now I
find I am growing fussy, and unless a thing is thousands of years old it
scarcely seems worth looking at. How horribly new they must think us
in America! Even Bunker Hill and the State House, Hannah, are very
modern," she added teasingly.
"Now, Jean, if this trip to Europe is going to make you turn up your
nose at your native land the best thing you can do is to face round and
go straight back home," was Hannah's severe reply.
"There, there, you dear old thing! Don't worry. I love my America, but
you should have learned by this time that I never can resist seeing you
bristle. But even you, bigoted as you are, must admit that a great deal
seems to have happened in the world before we on the other side of the
sea were alive at all."
"Much of it," observed Hannah with dignity, "was nothing to be proud
of, and it's as well they kept it on this side of the ocean."

From Naples Uncle Bob whirled his bewildered charges to Rome and
then to Florence, and while he was busy transacting business Hannah
and Jean were put in charge of a courier and taken to see so many
pictures and churches that Hannah begged never to be shown another
masterpiece or another spire so long as she lived.
"Bless your heart, Mr. Bob, if you were to lean the Sistine Madonna
right up against the table in my room I wouldn't turn my head to look at
it. And as for churches--I wouldn't accept Westminster Abbey as a gift.
Tell 'em not to urge it on me, for I wouldn't take it even if I could get it
through the customs free of duty. The things I'd like best at this very
minute would be an east wind and some baked beans."
But when they reached Venice and saw their first gondola even Hannah
was forced to admit that it far outshone the Boston swan-boats. The
travelers arrived late at night, and on passing through the station came
out on a broad platform where, instead of cabs and cars, numberless
gondolas floated, illumined by twinkling lights.
"Oh!" murmured Jean in a hushed whisper.
It was indeed a beautiful sight. Before them a stretch of water flooded
by the full moon wandered off into a multitude of tiny canals shut in on
either side by murky dwellings of stone or brick. In and out of these
dim little avenues plied boatmen who shouted a warning in shrill Italian
as they rounded the turns.
Uncle Bob lost no time in summoning a gondolier, and soon the party
were being swept along by the sturdy strokes of a swarthy Venetian
who, Hannah declared in an undertone, looked like nothing so much as
a full-fledged brigand. She could not be persuaded to take her hand off
her luggage, but sat clutching it with all her strength until she arrived at
the hotel. Jean, on the other hand, was too excited by the novelty of the
scene to know or care what the boatman looked like. Her one fear
seemed to be that if she went to bed and allowed herself to fall asleep
the wonderful water streets might vanish forever. It took all Uncle
Bob's pleading to make her close her eyes. At last, however, she did
and when she opened them in the morning her very first thought was to

fly to the window and see if the canals were still there.
No, it was not a dream!
There were the moving gondolas, the narrow water streets, and the
glorious dome of Del Salute directly opposite across the sparkling
expanse of the Grand Canal.
Jean suppressed a cry of delight, and scurried into her clothes.
"Now, Uncle Bob," she announced at breakfast, "I want to go straight
out in a gondola the minute I have finished my chocolate and rolls. I
think I am pretty good