"Oh, yes, mother, he is a nice fellow, though a sort of a prig, and I
wish to do all we can for him; only--I do hope he will not monopolize
Betty and Barbara always, as he has seemed to do this afternoon."

"My boy, beware of that little green imp we read of," laughed Mrs.
Douglas. "You have been too thoroughly 'monarch of all' thus far. Can
you not share your realm with this homesick young man?"

"But he has always had all for himself, mother. He does not know what it
is to share."

"Malcom! be yourself."

The mother's eyes looked straight up into those of her tall boy, and her
hand sought his with a firm, warm pressure that made him fling back his
noble young head with an emphatic "I am ashamed of myself! Thank you,
mother dear."

That evening, as all were sitting on the balcony watching the soft, rosy
afterglow that was creeping over the hills and turning to glowing points
the domes and spires of the fair city, Mr. Sumner said:--

"If you are willing, I would like to talk with you a little before we
make our visits to Santa Maria Novella and Santa Croce to-morrow. You
will understand better the old pictures we shall see there if we
consider beforehand what we ought to look for in any picture or other
work of art. Too many go to them as to some sort of recreation,--simply
for amusement,--simply to gratify their love for beautiful color and
form, and so, to these, the most beautiful picture is always the best.