see from their windows or from the streets as they went to and fro.
And when they got aboard ship and had the whole sky to look at, they
revelled in their night hours on the deck, and in picking out the
constellations and their "bright, particular stars." This led the
Captain to tell Mary Alice something of the stars as the sailors'
friends; and she had one of the most memorable evenings of her life
when he explained to her something of the science of navigation and
made her see how their great greyhound of the ocean, just like the
first frail barks of the Tyrians, picked its way across trackless
wastes of sea by the infallible guidance of "the friendly stars." All
this particularly interested Mary Alice because of Some One who lived
much in the open and spent many and many a night on the broad deserts,
looking up at the stars.

They landed at Naples, and lingered a fortnight in that lovely
vicinity; then, up to Rome, to Florence and Venice, to Milan and the
Italian Lakes, through Switzerland into France, and so to Paris.
Godmother had once spent a winter at Capri; she had spent several
winters in Florence. She knew Venice well. She had hosts of dear,
familiar things to show Mary Alice in each place.

At last they came to Paris. Godmother lamented that it was in July
they came; but Mary Alice, who had no recollections of Paris in April
and May, found nothing to lament. They stayed more than a month--and
made a number of the enchanting little journeys which can be made out
of Paris forever and ever without repeating, it seems.

Then, with a trunk in which were two "really, truly" Paris
dresses--very, very modest ones, to be sure, but unmistakably touched
with Parisian chic--and a mind in which were hundreds of wonderful