that line its sides. No one who has never seen these shops of Venice can
form any conception of how fascinating they are with their strands of
glittering beads or yards upon yards of marvelous laces.

Often Andrea would exclaim, as they flattened their noses against the
glass, "When I am a man, I will work in the glass factory as my father
does, and, perhaps, who knows, I shall discover some new glaze which shall
make all the world amazed?" He had never forgotten the day when his father
had taken him to the factory and shown him the molten glaze and the workmen
blowing the glass into marvelous shapes. That day he had decided upon his
future career.

But little Maria cared more for the laces, and would shyly point to some
especially beautiful piece and say softly:

"Perhaps, it was the madre who made that."

Once she followed an American woman into the shop and stood by her side
watching her bargain for an exquisite collar. So intently she looked that
the woman turned and met her gaze, remarking to her companion:

"Even the children have it in them--I mean the love for beautiful things;
and did you see her fingers?--any one could tell they were meant for
lace-making."

Sometimes the children lingered so long in this way that the bronze figures
would strike twelve, and they would have to hurry back so as not to keep
old Paolo waiting for his noonday lunch.

Then, in some little recess around the corner of the church, with countless