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THE GIRLS’
COMPANION.
Jury 6, 1907.
ment, “I wish I had been born without a
conscience.”
She put Rob down and walked away to
“T just can’t do it!” she
said to herself. “ Give up that lovely scen-
ery and all the fun I’ve counted on for
weeks? And my new mountain dress is so
pretty!” Then the remembrance of Bar-
bara’s pale face rushed upon her and Claire
felt suddenly condemned.
She came back to Rob after a while and
picked him gently off the floor. ‘ Did you
know, darling,” she asked in a faltering
voice, “that your sister was a horrid,
selfish thing?” As she kissed the little
fellow, some hot tears fell on the curly
head and the victory was won.
When Mrs. Graham came into the room
half an hour later, she was surprised at the
brightness of her daughter’s face. ‘ Do
you think, mamma,” Claire asked with a
half-mischievous look, “ that you would con-
sider me a competent nurse girl?”
Mrs. Graham only stared, and Claire
went on, “ Because I might take care of
Rob through the summer, and we could
send Barbara to some farmhouse where she
could rest. It wouldn’t be nearly as ex-
pensive as my mountain trip.”
“But, my dear,” cried her mother, won-
deringly, “do you realize how much you
are planning to give up?”
“Oh, yes, I know,” answered Claire, with
a rather misty smile. “ And I don’t won-
der you mistrust me, mother dear, I’m such
a horrid, selfish little thing. But I’m going
to turn over a new leaf now, and try to
think of somebody besides myself.”
It is very easy to talk and dream of self-
sacrifice. The practice is more difficult
than the theory.
Claire realized the distinction between
the two when the next week her friends
went away, regretfully leaving her behind.
The gay letters that came to her empha-
sized the difference between life at the
breezy mountains and her monotonous sum-
mer, and yet in her work at home Claire
was finding a new kind of happiness.
he had always dearly loved her little
brother, and she was proud of the increas-
ing fondness with which he clung to her,
The tender approval in her mother’s face
was a constant inspiration to the girl’s
heart. And when Barbara came back, her
cheeks flushed with returning health and
the light of a grateful happiness in her
eyes, Claire felt repaid for her sacrifice.
————
A SURPRISE FOR MOTHER.
BY EMMA C. DOWD.
“Mamma, can we go over to the park
this afternoon, you and I?”
“I’m afraid not, dear. See that basket-
ful of stockings! It will take me all the
afternoon to darn them.”
“Til help you. I oo sew!’ and Ber-
thes face grew bri
ut Mrs. Corey chook her head. “ Darn-
ing. stockings is different from plain sew-
, darling. It would take more time to
teach you than to do it myself. When you
are older you may learn,” she added, as the
little mouth drooped with disappointment.
“Adelaide and Edna are older; do they
“know how?” Bertha asked.
Wer mother laughed. “No; I never
taught them,” she said. “ They are in
school], you know, and have so many other
things to do, there doesn’t seem to be much
time left for sewing.”
The next Saturday the three sisters,
Edna, Adelaide and Bertha, were invited
to spend the day with Aunt Llattie, away
across the city.
After dinner Aunt Hattie brought out
some stockings to darn.
“JT wanted ‘to learn to darn stockings,”
Bertha said, “but mamma hadn’t time to
show me how. Is it very hard?”
. “Not when you have learned. I mended
stockings before I was-as old as you. I'll
teach you. You can’ practice on my own
stockings, and I sha’n’t mind a mite if
they aren’t done just right.”
“Oh, goody!. Then I’ll s’prise mamma !”
cried Bertha, while her aunt put a small
gourd in a stocking, and told her just how
to begin,
“What are you doing?” asked Edna and
Adelaide, coming in from the garden.
“Darning stockings,” Bertha answered
gleefully. “It’s fun
“Why can’t we ieare, too?” the girls
cried.. ‘ Will you show us how, aunty?”
“Of course I will. It’s a good thing to
learn, and I think it is pleasant work.”
The three plied their needles in and out,
in and out, trying to form the even net-
work of threads, just like Aunt. ITattie’s.
It took them quite a while to make nice-
looking darns, but little by little their work
grew more regular and smooth. Before
they gave it up, every one of them could
make quite a respectable weave across
even a large hole. Meantime they laid de-
lightful plans.
Thursday was Mrs. Corey’s day for
mending, and as soon as the stockings came
from the wash they were placed in their
basket to be looked over. Then was the
girls’ chance, and three by three they were
secretly carried upstairs to the sisters’
room, where, behind closed doors, they
mended them every one. Then they were
returned to the basket. °
By MARY
The Seeing Eye.
Keep your eyes open, girls, and your minds
alert, if you wish to gain the greatest benefit
from travel.
ou ever noticed how differently two
persons describe the same journey? One i
COURT AND CLOISTER, VINCIGLIATA.
cludes {n her account so many vivia details,
little first-hand impressions, touching or amus-
ing incidents, which the other seems to have
wholly missed. “But I haven’t the gift of
telling things!” says the second. - People’s
descriptive powers do vary, it is true. But
there is a great deal more difference in their
habits of observation.
Most of us, I daresay, see what we set out
to see. But there are many “things by the
way” which may easily be overlooked, and
yet which, taken together, make up a large
part of the real value and interest of travel.
It may be only a delicate bit of carving in a
erumbling arch, or a lovely child-face in a
squalid street, or a group of peasants at a
city gate; but just such impressions as these,
because they are in a special and delicious
sense our own, give the individual charm to
your experiences and mine.
e observant faculty is one that can and
should be cultivated. There is none, indeed,
of greater importance, or which we can less
afford to neglect.
Two girls were taking a short cut through
a shabby street in a large city, on their way
to the capitol, which one of them was eager
to show to her visiting friend. Suddenly the
stranger stopped with a delighted exclama-
tion. -
“ what an exquisite colonial doorway !
It is one of the most perfect I ever saw.
wonder if the people inside will let me ‘snap’
it.”
The house was a dingy and neglected-look-
ing old dwelling. The girl who lived in the
same city had passed it scores of times and
never thought of its doorway. It was not be-
ise she was less informed or less able to
appreciate its beauty than her friend. She
simply had not acquired the habit of quick
observation. She had not the seeing eye, and
so had been missing a pleasure that might
have been hers. How many beautiful things
may you and I be missing for the same
reason?
A Gray Castle in the Tuscan Hills,
Perhaps you have never heard of Vincig-
liata. Neither, to be candid, had the writer
until a day or two before our party visited it.
Vincigliata is a picturesque gray castle in
the Tuscan hills, a few miles to the northeast
of Florence. It may be reached by an
hour’s drive from that city, or, if one has
plenty of time, by a somewhat longer, but
even more pleasant, walk. It was in the
latter way that our little party of four made
the excursion, going by electric car as far as
OUR TRAVEL CLASS
When Mrs. Corey sat down to her darn-
ing, the three plotters were on hand to
enjoy the surprise,
Their mother threaded her needle, say-
ing:
“Dear me! What a pile of stockings!
More than usual, I believe.”
She put one on her band and looked it
over, then another and another, her face
growing more and more puzzled. Suddenly
she glanced up.
The girls were bubbling over with sup-
pressed fun. Adelaide giggled.
“What is it?” the mother asked. Her
eyes fell upon the stockings. “ Have you
been darning these? I do believe you
have!” And she ran rapidly over the
remaining pairs.
“You can’t find a hole!” chuckled Ber-
tha.
Then in a twinkling the tale was told.
S. DANIELS
we could, and then following pre feat by
long zigzags up to the stle. of the
ascent are pretty steep,” “put aera it,
nevertheless, a most delightful climb, winding
slowly between rows ark-green
cypress trees and past olive groves where
women were gathering the ripe black fruit.
That was the first time, I remember, that
any of us ever tasted the ripe olive from the
tree. I recall, also, how eeieay we all re-
solved that it should be the las’
ppearance of ‘Vinelaliata from with-
out, with its stately walls and towered gate-
way, is quite’ impressive, castle existed
here long before America was discovered. It
is mentioned in Florentine annals, indeed, as
early as the year 1031. But of its actual
history little is known. The square points o.
its battlements indicate that it was of the
style of architecture preferred by that faction
in Florentine polities known as the: Guelfs.
Perched on a hill-top, about eight hundred
feet above the level of the sea, it occupied a
commanding position, well adapted for de-
fense, and no doubt its story would read
like that of most other! medirval castles, with
something of romance and’ much of lawless-
ness and bloodshed. But it must have suf-
fered much from time or violence, or both,
for only a little more than a generation ago
it stood in a most ruinous condition.
It was then that a wealthy Engilsh gentle-
man, Mr. Temple Leader, purchased the
castle and its grounds, and set about restor-
ing it to its former state. The work was a
costly one, and required the greatest care
and taste. But the result is eminently pleas-
ing, and, moreover, it enables us of the new
time and the New World to see for ourselves
a Tuscan castle of the Middle Ages almost
exactly as it appeared and was occupied in
those romantic «tim
Arr’ at the stone outer gateway of
Vincigliata, on that day of which I am tell-
ing you, we rang the bell, and in a few mo-
ments the iron door opened, admitting us to
the castle grounds. LIlere we were met by a
dear little old woman in the short skirt of
the Tuscan peasant, with a brown kerchief
over her head. She and her husband were
the custodians of
the castle, and at
that time, appar-
ently, its only oc-
cupants.
Having neglected
to provide — our-
selves with the
proper permits for
admission before
leaving Florence,
we offered our
visiting cards as
substitutes. These
the two old people
word. of — them.
hen, after a
quick, 8s 8 : ewd
serutiny our
persons, they gave
us a welcome that
Jacked nothing
either confidence or in genuine cordiality.
The kind-faced little old woman consti-
tuted herself our guide, accompanied by a
playful pet kitten with a bell on its neck.
Chattering continually in friendly Italian, of
which we understood little more than half,
she conducted us first of all through a long,
narrow, dim passage to. the castle prison.
little about it to suggest its original use.
we were taken to the refectory,
which contains several objects of interest. On
the wall is a painting, by the artist Tito, of
the Last Supper of our Lord—not a very
famous pieture, perhaps, but one very. pleas-
ng to our uncritical eyes. Two colored
east our guide told us, were portraits of
the original Alessandri of Vincigliata, hus-
band and wife. .Besides these there were in
the room long table, a quantity of old-
fashioned silver plate, and two beautifully
carved family linen chests, such as one rarely
sees nowadays outside of museums.
Besides the refectory, really suitable for
use only on state occasions or when the castle
is full of people, there is a small breakfast-
room—small, that is, by comparison—lighted
by a single little window high in the wall,
and containing some charmingly antique-look-
ing furnitu But of all the apartments in
this part of ‘the castle, the most delightfully
fascinating to us was the great kitchen. How
I wish every girl I know might see, that
kitchen! It is a large, thick-walled room,
containing an immense carved marble fire-
place, flanked by chimney-corner seats that
made us feel instantly as if we had dropped
into some captivating old story-book.- Every-
thing that one reads about in the castle
kitchens of the dear old romances is here—
the enormous oven, huge stone sinks, wide
cupboards, spits, cranes, and all kinds of in-
teresting brass and copper cooking utensils.
Among these we noticed a quaint brass warm-
ing-pan, with an inscription in German.
little door in the corner wall opens into the
great, deep castle well. The shelves and
walls are adorhed with a splendid display of
plates and platters, in the colors. of old
faience, yellows: and blues predominating,
with doughty knights in armor and
curious old pictures and patterns on their
lustrous surfaces.” Truly we could have lin-
ered. for hours in that wonderful kitchen,
peopling it in fancy with busy cooks and
scullions, and fill
savory smells that belonged to the prepara-
tion of some old-time, lordly feast.
From these portions of the castle we de-
scended into the inner court, which has a
beautiful vaulted .‘cloister frescoed with
scenes connected with Vincigliata’s history.
This court is full of quaint conceits and
lavish decoration... The columns are crowned
with sculptured capitals. Over the doorways
are antique statues. Curious inscriptions and
fragments of carved marble gathered from
many sources are set into the walls. Some
time in the course of our rambles the kitten
that had set out with us was found to be
missing, to the little old woman's manifest
But when we came into the court,
hearing the tinkle of a tiny bell,- we looked
up and saw pussy’s head peeping mischiev-
ously out of a hole in the wall. one side
of the cloister is an. ancient stone sar-
cophagus, and in a corner of the court is the
richly-carved curb of the great well into
water is drawn from a depth of two hundred
and forty feet, and is cold and good. An-
other singular feature of this court is a large
number of tablets set in the wall, recerding
the names of royal and distiriguished visitors
whom the owners have received at Vincig-
liata.
We climbed up on the ramparts, from
which we had an. enchanting view
surrounding hills and alleys ; and last
our good-natured cicerone led us down into
the beautiful garden. The time was mid-
December, but many flowers were stil] bloom-
ing—roses, asters, chrysanthemums d
others. fine specimen of the cedar of
Lebanon was pointed out to us, and when it
COURT AND WELL, VINCIGLIATA,
was time for us to go, the little old woman
gathered beautiful bouquets for us to carry
with us. Some bits of these we have still,
with the photographs and post cards that we
purchased of her husband—treasured souy-
enirs of our pleasant visit, which not only
was full of enjoyment, but gave us our best
and most accurate impression of an Italian
This. was merely a large, bare room, with|castle of the olden time.
