Canon Percival next went down to the harbour, and there, from the pier, is a most beautiful view of the old town, rising up, higher and higher, to the crest of the hill till it reaches the large church which belongs to the lepers' hospital. Canon Percival inquired for Angelo Battista, the master fisherman; and a fine sailor, with a face as brown as a chestnut, and big dark eyes, smiled when Canon Percival disclosed his errand.

"Yes, Anton was a good boy; his mother had a long tongue, but she was very industrious--industrious with tongue and fingers alike," he said, and then he laughed heartily, and two or three men standing near joined in.

At last all was settled, and Angelo Battista was to bring up a written doc.u.ment that evening to the Villa Firenze, and bring little Anton with him, to make the needful declaration required in such cases by the notary, that he agreed to the terms proposed.

Canon Percival left San Remo the next day, saying that Coldchester Cathedral could not get on without him. He was so cheery and so kind, the children all lamented his loss.

But now golden days came for them all, as Mrs. Acheson got, as Ingleby expressed it, "nearer well" than she had been for years. She took long drives in the neighbourhood, and they visited several old Italian towns, such as Taggia and Poggio.

The road to them led along the busy sh.o.r.e of the blue Mediterranean, and then through silvery olive groves, where flowers of every brilliant colour were springing.

And when May came, and the swallows twittered on the roofs of the villas, and were seen consulting for their flight northward, the whole party set off with them, _homewards_.

Canon Percival met them at Paris, and they stayed there a week, and saw many of its wonders--the beautiful pictures in the Louvre, and the n.o.ble galleries at Versailles, where the fountains play, and the long, smooth avenues which lead to La Pet.i.te Trianon, which are full of memories of poor Marie Antoinette.

Nothing made more impression on the children than the sight of her boudoir in the palace at Versailles, where whoever looks up at the gla.s.s panels sees, by their peculiar arrangement in one corner, the whole figure without the head. It is said the young girl Dauphiness glanced up at this, and starting back with horror, said--"Ah! J'ai perdu ma tte!"

A strange coincidence, certainly, when one remembers how her head was taken off by the cruel guillotine in later years--the bright hair grey, the head bowed with sorrow, and the heart torn with grief for her husband, who had preceded her, and still more for the children she left behind.

At last the time came to cross the Channel once more, and the pa.s.sage was calm, and the children enjoyed the short voyage.

At Folkestone a very great surprise awaited Dorothy. She hardly knew whether she was dreaming or awake when in the waiting-room at the station she saw a man in a fisherman's blouse with a white dog in his arms.

"Nino! Nino! Oh, it must be my Nino!"

There could be no doubt of it this time, for the little dog grew frantic and excited, and leaped whining out of the fisherman's arms, and was in ecstasies at again meeting his mistress.

This, then, was Canon Percival's secret. And he told the story of Nino's discovery in a few words.

The day when he was at Folkestone, on his way to San Remo--summoned there by Mrs. Acheson's illness--he saw a fisherman on the pier with a little white dog by his side. It seemed hardly possible, but the fisherman explained that, near one of the Channel steamers, in his smack, he had seen a little white dog fall over the side, that he had looked out for him as they crossed the precise place, and found his little black nose just above the water, making a gallant fight for life.

They lowered a little boat and picked him up, and read the name on his collar, "Nino."

That collar he still wore, and it was evident that the sovereign Canon Percival gave him did not quite reconcile the man to the parting. "His children had grown so fond of the little beast," he said.

But Nino, though he gave the fisherman a parting lick of grat.i.tude, showed his _old_ love was the stronger; and I do think it would be hard to say which was the happier at the renewal of affection--Dorothy or her dog Nino.

Certain it is, we always value anything more highly when we _recover_ possession of it, and Nino went back to Coldchester full of honours; and the story of his adventures made a hero of him in the eyes of the vergers of the Cathedral, who in past times had been wont to declare this little white dog was a deal of trouble, rushing about on the flower-beds of the Cathedral gardens.

With the homeward flight of the swallows we must say good-bye to Dorothy. A very happy summer was pa.s.sed in the Canon's house, brightened by the companionship of Irene, and sometimes of Ella and w.i.l.l.y and Baby Bob. For Lady Burnside took a house for a few months in the neighbourhood of Coldchester, and the children continually met. But it was by Mrs.

Acheson's express desire that Irene did not return to Mrs. Baker's school. She pleaded with Colonel Packingham that she might have her as a companion for her only child; and they shared a governess and lessons together.

Irene had the influence over Dorothy which could not fail to be noticed in its effects--the influence which a child who has a simple desire to follow in the right way _must_ have over those with whom she is a.s.sociated.

Dorothy's flight with the swallows had taught her many things, and with Irene for a friend, she had long ceased to say she did not care for playmates. She was even known to devote herself for an hour at a time to share some rioting game with _Baby Bob_, while Nino raced and barked at their heels.

THE END.