Miss Julianna, who cried, stood by me in the station saying that she knew that God and the Virgin would see that I was happy because I should be, which I thought _so_ kind; and Mr. Hemmingway, who had come all the way to town, stood near with a bouquet that he had picked for me, trying _so_ hard to remember when he had first seen Genoa--but he _couldn’t_ fasten it. Miss Meek, who was to join her Italian family in June, stood close with Sam saying, “My eye, how I’ll miss the jolly flapper!” And altogether it was warming, but it made my throat lump too, the way that things that are too warming sometimes do. Then the horn sounded, and every one said good-by to me, and I kissed them all, including Mr. Hemmingway, who wiped his eyes and blew his nose as he said good-by. Then Miss Meek, and Sam and I followed our facchino down the platform and went through the gates that took us to our train. We got a compartment that was rather crowded because it had one Englishman in it, and they travel with enough scenery for an Uncle Tom’s Cabin Company; but, after he had moved his portable bath and his camp stool and his tea basket, there was enough room for us, and we all settled and began to have a very nice time. My heart ached as we went out of Florence, and I couldn’t look back. I loved it so. “You’ll be coming back on the run one of these fine days,” said Miss Meek, who seemed to feel all I felt. “I _hope_ so,” I said. “And how could you help it, with your friends up the Fiesole way? Mr. Wake told me that you were going to visit them out there within a year or so. Told me so when he arranged for me to take you to Genoa and put you on the boat, don’t you know--” “Well, that’s awfully nice,” I said, and Sam said he thought so too. Then--the flying landscape. White oxen dragging creaking carts. . . . Little clusters of houses in pastel tones. . . . White roads that circled terraced hills and groves of olive trees. “Of course,” I said, “I want to see my people--” and I did want to, so much that my eyes filled as I thought of it. “Of course,” said Miss Meek. “But it is hard to leave friends, isn’t it?” I added. And Miss Meek nodded. Sam put his hand over mine then, and then Miss Meek seemed to drowse. The journey was very short. I cannot remember a shorter seeming one, though it does take over five hours. Baedecker says “The view of the Mediterranean beyond Pisa is sadly marred by the frequent tunnels.” There are over ninety of them; Sam helped me count them. Before I knew it we had had our lunch and had settled back again, and then we were in the city that is proud of Columbus, whose statue stands in one of the public squares on the hillsides, and is surrounded with tall, spikey, sharp palm trees.