On the next page I had an item about the twins, who were better, and a note about the tombs of the Medicis and a new tie I had helped Sam to buy. I was very glad I kept that record. I knew that it would be helpful. After I had looked at it until I saw all Florence through it, and Florence was beginning to blur and wiggle because of something that crept from my heart up into my eyes, I went up on deck and looked off toward Genoa which lay, in a tangle of many gentle colors, against the hill. . . . And I took a long, long look at this bit of Italy--the Italy I loved so very much. I knew that somewhere that day, my Miss Sheila--I still called her that--and Mr. Wake were touring along through pretty country; together, after the long years apart. And I knew that Leslie, and Viola, and Miss Bannister and Miss Meek, and Mr. Hemmingway were happy. And I knew that Sam was miserable. And it sounds strange to say, but that helped me as much as anything. Then I looked at the birds that were flying in wide arcs around the ship, the birds that followed it. . . . And I knew that Sam was right in saying that other things would go along with me. . . . And I needed them, although I needed, more than anything just then, my Mother. . . . And I needed her because of Sam Deane, which I can’t explain. I fumbled in my pocket, and I found her letter, and a little piece of paper that had been torn from the edge of a newspaper, on which Sam had written. “Dear, dear Jane Jones,” and then, all in a hurried tangle, “I love you!” (Sam had written this while Miss Meek dozed and an Italian officer who was smoking outside in the corridor, looked in at us) For a fraction of a second I felt more miserable than I ever had before, and then a warm breeze sprung up and it seemed to fan a warm, let down, easy feeling into me. And after that I looked down in the water, and in it I saw the front door of our house, and the porch which slants toward the steps, and my own Mother in the doorway, smiling and trying not to cry and Roberta back of her. . . . And the twins jumping up and down by the gate, and shrilly screaming, “Mother, she’s _here_! She’s _here_, Mother!” And then I felt myself get out of Daddy’s flivver and hurry up the walk. And I saw every one hugging and kissing me, and every one crying. . . . I saw this, before it _ever_ happened, just as it really was to be! But I didn’t see the table as it was--which I knew would have on it all the things I liked best to eat--for I didn’t forecast the _hothouse roses_; I never _dreamed_ that Roberta would blow her allowance on these when she could have picked them _right out in the garden_! But it was all wonderful! Nor did I see the banner that the twins had made that had WELCUM painted on it with shoe blackening--they had each ruined a dress through this--nor did I dream that Elaine McDonald would send me an angel cake! But everything was nicer than I could imagine it would be!