"But there are pleasant things," he wrote. "There are many beautiful fountains where the water gushes all day; and I often go out of my way for a sight of the Pope's soldiers, the Swiss Guard, standing at the entrance to the Vatican. They make me think of our Venetian mooring-posts with their many-colored stripes; and their stately halberds are not unlike the prow of our gondolas. I am very grateful to Michael Angelo for designing a costume which reminds me of home. "Often we meet schools of boys walking two by two, wearing black dress-suits and high, stiff black hats, and I am glad I am not one of them." His mother sighed as she read of his endless pleasure, and wondered if it would estrange him from his quiet life in Venice. Then she wrote a long letter in answer, in which she said, "Remember that the fine old Roman character was weakened through ease and indulgence. Remember, also, that our young king likes nothing so much as devotion to duty." Her letter ended with a quotation from an English poet,--"Live pure, speak true, right wrong, follow the king." Rafael read between the lines that she feared he would learn to like his happy life with the Spragues too well. He lifted his eyes from the letter and acknowledged to himself that this freedom from care and responsibility was very pleasant. Mrs. Sprague indulged him as she indulged Edith. The treasures of the shops flowed into his own room as well as hers, and no door which money could open remained closed to them in this city of precious sights. His eyes fell again to the letter, and a choking feeling filled his throat as he pictured his mother sitting alone in the home in Venice. "The dear, lonely mother!" he said to himself. "My letters have given her sad thoughts." Then, with a boy's carelessness, he said, laughing lightly at his English joke, "I can write wrong, it seems; but can I follow the king?" Just then Edith ran into the room crying, "Mother has decided to take the noon train to Naples. Doesn't she do everything suddenly?" And Rafael forgot his mother's letter in his pleasure over another journey. The car ride to Naples always remained in the boy's mind as a succession of pictures; but no picture could reveal the many phases of his mind as he passed from one experience to another in the days that followed. "The guide-book calls this the most fertile valley in Europe," said Mrs. Sprague, as they rode along, catching glimpses of farmers plowing in the fields. The distant hills were soft and blue, but on drawing near to them, terraces and flights of steps were to be seen on the slopes. At last Edith called, "I see Vesuvius!" and the wonderful volcano lay before them. Its smoke rose in a straight column and then broke, trailing off into the distance like the smoke from an ocean liner. "It makes the mountain look like a man-of-war," exclaimed Rafael, and the two pairs of eyes hardly saw anything else until they reached Naples.