A country-flitting for a few days in the summer, with half a dozen or more companions, and their little suppers in the winter content them for amusements, while an extra treat of theatre or opera makes them supremely happy. And on festal days who sees more than the gondolier? If a rowing-match occurs, with what excitement does he defend his favorite champion! Curiously enough, each _contrada_, or district, has its own customs and festivals, even its own dialect to some extent; and while each one knows intimately the affairs of his own _contrada_, outside that quarter he knows little, and little is known of him. All this has Giacomo taught us; and we admire his honest face as he touches his cap and asks the artist where we are to go. "Are any large vessels lying off the Riva, Giacomo?" "_Si_, signor" (another touch of the cap), "an Austrian Lloyd came in last evening." {19} "Then let as lie in her shade awhile." Coming to our vantage-ground, where even the extra canopy on our gondola could not have sufficiently lessened the heat of the sun, we prepare for a long stay. The water is magnificent. The sands on the Lido have been stirred by the wind, and the opaque green sea is mottled with yellow stains. The fishing-boats are always fascinating, and claim our first attention; some are already at their anchorage near the public gardens, unloading the "catch" of the night; others, still some distance out, are tacking and crossing each other's bows in a confusing fashion, led by a procession coming nearer in; the many-hued sails with their curious designs--full-blown roses, stars or crescent moons, hearts blood-red and pierced by arrows--absorb our attention as imperatively as when we first saw them long years ago; and our artist still puts them on his canvas as eagerly as if he had not done it a hundred times before, and others of his sort a hundred thousand. "New every morning and fresh every evening" can be repeated in Venice with rare truthfulness. The gondola is moored, and the artist hastily sets up his easel and begins his work. The rowers watch him until they see him quite absorbed, and then by signs ask permission of Giacomo to leave us awhile. A little signal-flag soon brings a row-boat alongside, and takes them off. Anita's fingers are already flying over a piece of pretty lace which is always in her hands when she has a moment of leisure. It is at such times as this that we learn from Giacomo many things that we have not read in books, and question him about the customs we observe. To-day a steamboat passing at the moment reminded us that we had heard a reference to a strike of the gondoliers when the vaporetti first appeared at Venice. At a sign Giacomo comes near enough to talk to us in a quiet tone; and as he advances, cap in hand, Anita cannot refrain from {20} darting a glance at his handsome face, and as quickly looking down at the never-ending lace. "Do the gondoliers like the steamers, Giacomo?"