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herself that she was full of originality。 Now she entered the
church depressed and humiliated； not even able to remember
whether it was built by the Franciscans or the Dominicans。
Of course； it must be a wonderful building。 But how like a barn！
And how very cold！ Of course； it contained frescoes by Giotto； in
the presence of whose tactile values she was capable of feeling
what was proper。 But who was to tell her which they were？ She
walked about disdainfully； unwilling to be enthusiastic over
monuments of uncertain authorship or date。 There was no one even
to tell her which； of all the sepulchral slabs that paved the
nave and transepts； was the one that was really beautiful； the
one that had been most praised by Mr。 Ruskin。
Then the pernicious charm of Italy worked on her； and； instead of
acquiring information； she began to be happy。 She puzzled out the
Italian noticesthe notices that forbade people to introduce
dogs into the churchthe notice that prayed people； in the
interest of health and out of respect to the sacred edifice in
which they found themselves； not to spit。 She watched the
tourists； their noses were as red as their Baedekers； so cold was
Santa Croce。 She beheld the horrible fate that overtook three
Papiststwo he…babies and a she…babywho began their career by
sousing each other with the Holy Water； and then proceeded to the
Machiavelli memorial； dripping but hallowed。 Advancing towards it
very slowly and from immense distances； they touched the stone
with their fingers； with their handkerchiefs； with their heads；
and then retreated。 What could this mean？ They did it again and
again。 Then Lucy realized that they had mistaken Machiavelli for
some saint； hoping to acquire virtue。 Punishment followed
quickly。 The smallest he…baby stumbled over one of the sepulchral
slabs so much admired by Mr。 Ruskin； and entangled his feet in
the features of a recumbent bishop。 Protestant as she was； Lucy
darted forward。 She was too late。 He fell heavily upon the
prelate's upturned toes。
〃Hateful bishop！〃 exclaimed the voice of old Mr。 Emerson； who had
darted forward also。 〃Hard in life； hard in death。 Go out into
the sunshine； little boy； and kiss your hand to the sun； for that
is where you ought to be。 Intolerable bishop！〃
The child screamed frantically at these words； and at these
dreadful people who picked him up； dusted him； rubbed his
bruises； and told him not to be superstitious。
〃Look at him！〃 said Mr。 Emerson to Lucy。 〃Here's a mess： a baby
hurt； cold； and frightened！ But what else can you expect from a
church？〃
The child's legs had become as melting wax。 Each time that old
Mr。 Emerson and Lucy set it erect it collapsed with a roar。
Fortunately an Italian lady； who ought to have been saying her
prayers； came to the rescue。 By some mysterious virtue； which
mothers alone possess； she stiffened the little boy's back…bone
and imparted strength to his knees。 He stood。 Still gibbering
with agitation； he walked away。
〃You are a clever woman；〃 said Mr。 Emerson。 〃You have done more
than all the relics in the world。 I am not of your creed； but I
do believe in those who make their fellow…creatures happy。 There
is no scheme of the universe〃
He paused for a phrase。
〃Niente；〃 said the Italian lady； and returned to her prayers。
〃I'm not sure she understands English；〃 suggested Lucy。
In her chastened mood she no longer despised the Emersons。 She
was determined to be gracious to them； beautiful rather than
delicate； and； if possible； to erase Miss Bartlett's civility by
some gracious reference to the pleasant rooms。
〃That woman understands everything；〃 was Mr。 Emerson's reply。
〃But what are you doing here？ Are you doing the church？ Are you
through with the church？〃
〃No；〃 cried Lucy； remembering her grievance。 〃I came here with
Miss Lavish； who was to explain everything； and just by the door
it is too bad！she simply ran away； and after waiting quite a
time； I had to come in by myself。〃
〃Why shouldn't you？〃 said Mr。 Emerson。
〃Yes； why shouldn't you come by yourself？〃 said the son；
addressing the young lady for the first time。
〃But Miss Lavish has even taken away Baedeker。〃
〃Baedeker？〃 said Mr。 Emerson。 〃I'm glad it's THAT you minded。
It's worth minding； the loss of a Baedeker。 THAT'S worth
minding。〃
Lucy was puzzled。 She was again conscious of some new idea； and
was not sure whither it would lead her。
〃If you've no Baedeker；〃 said the son； 〃you'd better join us。〃
Was this where the idea would lead？ She took refuge in her
dignity。
〃Thank you very much； but I could not think of that。 I hope you
do not suppose that I came to join on to you。 I really came to
help with the child； and to thank you for so kindly giving us
your rooms last night。 I hope that you have not been put to any
great inconvenience。〃
〃My dear；〃 said the old man gently； 〃I think that you are
repeating what you have heard older people say。 You are
pretending to be touchy； but you are not really。 Stop being so
tiresome； and tell me instead what part of the church you want to
see。 To take you to it will be a real pleasure。〃
Now； this was abominably impertinent； and she ought to have been
furious。 But it is sometimes as difficult to lose one's temper as
it is difficult at other times to keep it。 Lucy could not get
cross。 Mr。 Emerson was an old man； and surely a girl might humour
him。 On the other hand； his son was a young man； and she felt
that a girl ought to be offended with him； or at all events be
offended before him。 It was at him that she gazed before
replying。
〃I am not touchy； I hope。 It is the Giottos that I want to see；
if you will kindly tell me which they are。〃
The son nodded。 With a look of sombre satisfaction； he led the
way to the Peruzzi Chapel。 There was a hint of the teacher about
him。 She felt like a child in school who had answered a question
rightly。
The chapel was already filled with an earnest congregation； and
out of them rose the voice of a lecturer； directing them how to
worship Giotto； not by tactful valuations； but by the standards
of the spirit。
〃Remember；〃 he was saying； 〃the facts about this church of Santa
Croce； how it was built by faith in the full fervour of
medievalism； before any taint of the Renaissance had appeared。
Observe how Giotto in these frescoesnow； unhappily； ruined by
restorationis untroubled by the snares of anatomy and
perspective。 Could anything be more majestic； more pathetic；
beautiful； true？ How little； we feel； avails knowledge and
technical cleverness against a man who truly feels！〃
〃No！〃 exclaimed Mr。 Emerson； in much too loud a voice for church。
〃Remember nothing of the sort！ Built by faith indeed！ That simply
means the workmen weren't paid properly。 And as for the frescoes；
I see no truth in them。 Look at that fat man in blue！ He must
weigh as much as I do； and he is sho