That
Piazza del Duomo," continued poppa, thoughtfully, "seems to have been
laid out with a view to the American tourist of the future. But I don't
suppose that kind of forethought is common."
"How exquisite it was, that cluster of white marble relics of the past
on the bosom of dusky Pisa. It reminded me," said momma, poetically, "of
an old maid's pearls."
"I should suggest," said the Senator to me, "that you make a note of
that. A little sentiment won't do us any harm--just a little. And they
_are_ like an old maid's pearls in connection with that middle-aged,
one-horse little city. Or I should say a widow's--Pisa was once a bride
of the sea. A grass widow's," improved the Senator. "It's all
meadow-land round there--did you notice?"
"I did not," I said coldly; "but, of course, if I'm to call Pisa a grass
widow, it will have to be. Although I warn you, poppa, that in case of
any critic being able to arise and indicate that it is laid out in
oyster beds, I shall make it plain that the responsibility is yours."
We were speeding through Tuscany, and the vine-garlanded trees in the
orchards clasped hands and danced along with us.
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