Little Amy's improvement at Albano was something remarkable. Mrs. Swift
watched over her like a lynx. Her vigilance never relaxed. Amy was made
to eat and sleep and walk and rest with the regularity of a machine; and
this exact system, combined with the good air, worked like a charm. The
little one gained hour by hour. They could absolutely see her growing
fat, her mother declared. Fevers, when they do not kill, operate
sometimes as spring bonfires do in gardens, burning up all the refuse
and leaving the soil free for the growth of fairer things; and Amy
promised in time to be only the better and stronger for her hard
experience.
She had gained so much before the time came to start for Florence, that
they scarcely dreaded the journey; but it proved worse than their
expectations. They had not been able to secure a carriage to themselves,
and were obliged to share their compartment with two English ladies, and
three Roman Catholic priests, one old, the others young. The older
priest seemed to be a person of some consequence; for quite a number of
people came to see him off, and knelt for his blessing devoutly as the
train moved away. The younger ones Katy guessed to be seminary students
under his charge. Her chief amusement through the long dusty journey was
in watching the terrible time that one of these young men was having
with his own hat. It was a large three-cornered black affair, with sharp
angles and excessively stiff; and a perpetual struggle seemed to be
going on between it and its owner, who was evidently unhappy when it was
on his head and still more unhappy when it was anywhere else.
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