CHAPTER VIII
THE MIRACLE
ALL the next morning Fen waited and watched for Siddereticus. He thought every sound might be some manifestation of the Djinn, but lunch-time came with no sign of him, and Fen was disconsolate. It was immediately after luncheon, and four bells had just struck, when there was some little commotion at the yacht's side. The next instant Siddereticus stood on the deck, clad in white, with a red sash and striped Neapolitan cap.
He swept Fen a low bow, and said: 'Ho l'onore d'augurarle il buon giorno. Come sta da jeri in qua?" at which Sally and Larry, who were standing in awe at some distance, opened their eyes very wide indeed.
"Please don't,"said Fen; "I like real talking better."
"I was just wishing you a good day and inquiring after your health," said Siddereticus. "The signor looks very nice to-day," he added, regarding the russet smock and the pathetically unworn tan shoes.
The color flew to Fen's cheeks for an instant.
"I don't believe you ever saw me with proper clothes on, before," he said shyly; "I'm lots better now."
"Well enough to go with me across the waters to Venezia?" asked Siddereticus, with a sweep of his arm toward the clustered city.
"Wh-what do you mean?" breathed Fen.
"What I say. If you think it won't 
"Wh-What do you mean?" breathed Fen
The look in Fen's eyes was answer enough.
The Djinn faced toward the lagoon and stretched forth his arms. He clapped his hands slowly three times, and then drew three circles in the air with his finger, while his lips moved in some sort of silent incantation. Then, turning, he said: "There ought to be a gondola there now. Sally, go thou and look over the rail and see. I think that was the proper invocation."
Sally did as he bade her, and returned wide-eyed.
"There is a gondola there," she said solemnly, "a sure-enough one with a gondolier and all."
"Go, then, Sally,—may the birds of the air lend thee wings,—and fetch me the hat and coat of the signor illustrissimo."
Sally, much impressed at being addressed thus, fled to the cabin and shortly returned with a coat and hat. Siddereticus gathered Fen up, and turned to incline his head gravely to the children.
"Addio, signor e signorina," said he, as he disappeared over the side.
In the midst of his own overwhelming joy, Fen whispered suddenly to the Djinn, "Do you s'pose—do you think they mind awfully, not going?"
Siddereticus smothered an exclamation and said: "Sally and Larry have been several times before, and are probably going again. This is our private expedition, and—I'm your private Djinn."
So Fen, conscience-clear, gave himself up to the unbelievable joy of it all. The gondola, with Fen comfortably settled among the cushions, and Siddereticus beside him, slid away from the yacht and was soon threading its way among the craft in the lagoon. There was a soft, warm breeze, and the moving, glittering water was spangled with golden sun-flecks. The gondola neared the water-front, and drifted slowly past the Piazzetta, whose marble steps were washed by the ever-present sea. There a whole flotilla of gondolas was moored, while others flashed about the bay and disappeared into the openings of countless canals.
Fen did not know on which side to look. Following the sweep of Siddereticus' arm, he saw the Ducal Palace, with its serried rows of beautiful arches, and before it the winged Lion of St. Mark's, looking down from his towering pedestal upon the crowded Piazzetta. Behind, there was a glimpse of San Marco itself—a bewildering ecstasy of carven porches and gleaming pillars, with statued saints and sculptured figures, and above its portals the four great bronze horses, prancing in immortal splendor.
But on every side loveliness sprang from the water. The clustered domes of San Giorgio Maggiore, and its tower, rose on another island, and farther on lay Santa Maria della Salute, crowned with ruddy light. The boat was now in the full sweep of the Grand Canal, weaving among the myriad other gondolas and barca. On every hand stood rosy and white palaces, their doorways enriched with precious porphyry and serpentine, with mosaic and gold, all grayed and mottled by time. Their multitude of delicate columns and trefoiled windows rose against a sky unutterably soft and tender, and the water which washed their feet reflected in wavering lines and masses the sunlit marble and the glorious blue.
"See here," said Siddereticus, as he laid his hand over Fen's, which was trembling, "this won't do at all. If you're going to get so much excited, we'll have to go back to the yacht this instant."
"Oh, please!" cried Fen, "I won't get excited—I'm not excited,—but it—it's too wonderful!"
"Yes," agreed Siddereticus, "it is too wonderful. We'll seek a dark and remote canal, where it's not so full of light and color and splendor."
He gave an order to the gondolier, who, with a mellow assent, swept the gondola into one of the quieter water-streets which joined the busy Grand Canal.
Here all was dim and silent. The dark, leaning houses shadowed the water, their carved balconies hung over it, and it washed their slippery green steps without a sound. Here and there, over a high, crumbling wall, flowering vines festooned themselves, reaching their bright blossoms toward the dark waters.
All afternoon the gondola glided almost noiselessly through the tortuous windings of obscure canals, under silent bridges, and between forgotten palaces that had long ago outlived their glory.
Fen lay very still, his hand in that of Siddereticus. He said little, but now and then he looked up for an instant into the face above him, and they understood each other, without words.
The sunset light began to reach through every opening in the canal and to lay ruddy fingers here and there upon the waters. The gondola had reached a spot where the canal widened a little and a tall mooring-post rose slanting from the water. At a word from Siddereticus the gondolier brought his boat up beside the post and made it fast. Fen looked rather perplexed as Siddereticus reached back into the gondola and brought out a portly basket.
"I thought this would be a rather good place for supper," said he.
"Supper!" gasped Fen. "Are you—are we—"
We most certainly are," said the Djinn, as he set up the spirit-lamp and lighted it.
The sunset glow could hardly penetrate the depths of the little canal, and the lamp in the gondola made a strange, flickering light. All about, the dusky water lapped almost inaudibly; the dim houses seemed to tower gigantically in the gloom. Everything was very still. Once or twice a shadowy gondola passed, swinging its way down the canal, but there was no other sound, no other movement. Who could tell what was hidden within those somber houses, what was happening behind those blank, arched windows?
The supper was eaten in silence, and the strange setting seemed to give it a mystic air of unreality. The bread and butter and cambric tea were changed to magic food. Fen held his breath and dared not believe, even yet, that it was all true, and not some sort of very wonderful dream.
When tea was over, and the gondolier had politely refused the sandwiches Siddereticus had offered him at Fen's suggestion, the gondola buried itself once more in the dim lanes. Now and then a single street-lamp, high above the water, threw a trembling reflection into the black depths. There was not a sound, except the ripple of the oar through the water, and the weird, melancholy Giaé! Giaé! of the gondolier as he rounded the sharp turns. In and out the boat wove through a bewildering labyrinth of narrow ways, under ancient walls and high, grated windows, into the velvet shadow of a bridge, then out again to slip beside the waterworn steps of some palace invisible in the gloom. Then suddenly it swung into open water, and there, swimming with light, was the Piazzetta, the water before it molten gold with reflections, the air vibrant with distant music and the clatter of the happy crowd.
The gondola left the sheltered water and headed into the wide darkness, where a myriad distant lights danced on the anchored vessels. Farther and farther away gleamed Venice, like a great luminous procession of tapers across the water; fainter and more faint grew the snatches of music from the Piazza.
Fen was almost asleep when the gondola slid up beside the yacht; but as Siddereticus lifted him, he whispered:
"How do you say 'thank you' to him and tell him how much you liked it?"
Siddereticus whispered in turn, and Fen, looking down at the gondolier from the height of the young man's arms, smiled adorably and said:
"Grazie! Grazie!" at which the delighted boatman clasped his hands and poured forth a torrent of ecstatic jargon until Fen and Siddereticus reached the deck.
"Well, you are late!" said Sally. "Larry's in bed. How'd you like it? What'd you do?"
"Hold thy peace!" said Siddereticus, with a black scowl.
He laid the little boy gently on his bed, but Fen's arms stayed about his neck.
"I—I can't say anything—" Fen whispered. "I—could you understand? I—"
"I understand perfectly, carissimo" said Siddereticus, as he kissed him.