Cynthia Steps Out

Cynthia was sleepy when she stumbled into the station at Genoa. She hadn’t been too sure that the hotel keeper would wake her in time to get the train for Venice. So all night l...

Cynthia had long ago learned how to say in French “Stand still. Turn a little to the right ... to the left. Raise the chin please.” And finally and most urgent, again “stand sti...

“Fun?” Cynthia frowned, thinking. “Yes, I suppose it is. I wouldn’t know how to be anything else. Ouch! That was me you were pinning.” She braced herself with one arm against th...

It was Nancy and Mrs. Brewster who had suggested the Basque country. This was partly because Cynthia needed a new type of child’s head for her covers for _Little One’s Magazine_...

Then at Marseilles, where Cynthia had planned to take train for Paris, for Cherbourg and a ship for home, she caught up with her mail. One specially fat and formidable envelope,...

Nancy’s rapid, fluent French gave directions to the small, sabot shod boy who dragged behind him a blue painted hand cart. Then she turned to bestow an additional hug on the wai...

Steamship and steamer friends had been left behind. Paris was ahead, closer now with every minute, every hurrying second. The little French girl who had kept on her hat and glov...

“Don’t,” she told Cynthia, “despise the well-worn routes just because they are well-worn. Later on you can go to the out of the way places too. But you need the talked-about pla...