Jill and Lill by Nina Rhoades

There were not many people in the great gallery that rainy December afternoon. It was too early in the season for the crowd of English and American tourists which in the late winter and early spring fill Florence to overflowing, and the few people who sauntered about looking at the pictures were for the most part native Florentines out for an afternoon holiday. The men all wore their overcoats, and the women kept their furs -- if they were fortunate enough to possess any -- wrapped closely about them, but it was bitterly cold in the gallery, which is only warmed by the bright Italian sun, and on cold, rainy days often feels like a great stone vault.

The twins were not so fortunate as to have any furs; neither were their winter jackets as warm as they might have been if clothes had not been so expensive, but they were accustomed to the cold galleries, and although they both shivered more than once, it did not occur to either of them to mention the fact. The twins were only eleven, but they knew the great picture galleries of Florence much better than many older people. Ever since they could remember, their mother had taken them with her to the galleries, and they had wandered about looking at the wonderful pictures, or played "sitting still games" in a corner, always talking softly for fear of disturbing people who came to look, or, like their mother, to copy the great masterpieces of the world. They were very poor, for Mummy's pictures sold for a mere trifle at the print shops, and they lived in three little rooms at the top of an old building, the windows of which looked out upon the Duomo; the great cathedral, which has been the pride of Florence for centuries. Once, long ago, when their father was alive, they had lived in Rome, and their father had painted pictures which sold for much more money than poor little Mummy's pictures did; but after her husband's death Mummy had brought the children to Florence, because living there was cheaper than in Rome.