Ant-Jane's Nieces Abroad Pref. The author is pleased to be able to present a sequel to Ant-Jane's Nieces, the book which was received with so much favor last year. Yet it is not necessary one should have read the first book to fully understand the present volume, the characters being taken to entirely new scenes. The various foreign localities are accurately described, so that those who have visited them will recognize them at once, while those who have not been so fortunate may acquire a clear conception of them. It was my good fortune to be an eyewitness of a recent eruption of Vesuvius. Lest I be accused of undue sensationalism in relating the somewhat dramatic Sicilian incident, I will assure my reader that the story does not exaggerate present conditions in various parts of the island. In fact, Ilduca and Tato are drawn from life, although they did not have their mountain lair so near to Torminna as I have ventured to locate it. Except that I have adapted their clever system of brigandage to the exigencies of this story, their history is truly related. Many who have traveled somewhat outside the beaten tracks in Sicily will frankly vouch for this statement. Italy is doing its best to suppress the mafia and to eliminate brigandage from the beautiful islands it controls, but so few of the inhabitants are Italians or in sympathy with the government that the work of reformation is necessarily slow. Americans especially must exercise caution in traveling in any part of Sicily, yet with proper care not to tempt the irresponsible natives they are as safe in Sicily as they are at home. Aunt Jane's nieces are shown to be as frankly adventurous as the average clear-headed American girl, but their experiences amid the environments of an ancient and still primitive civilization are in no wise extraordinary. CHAPTER I The Doyles are astonished. It was Sunday afternoon in Miss Patricia Doyle's pretty flat at 3708 Willing Square. In the small drawing-room Patricia, or Patsy as she preferred to be called, was seated at the piano softly playing the one piece the music teacher had succeeded in drilling into her flighty head, by virtue of much patience and perseverance. In a thick cushioned Morris chair reclined the motionless form of Uncle John, a chubby little man in a gray suit whose features were temporarily eclipsed by the newspaper that was spread carefully over them. Occasionally a gasp or snore from beneath the paper suggested that the little man was snoozing as he sometimes gravely called it instead of listening to the music.  At times he drummed upon the arms of his chair in unison with the music, nodding his grizzled head to mark the time as well as to emphasize his evident approbation. Patsy had played the same piece from start to finish seven times since dinner because it was the only one she knew, but the Major could have listened to it seven hundred times without the flicker of an eyelash. It was not that he admired so much the piece the girl was playing as the girl who was playing the piece. His pride in Patsy was unbounded, that she should have succeeded at all in mastering that imposing looking instrument, making it actually play tunes, was surely a thing to wonder at, but then Patsy could do anything if she but tried. Suddenly Uncle John gave a dreadful snort and sat bolt upright, gazing at his companions with a startled look that melted into one of benign complacency as he observed his surroundings and realized where he was. The interruption gave Patsy an opportunity to stop playing the tune. She swung around on the stool and looked with amusement at her newly awakened uncle. "'You've been asleep,' she said. "'No, indeed, quite a mistake,' replied the little man seriously. "'I've only been thinking.' "'And such beautiful thoughts,' observed the Mayor testily, for he resented the interruption of his Sunday afternoon treat. "'You thought him allowed, sir, and the sound of it was a bad imitation of a bullfrog in a marsh. You'll have to give up eating the salad, sir.' "'Bah, don't I know,' asked Uncle John indignantly. "'Well, if your knowledge is better than our hearing, I suppose you do,' retorted the Major.  Then no one has a better right to do that,' declared Patsy soothingly. "'And I'm sure our dear Uncle John's thoughts were just the most beautiful dreams in the world. Tell us of them, sir, and we'll prove the Major utterly wrong.' Even her father smiled at the girl's diplomacy, and Uncle John, who was on the verge of unreasonable anger, beamed upon her gratefully. "'I'm going to Europe,' he said. The Major gave an involuntary start, and then turned to look at him curiously. "'And I'm going to take Patsy along,' he continued, with a mischievous grin. The Major frowned. "'Control yourself, sir, until you are fully awake,' said he. "'You're dreaming again.' Patsy swung her feet from side to side, for she was such a little thing that the stool raised her entirely off the floor. There was a thoughtful look on her round-freckled face, and a wistful one in her great blue eyes, as the full meaning of Uncle John's abrupt avowal became apparent. The Major was still frowning, but a half-frightened expression had replaced the one of scornful railery. For he too knew that his eccentric brother-in-law was likely to propose any preposterous thing, and then carry it out in spite of all opposition. But to take Patsy to Europe would be like pulling a Major's eye-teeth or amputating his good-right arm. Worse, far worse. It would mean taking the sunshine out of her old father's sky altogether, and painting it a grim, despairing gray. But he resolved not to submit without a struggle. "'Sir,' said he sternly, he always called his brother-in-law, sir, when he was in a sarcastic or reproachful mood, "'I've had an idea for some time that you were plotting mischief. You haven't looked at me straight in the eye for a week, and you've been twice late to dinner. I will ask you to explain to us, sir, the brutal suggestion you have just advanced.' Uncle John laughed. In the days when Major Doyle had thought him a poor man, and in need of a helping hand, the grizzled old Irishman had been as tender toward him as a woman, and studiously avoided any speech or epithet that, by chance, might injure the feelings of his dead wife's only brother. But the Major's invariable courtesy to the poor unfortunate was no longer in evidence when he found that John Merrick was a multi-millionaire, with a strongly defined habit of doing good to others, and striving in obscure and unconventional ways to make everybody around him happy. His affection for the little man increased mightily, but his respectful attitude promptly changed, and a chance to reprove or discomfort his absurdly rich brother-in-law was one of his most satisfactory diversions. Uncle John appreciated this, and holding the dignified Major in loving regard was glad to cross swords with him now and then to add variety to their pleasant relations. "'It's this way, Major Doyle,' he now remarked coolly. "'I've been worried to death lately over business matters, and I need a change.' "'Oh! All your business is attended to by Isha Marvin and Company. You've no worry at all. Why, we've just made you a quarter of a million in CH&Ds,' the we is explained by stating that the Major held an important position in the Great Banking House, a position Mr. Merrick had secured for him some months previously. "'That's it,' said Uncle John. "'You've made me a quarter of a million that I don't want. The CH&D stocks were going to pieces when I bought them, and I had reason to hope I'd lose a good round sum on them. But the confounded luck turned, and the result is an accumulation of all this dreadful money. So, my dear Major, before I'm tempted to do some other foolish thing I've determined to run away, where business can't follow me, and whereby industry and perseverance I can scatter some of my ill-gotten gains,' the Major smiled grimly. "'That's Europe right enough,' he said, and I don't object, John, to your going there, whenever you please.  I advise you to visit Ireland, sir. Which I'm reliably informed, is the central jewel in Europe's crown of beauty.  But forbear the wickedness of putting foolish thoughts into our patsy sweet head. She can't go a step and you know it. It's positive cruelty to her, sir, to suggest such a thing. The Major's speech had a touch of the brogue when he became excited, but recovered when he calmed down. "'Why, you selfish old humbug,' cried Uncle John indignantly, why can't she go, when there's money and time to spare? Would you keep her here to cuddle and spoil a vigorous man like yourself, when she can run away and see the world and be happy?' "'It's a great happiness to cuddle,' the Major said patsy softly, and the poor man needs it as much as he does his slippers or his oatmeal for breakfast. "'And patsy has the house to look after,' added the Major, complacently. Uncle John gave a snort of contempt. "'For an unreasonable man, show me an Irishman,' he remarked. "'Here you've been telling me how Europe is an education and a delight, and in the next breath you deliberately deprive your little daughter, whom you pretend to love, of the advantages she might gain by trip abroad. And why, just because you want her yourself, and might be a bit lonesome without her, but I'll settle that foolishness, sir, in short order. You shall go with us.' "'Impossible,' ejaculated the Major.  Patsy nodded approval. "'That's right, Daddy,' she said.  Patsy and her father stared at one another with grave intentness. Then the Major drew out his handkerchief and mopped his brow. "'You'd like to go, Maverine?' he asked softly. "'Yes, Daddy, but I won't, of course.' "'Tut, tut, don't you go putting yourself against your old father's will, Patsy. It's not so far to Europe,' he continued thoughtfully, and you won't be away much longer than you were when you went to Elmhurst after Aunt Jane's money, which you didn't get. Mary takes fine care of our little rooms, and doubtless I shall be so busy that I won't miss you at all at all.' "'Daddy!' she was in his lap now, her chubby arms clasped around his neck, and her soft cheek laid close behind his rough and ruddy one. "'And when you get back, Patsy, darling,' he whispered, tenderly stroking her hair, the joy of the meeting will make up for all we've suffered. It's the way of life, Maverine. Unless a couple happens to be Siamese twins, they're bound to get separated in the course of events more or less, if not frequently. "'I won't go, Daddy. Oh, yes you will. It's not like you to be breaking my heart by staying home.' "'Next week,' said that wicked old uncle, he reminds me of one that tried to destroy the babes in the woods, Patsy, dear, you must try to reclaim him to humanity. For I'm hoping there's a bit of good in the old rascal yet.' And he looked affectionately at the round little man under the newspaper. Uncle John emerged again. It was wonderful how well he understood the Doyle family. His face was now smiling and wore a look of supreme satisfaction. "'Your selfishness, my dear Major,' said he, "'is like the husk on a coconut. When you crack it there's plenty of milk within, and in your case it's the milk of human kindness. Come, let's talk over the trip.' End of Chapter 1 Chapter 2 of Aunt Jane's Nieces Abroad. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information, or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Margo Zinberg. Aunt Jane's Nieces Abroad by L. Frank Baum. CHAPTER 2 Uncle John Makes Plans The thought came to me a long time ago, Uncle John resumed, but it was only yesterday that I got all the details fixed and settled in my mind. I've been a ruffled, duffer, patsy, and in all my hardworking life never thought of such a thing as travelling or enjoying myself until I fell in with you, and you taught me how pleasant it is to scatter sunshine in the hearts of others. For to make others happy means a lot of joy for yourself. A secret you were trying to keep from me, you crafty young woman, until I discovered it by accident. Now, here I am with three nieces on my hands. You may say, too, sir, interrupted the major. Patsy can take care of herself. Hold your tongue, said Uncle John. I say I've got three nieces, as fine a trio of intelligent, sweet and attractive young women as you'll run across in a month of Sundays.  So off we go, a week from Tuesday, in the first class steamer, Princess Irene, bound from New York for the Bay of Naples. Patsy's eyes showed her delight. They fairly danced. Have you told Beth and Louise, she asked? His face fell. Not yet, he said. I've forgotten to mention it to them. For my part, continued the girl, I can get ready in a week easily, but Beth is way out in Ohio, and we don't know whether she can go or not. I'll telegraph her and find out, said Uncle John. Do it today, suggested the major. I will. And to-morrow you must see Louise, added Patsy. I'm not sure she'll want to go, dear. She's such a social butterfly, you know, that her engagements may keep her at home. Do you mean to say she's engaged, asked Mr. Merrick, I missed? Only for the parties and receptions, Uncle, but it wouldn't surprise me if she was married soon. She's older than Beth or me, and has a host of admirers. Perhaps she's old enough to be sensible, suggested the major. Well, I'll see her and her mother to-morrow morning, decided Uncle John. And if she can't find time for a trip to Europe at my expense, you and Beth shall go anyhow. And we'll bring Louise a wedding present. With this declaration he took his hat and walking stick and started for the telegraph station, leaving Patsy and her father to canvas the unexpected situation. John Merrick was sixty years old, but his hail and rugged as a boy of twenty. He'd made his vast fortune on the Pacific coast, and during years of busy activity had been practically forgotten by the eastern members of his family, who never had credited him with sufficient ability to earn more than a precarious livelihood. But the man was shrewd enough in a business way, although simple almost a childishness in many other matters. When he returned quite unheralded to end his days at home, and employ his ample wealth to the best advantage, he for a time kept his success a secret, and so learned much of the dispositions and personal characteristics of his three nieces. They were at that time visiting his unmarried sister Jane at her estate at Elmhurst, whether they'd been invited for the first time, and in the race for Aunt Jane's fortune he watched the three girls carefully, and found much to admire in each one of them. Patsy Doyle, however, proved exceptionally frank and genuine, and when Aunt Jane at last died, it was found she had no estate to bequeath. Patsy proved the one bright star in the firmament of disappointment. Supposing Uncle John to be poor, she insisted upon carrying him to New York with her, and sharing with him the humble tenement room in which she lived with her father, a retired veteran who helped pay the family expenses, by keeping books for a mercantile firm, while Patsy worked in a hairdresser's shop. It was now that Uncle John proved a modern fairy godfather to Aunt Jane's nieces, who were likewise his own nieces. The three girls had little in common except their poverty, Elizabeth de Graff being the daughter of a music teacher in Cloverton, Ohio, while Louise Merrick lived with her widowed mother in a social atmosphere of the second class in New York, where the two women frankly intrigued to and snare for Louise a husband who had sufficient means to ensure both mother and daughter a comfortable home. In spite of this worldly and unlovely ambition, which their circumstances might partially excuse, Louise, who was but seventeen, had many good and womanly qualities, could they have been developed in an atmosphere uninfluenced by the schemes of her vain and selfish mother. Uncle John, casting aside the mask of poverty, came to the relief of all three girls. He settled the incomes of substantial sums of money upon both Beth and Louise, making them practically independent. For Patsy he bought a handsome modern flat building located at 3708 Willing Square and installed her and the major in its coziest apartment, the rents of the remaining flats giving the doils an adequate income for all time to come. Here Uncle John, believing himself cordially welcome as indeed he was, made his own home, and it required no shrewd guessing to arrive at the conclusion that little Patsy was destined to inherit some day all his millions. The great banking and brokerage firm of Isham, Marvin and Company had long managed successfully John Merrick's vast fortune. And at his solicitation it gave Major Doyle a responsible position in its main office, with a salary that rendered him independent of his daughter's suddenly acquired wealth and made him proud and self-respecting. Money had no power to change the nature of the doils. The Major remained the same simple, honest, courteous yet brusque old warrior who had won Uncle John's love as a hard-working bookkeeper. And Patsy's bright and sunny disposition had certain power to cheer any home, whether located in a palace or a hovel. Never before in his life had Uncle John been so supremely happy, and never before had Aunt Jane's three nieces had so many advantages and pleasures. It was to confer still further benefits upon these girls that their eccentric uncle had planned this unexpected European trip. His telegram to Elizabeth was characteristic. Patsy, Louise and I sail for Europe next Tuesday. Will you join us as my guest? If so, take first train to New York, where I will look after your outfit. Answer immediately. That was a message likely to surprise a country girl, but it did not strike John Merrick as in any way extraordinary. He thought he could depend upon Beth. She would be as eager to go as he was to have her, and when he had paid for the telegram he dismissed the matter from further thought. Next morning Patsy reminded him that instead of going downtown he must personally notify Louise Merrick of the proposed trip. So he took a cross-town line and arrived at the Merrick's home at nine o'clock. Mrs. Merrick was in a morning wrapper, sipping her coffee in an upper room. But she could not deny herself to Uncle John, her dead husband's brother, and her only daughter's benefactor, which meant indirectly her own benefactor, so she ordered the maid to show him up at once. Louise is still sweetly sleeping, she said, and won't waken for hours yet. Is anything wrong with her, he asked anxiously? Oh, dear no! But everyone does not get up with the milkman as you do, John, the dear child was at the opera last night, which made her late in getting home. Doesn't the opera let out before midnight, the same as the theaters, he asked? I believe so, but there's the supper afterward, you know. Ah, yes, he returned thoughtfully. I've always noticed that the opera makes folks desperately hungry, for they flock to the restaurants as soon as they can get away, singular, isn't it? Why, I never thought of it in that light. But Louise is well. Quite well, thank you. That's a great relief, for I'm going to take her to Europe with me next week, he said. Mrs. Merrick was so astonished that she nearly dropped her coffee cup, and could make no better reply than to stare blankly at her brother-in-law. We sail Tuesday, continued Uncle John, and you must have my niece ready in time and deliver her on board the Princess Irene at Hoboken at nine o'clock sharp. But John, John, gasp, Mrs. Merrick feebly. It will take a month at least to make her gowns, and— Stuffin' rubbish, he growled. That shows Martha how little you know about European trips. No one makes gowns to go abroad with, you buy them in Paris to bring home. Ah, yes, to be sure, she muttered. Perhaps then it can be done if Louise has no other engagements. Just what Patsy said. See here, Martha, do you imagine that any girl who's half human could have engagements that would keep her from Europe? But the requirements of society. You'll get me riled pretty soon, Martha, and if you do, you'll wish you hadn't. This speech frightened the woman. It wouldn't do to provoke Uncle John, however unreasonable he happened to be. So she said meekly, I've no doubt Louise will be delighted to go, and so will I. Why, why whom do you intend taking? Just the three girls, and James three nieces, also mine. But you'll want a chaperone for them. Why so? Propriety requires it, and so does ordinary prudence. Louise, I know, will be discreet for it is her nature, but Patsy is such a little fly-away, and Beth so deep into Muir that without a chaperone that might cause you a lot of trouble.  A chaperone, he cried contemptuously. Not any in mind, Martha Merrick. Either we young folks go alone without any death's head to perpetually glower at us, or we don't go at all. Three better girls never lived and I'll trust them anywhere. Besides that, we aren't going to any of your confounded social functions. We're going on a regular picnic.  A chaperone indeed. Mrs. Merrick held up her hands in horror. I'm not sure, John, she gasped, that I ought to trust my dear child with an uncle who disregards so openly the proprieties. Well, I'm sure, and the things settled, he said more calmly. Don't worry, ma'am. I'll look after Patsy and Beth, and Louise will look after all of us, just as she does after you, because she's so discreet. Talk about your being a chaperone. Why, you don't dare say your soul's your own when Louise is awake. That chaperone business is all humbuggery. Unless an old uncle like me can be a chaperone. Anyhow, I'm the only one that's going to be appointed. I won't wait for Louise to wake up. Just tell her the news and help her to get ready on time. And now I'm off. Good morning, Martha. She really had no words of protest ready at hand, and it was long after queer old John Merrick had gone away that she remembered a dozen effective speeches that she might have delivered. After all, she sighed taking up her cup again. It may be the best thing in the world for Louise. We don't know whether that young Weldon who's paying her attentions just now is going to inherit his father's money or not. He's been a bit wild, I've heard, and it's just as well to postpone in any engagement until we find out the facts. I can do that nicely while my sweet child is in Europe with Uncle John and away from all danger of entanglements. Really, it's an ill wind that blows no good. I'll go talk with Louise. The Brought by L. Frank Baum, Chapter 3. All Ashore Beth D. Graff was a puzzle to all who knew her. She was a puzzle even to herself, and was wont to say, indifferently, that the problem was not worth the solution. For this beautiful girl of fifteen was somewhat bitter and misanthropic, a condition perhaps due to the uncongenial atmosphere in which she had been reared. She was of dark complexion, and her big brown eyes held a somber and unfathomable expression. Once she had secretly studied their reflection in a mirror, and the eyes awed and frightened her, and made her uneasy. She had analyzed them much as if they belonged to someone else, and wondered what lay behind their mask and what their capabilities might be. But this morbid condition mostly affected her when she was at home, listening to the unpleasant bickering of her father and mother, who curled constantly over trifles that Beth completely ignored. Her parents seemed like two ill-tempered animals confined in the same cage, she thought, and their snarls had long since ceased to interest her. This condition had, of course, been infinitely worse in all those dreadful years when they were poverty-stricken. Since Uncle John had settled a comfortable income on his niece, the grocer was paid promptly, and Mrs. D. Graff wore a silk dress on Sundays and held her chin a little higher than any other of the Cloverton ladies dared do. The Professor, no longer harassed by debts, devoted less time to the drudgery of teaching, and began the composition of an oratorio that he firmly believed would render his name famous. So, there being less decor all about, Beth's parents indulged more moderately in that past time, but their natures were discordant, and harmony in the D. Graff household was impossible. When away from home Beth's disposition softened. Some of her school friends had seen her smile, a wonderful and charming phenomenon, during which her expression grew sweet and bewitchingly animated, and her brown eyes radiant with mirthful light. It was not the same Beth at all. Sometimes when the nieces were all the Aunt Jane's, Beth had snuggled in the arms of her cousin Louise, who had a way of rendering herself agreeable, to all with whom she came in contact, and tried hard to win the affection of the frankly antagonistic girl. At such times the gentleness of Elizabeth, her almost passionate desire to be loved and fondled, completely transformed her for the moment. Louise, shrewd at reading others, told herself that Beth possessed a reserve force of tenderness, amiability, and fond devotion, that would render her adorable if she ever allowed those qualities full expression. But she did not tell Beth that. The girl was so accustomed to despise herself, and so suspicious of any creditable impulses that at times unexpectedly obtruded themselves, that she would have dismissed such a suggestion as errant flattery, and Louise was clever enough not to wish to arouse her cousin to a full consciousness of her own possibilities. The trained, if not native, indifference of this strange girl of fifteen was demonstrated by her reception of Uncle John's telegram. She quietly handed it to her mother and said, as calmly as if it were an invitation to a church picnic, I think I shall go. Nothing like that ever happened to me, remarked Mrs. DeGraph, enviously.  But John always was a fool, and always will be. When will you start, Beth? Tomorrow morning there's nothing to keep me. I'll go to Patsy and stay with her until we sail. Are you glad? asked her mother, looking into the expressionless face, half curiously. Yes, returned Beth, as of considering her reply. A change is always interesting, and I have never traveled except to visit Aunt Jane at Elmhurst, so I think I am pleased to go to Europe. Mrs. DeGraph sighed. There was little in common between mother and daughter, but that, to a grave extent, was the woman's fault. She had never tried to understand her child's complex nature, and somewhat resented Beth's youth and good looks, which she considered contrasted unfavorably with her own deepening wrinkles and graying hair. For Mrs. DeGraph was vain and self-important, and still thought herself attractive and even girlish. It would really be a relief to have Beth out of the way for a few months. The girl packed her own trunk and arranged for it to be taken to the station. In the morning she entered the music room to bid the professor good-bye. He frowned at the interruption, for the oratorio was especially engrossing at the time. Mrs. DeGraph kissed her daughter lightly upon the lips, and said in a perfunctory way that she hoped Beth would have a good time. The girl had no thought of resenting the lack of affection displayed by her parents. It was what she had always been accustomed to, and she had no reason to expect anything different. Patsy met her at the train in New York, and embraced her rapturously. Patsy was really fond of Beth, but it was her nature to be fond of everyone. And her cousin, escaping from her smacking and enthusiastic kisses, told herself that Patsy would have embraced a cat with the same spontaneous ecstasy. That was not strictly true, but there was nothing half-hearted or half-way about Miss Doyle. If she loved you, there would never be an occasion for you to doubt the fact. It was Patsy's way. Uncle John also was cordial in his greetings. He was very proud of his pretty niece, and discerning enough to realize there was a broad strata of womanliness somewhere in Elizabeth's undemonstrative character. He had promised himself to dig it out some day, and perhaps the European trip would give him his opportunity. Patsy and Elizabeth shopped for the next few days most strenuously and delightfully. Sometimes their dainty cousin Louise joined them, and the three girls canvassed gravely their requirements for a trip that was as new to them as a flight to the moon. Naturally they bought much that was unnecessary, and forgot many things that would have been useful. You have to go twice to Europe to know what to take along. Louise needed less than the others, for her wardrobe was more extensive, and she already possessed all that a young girl could possibly make use of. This niece, the eldest of Uncle John's trio, was vastly more experienced in the ways of the world than the others. Although as a traveller she had no advantage of them. Urged thereto by her worldly mother, she led a sort of trivial butterfly existence, and her character was decidedly superficial to any close observer. Indeed, her very suavity and sweetness of manner was assumed, because it was so much more comfortable and effective to be agreeable than otherwise. She was now past seventeen years of age, tall and well-formed, with a delicate and attractive face, which, without being beautiful, was considered pleasant and winning. Her eyes were good, though a bit too shrewd, and her light-brown hair was fluffy as bun-silk. Graceful of carriage, gracious of manner, yet affecting a langer unsuited to her years. Louise Merrick was a girl calculated to draw from the passing throng glances of admiration and approval, and to convey the impression of good-breeding and feminine cleverness. All this, however, was outward. Neither Patsy nor Beth displayed any undue affection for their cousin. Although all of the girls exhibited a fair amount of cousinly friendship for one another, they had once been thrown together under trying circumstances, when various qualities of temperament, not altogether admirable, were liable to assert themselves. Those events were too recent to be already forgotten, yet the girls were generous enough to be considerate of each other's failings, and had resolved to entertain no sentiment other than goodwill on the eve of their departure for such a charming outing as Uncle John had planned for them. Mr. Merrick, being a man, saw nothing radically wrong in the dispositions of any of his nieces. Their youth and girlishness appealed to him strongly, and he loved to have them by his side. It is true that he secretly regretted Louise was not more genuine, that Beth was so cynical and frank, and that Patsy was not more diplomatic. But he reflected that he had had no hand in molding their characters, although he might be instrumental in improving them. So he accepted the girls as they were, thankful that their faults were not glaring, and happy to have found three such interesting nieces to cheer his old age. At last the preparations were complete. Tuesday arrived, and Uncle John corralled his females, as he expressed it, and delivered them safely on board the staunch and comfortable ocean greyhound, known as the Princess Irene. Together with their bags and baggage, their flowers and fruits and candy boxes, and all those other useless accessories to avoid so eagerly thrust upon the departing travellers, by their affectionate, but ill-advised friends. Mrs. Merrick undertook the exertion of going to Hobakon to see her daughter off, and whispered in the ear of Louise many worldly admonitions, and such bits of practical advice as she could call to mind on the spur of the moment. Major Gregory Doyle was there, pompous in straight of form and wearing an assumed smile, that was meant to assure Patsy he was delighted at her going, but which had the effect of scaring the girl, because at first she thought the dreadful expression was due to convulsions. The Major had no admonitions for Patsy, but she had plenty for him, and gave him a long list of directions that would, as he said, cause him to walk mighty straight, if by good luck he managed to remember them all. Having made up his mind to let the child go to Europe, the old fellow allowed no wails or bemoanings to reach Patsy's ears, to deprive her of a moment's joyful anticipation of the delights in store for her. He laughed and joked perpetually during that last day, and promised the girl that he would take a vacation while she was gone, and visit his old Colonel in Virginia, which she knew was the rarest pleasure he could enjoy. And now he stood upon the deck amusing them all with his quaint sayings, and appearing so outwardly jolly and unaffected, that only Patsy herself suspected the deep grief that was gripping his kindly old heart. Little John guessed, perhaps, for he hugged the Major in a tight embrace, whispering that Patsy should be now, as ever, the apple of his eye, and the subject of his most loving care. And don't be forgetting to bring me the Mircham pipe from Sicily, and the Leathern pocketbook from Florence, the Major said to Patsy impressively. It's little enough for you to remember if he go that way, and to tell the truth I'm sending you abroad just for to get them. And don't be getting off the boat till it stops at a station. And remember that Uncle John is full of rheumatics, and can't walk more than thirty miles an hour, and... It's a slander, said Uncle John stoutly. I never had rheumatics in my life.  Do have the tailor sponge your vest every Saturday. It's full of spots even now, and I've been too busy lately to look after you properly. Your... Your just disgraceful Major. All ashore, called a loud voice. The Major gathered Patsy into an embrace that threatened to crush her, and then tossed her into Uncle John's arms and hurried away. Mrs. Merrick followed, with good wishes for all for a pleasant journey. And then the four voyagers pressed to the rail and waved their handkerchiefs frantically to those upon the dock, while the band played vociferously, and the sailors ran here and there in sudden excitement, and the great ship left her moorings and moved with proud deliberation down the bay to begin her long voyage to Gibraltar and the blue waters of the Mediterranean. CHAPTER IV Some New Acquaintances and a Warning For an inexperienced tourist, Uncle John managed their arrangements most admirably. He knew nothing at all about ocean travel or what was the proper method to secure comfortable accommodations. But while most of the passengers were writing hurried letters in the second-deck gallery, which were to be sent back by the pilot, Mr. Merrick took occasion to interview the chief steward and the deck steward and whatever other official he could find, and purchased their goodwill so liberally that the effect of his astute diplomacy was immediately apparent. His nieces found that the sunniest deck-chairs bore their names. The most desirable seats in the dining-hall were theirs when, half-famished because breakfast had been disregarded, they trooped into luncheon. The best waiters on the ship attended to their wants. And afterward their cabins were found to be cosely arranged with every comfort the heart of maid could wish for. At luncheon it was found that the steward had placed a letter before Uncle John's plate. The handwriting of the address Louise, who sat next to her uncle, at once recognized as that of her mother. But she said nothing. Mr. Merrick was amazed at the contents of the communication, especially as he had so recently parted with a lady who had written it. It said, I must warn you, John, that my daughter has just escaped a serious entanglement, and I am therefore more grateful than I can express that you are taking her far from home for a few weeks.  But I cautioned her not to encourage him because a rumor had reached me that he has quarreled with his father and been disinherited. My informant also asserted that the young man is wild and headstrong, and cannot be controlled by his parent. But he always seemed gentlemanly enough at our house, and my greatest objection to him is that he is not likely to inherit a dollar of his father's money. Louise and I decided to keep him dangling until we could learn the truth of this matter. For you can easily understand that with her exceptional attractions there is no object in Louise throwing herself away upon a poor man, or one who cannot give her a prominent position in society. Imagine my horror, John, when I discovered last evening, that my only child, whom I have so fondly cherished, has ungrateful deceived me. Carried away by the impetuous avowals of this young scapegrace, whom his own father disowns, she has confessed her love for him, love for a pauper, and only by the most stringent exercise of my authority have I been able to exact from Louise a promise that she will not become formally engaged to Arthur Weldon, or even correspond with him, until she has returned home. By that time I shall have learned more of his history and prospects, when I can better decide whether to allow the fair to go on. Of course I have hopes that in case my fears are proven to have been well founded, I can arouse Louise to a proper spirit, and induce her to throw the fellow over. Meantime I implore you, as my daughter's temporary guardian, not to allow Louise to speak of or dwell upon this young man, but try to interest her in other gentlemen whom you may meet and lead her to forget, if possible, her miserable entanglement. Consider a loving mother's feelings, John. Try to help me in this emergency, and I shall be forever deeply grateful. It's from mother, isn't it? asked Louise, when he had finished reading the letter. Yes, he answered gruffly, as he crumpled the missive and stuffed it into his pocket. What does she say, uncle? Nothing but rubbish and nonsense. Eat your soup, my dear, it's getting cold. The girl's sweet, low laughter sounded very pleasant, and served to calm his irritation. From her demure yet amused expression, uncle John guessed that Louise knew the tenor of her mother's letter, as well as if she had read it over his shoulder, and it comforted him that she could take the matter so lightly. Perhaps the poor child was not so deeply in love as her mother had declared. He was greatly annoyed at the confidence Mrs. Merrick had seen fit to repose in him, and felt she had no right to burden him with any knowledge of such an absurd condition of affairs, just as he was starting for a holiday. Whatever might be the truth of the girl's entanglement, and he judged that it was not all conveyed in Martha Merrick's subtle letter, Louise would surely be free and unhampered by either love or maternal diplomacy for some time to come. When she returned home, her mother might conduct the affair to suit herself. He would have nothing to do with it in any way. As soon as luncheon was finished, they rushed for the deck, and you may imagine that chubby little uncle John, with his rosy, smiling face and kindly eyes, surrounded by three eager and attractive girls of from fifteen to seventeen years of age, was a sight to compel the attention of every passenger aboard the ship. It was found easy to make the acquaintance of the interesting group, and many took advantage of that fact. For uncle John chatted brightly with every man, and Patsy required no excuse of a formal introduction to convide to every woman that John Merrick was taking his three nieces to Europe to see the sights and have the time of their lives. Many of the businessmen knew well the millionaire's name, and accorded him great respect because he was so enormously wealthy and successful. But the little man was so genuinely human and unaffected, and so openly scorned all todyism, that they soon forgot his greatness in the financial world, and accepted him simply as a good fellow and an invariably cheerful comrade. The weather was somewhat rough for the latter part of March. They had sailed the twenty-seventh. But the Irene was so staunch and rode the waves so gracefully, that none of the party, except Louise, was at all affected by the motion. The eldest cousin, however, claimed to be indisposed for the first few days out, and so Beth and Patsy and Uncle John sat in a row in their steamer chairs, with the rugs tucked up to their waists, and kept themselves and everyone around them merry and light-hearted. Next to Patsy reclined a dark complexioned man of about thirty-five, with a long, thin face and intensely black, gray vise. He was carelessly dressed, and wore a flannel shirt. But there was an odd look of mingled refinement and barbarity about him that arrested the girl's attention. He sat very quietly in his chair, reserved both in speech and in manner. But when she forced him to talk, he spoke impetuously, and with almost savage emphasis, and a broken dialect that amused her immensely. You can't be American, she said. I am Sicilian, was the proud answer. That's what I thought, Sicilian or Italian or Spanish, but I'm glad it's Sicilian, which is the same as Italian. I can't speak your lingo myself, she continued, although I am studying it hard. But you manage the English pretty well, so we shall get along famously together. He did not answer for a moment, but searched her unconscious face with his keen eyes. Then he demanded, brusquely, where do you go? Why to Europe? she replied, as of surprised. Europe. Pa, it is no answer at all. He responded, angrily. Europe is big. To what part do you journey? Patsy hesitated. The magic word Europe had seemed to sum up their destination very effectively, and she had her to four accepted it as sufficient, for the time being, at least. Uncle John had bought an armful of guidebooks and be-deckers, but in the hurry of departure she had never glanced inside them. To go to Europe had been enough to satisfy her so far. But perhaps she should have more definite knowledge concerning their trip. So she turned to Uncle John and said, Uncle dear, to what part of Europe are we going? What part? he answered. Why, it tells on the ticket, Patsy. I can't remember the name just now. It's where the ship stops, of course. That is, Napoli, said the thin-faced man, with a scarcely veiled sneer. And then? repeated Patsy, turning to her uncle.  I'm not a timetable, Patsy, but the trip is all arranged in beautiful style, by a friend of mine who has always wanted to go abroad, and so has the whole program mapped out in his head. Is it in his head yet? inquired Patsy, anxiously. No, dear, it's in the left-hand pocket of my blue coat, all written down clearly. So what's the use of bothering? We aren't there yet. By and by we'll get to Europe and do it up brown. Whatever happens, and wherever we go, it's got to be a spree and a jolly good time. So take it easy, Patsy, dear, and don't worry. That's all right, Uncle. She rejoined with a laugh. I'm not worrying the least might. But when folks ask us where we're going, what shall we say? Europe. And then, mischievously, and then home again, of course, it's as plain as the nose on your face, Patsy Doyle, and a good bit straighter. That made her laugh again, and the strange Italian who was listening growled a word in his native language. He wasn't at all a pleasant companion, but for that very reason Patsy determined to make him talk and be sociable. By degrees he seemed to appreciate her attention and always brightened when she came to sit beside him.  He glanced nervously around. Then he answered, slowly, I am called Valdi, Victor Valdi. Oh, that's a pretty name, Mr. Valdi, or should I say, senior? You should. Do I pronounce it right? No. Well, never mind if I don't, you'll know what I mean, and that I intend to be proper and polite, she responded sweetly. Beth, while she made fewer acquaintances than Patsy, seemed to have cast off her soul in reserve when she boarded the ship. In truth, the girl was really happy for the first time in her life, and it softened her so wonderfully, and made her so attractive that she soon formed a select circle around her. A young lady from Cleveland, who had two big brothers, was impelled to introduce herself to Beth because of the young men's intense admiration for the girl's beautiful face. When it was found out that they were all from Ohio, they formed a friendly alliance at once. Mary and Horton was so frank and agreeable that she managed to draw out all that was best in Beth's nature, and the stalwart young Hortons were so shyly enthusiastic over this, their first trip abroad, that they inspired the girl with a like ardor, which resulted in the most cordial relations between them. And it so happened that several other young men who chanced to be aboard the Princess Irene marked the Horton's intimacy with Beth, and insisted on being introduced by them, so that by the time Louise had conquered her Maldemure and appeared on deck, she found an admiring group around her cousin that included most of the desirable young fellows on the ship. Beth sat and throned like a queen, listening to her court-sheers, and smiling encouragement now and then, but taking little part in the conversation herself because of her inexperience. Such adoration was new to the little country girl, and she really enjoyed it. Nor did the young men resent her silence. All that they wanted her to do, as Tom Horton tersely expressed it, was to sit still and look pretty. As for Uncle John, he was so delighted with Beth's social success that he adopted all the boys on the spot, and made them a part of what he called his family circle. Louise, discovering this state of affairs, gave an amused laugh and joined the group. She was a little provoked that she had isolated herself so long in her cabin when there was interesting sport on deck. But having lost some valuable time, she straightway applied herself to redeem the situation. In the brilliance of her conversation, in her studied glances, in a thousand pretty ways that were skilfully rendered effective, she had a decided advantage over her more beautiful cousin. When Louise really desired to please, she was indeed a charming companion, and young men are not likely to detect insincerity in a girl who tries to captivate them. The result was astonishing to Uncle John, and somewhat humiliating to Beth, for a new queen was presently crowned, and Louise, by some magnetic power, assembled the corps around herself. Only the youngest Horton boy, in whose susceptible heart Beth's image was firmly enshrined, refused to change his allegiance. But in truth, the girl enjoyed herself more genuinely in the society of one loyal cavalier than when so many were clamoring for her favors. The two would walk the deck together for hours, without exchanging a single word, or sit together silently listening to the band, or watching the waves, without the need, as Tom expressed it, of jabbering every blessed minute, in order to be happy. Patsy was indignant at the artfulness of Louise, until she noticed that Beth was quite content. Then she laughed softly, and watched matters take their course, feeling a little sorry for the boys, because she knew Louise was only playing with them. The trip across the Atlantic was all too short. On the fifth of April they passed the Azores, running close to the islands of Fale and San George, so that the passengers might admire the zigzag rows of white houses that reached from the shore far up the steep hillsides. On the sixth day they sighted Gibraltar, and passed between the Moorish and Spanish lighthouses, and to the lovely waters of the Mediterranean. The world-famed rock was now disclosed to their eyes, and when the ship anchored opposite it, Uncle John assisted his nieces aboard the lighter, and took them for a brief excursion ashore. Of course they rode to the fortress, and wandered through its gloomy, impressive galleries, seeing little of the armament, because visitors are barred from the real fortifications. The fortress did not seem especially impregnable, and was, taken altogether, a distinct disappointment to them. But the ride through the town, in the low basket fatens, was wholly delightful. The quaint narrow streets and stone arches, the beautiful vistas of sea and mountain, the swarthy dark-eyed moors whose presence lent to the town and oriental atmosphere, and the queer marketplaces crowded with Spaniards, Frenchmen, Jews, and red-coated English soldiers, all together made up a panorama that was fascinating in the extreme. But their stay was short, and after a rush of sightseeing, that almost bewildered them, they returned to the ship, breathless but elated, having seen and done, as Uncle John declared, their first four in port. And now through water so brightly blue and transparent that they aroused the girls' wonder and admiration, the good ship plowed her way toward the port of Naples, passing to the east of Sardinia and Corsica, which they viewed with eager interest because these places had always seemed so far away to them, and had now suddenly appeared as if by magic directly before their eyes. Patsy and the big whiskered captain had become such good friends that he always welcomed the girl on his own exclusive deck, and this afternoon she sat beside him and watched the rugged panorama slip by. When will we get to Naples? she asked. Tomorrow evening, probably, answered the captain. Sia is over in that direction, where the gray cloud appears in the sky. And what is the gray cloud, captain? I do not know, said he gravely. Perhaps smoke from Fasuvius. At Gibraltar we heard that the volcano is in an ugly mood. I hope it will cause you no inconvenience. Wouldn't it be fine if we could see an eruption? exclaimed the girl. The captain shook his head. Interesting, perhaps, he admitted, but no great calamity that causes thousands of people to suffer can be called fine. Ah, that is true, she said quickly. I had forgotten the suffering. Next morning all the sky was thick with smoke, and the sun was hidden. The waters turned gray, and as they approached the Italian coast the gloom perceptibly increased. A feeling of uneasiness seemed to pervade the ship, and even the captain had so many things to consider that he had no time to converse with his little friend. Signior Valdi foresook his deck chair for the first time, and stood at the rail which overlooked the steerage, with his eyes glued to the grim skies ahead. When Uncle John asked him what he saw he answered eagerly. Death and destruction and a loss of millions of lira to the bankrupt government. I know, for I have studied Etna for years, and Vesuvio is a second cousin to Etna. Hmm, said Uncle John, you seem pleased with the idea of an eruption. The thin-faced man threw a shrewd look from his dark eyes and smiled. Uncle John frowned at the look and stumped away. He was not at all easy in his own mind. He had brought three nieces for a holiday to this foreign shore, and here at the outset they were confronted by an intangible danger that was more fearful because it was not understood. It was enough to make his round face serious, although he had so strong an objection to unnecessary worry. Afternoon tea was served on deck amidst an unusual quiet. People soberly canvassed the situation and remarked upon the fact that the darkness increased visibly as they neared the bay of Naples. Beth couldn't drink her tea, for tiny black atoms fell through the air and floated upon the surface of the liquid. Louise retired to her stateroom with a headache, and found her white surge gown peppered with particles of lava dust which had fallen from the skies. The pilot guided the ship cautiously past Capri and into the bay. The air was now black with volcanic dross, and a gloom as of midnight surrounded them on every side. The shore, the mountain, and the water of the bay itself were alike invisible. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Diana Meilinger Aunt Jane's niece is abroad, by L. Frank Baum. Chapter 5 The Zoovius Rampant It was Saturday night, the seventh day of April, 1906, a night never to be forgotten by those abroad the ship. A night which has its place in history. At dinner the captain announced that he had dropped anchor at the Ima Colatella Nuova, but at a safe distance from the shore, and that no passengers would be landed under any circumstances until the fall of ashes seized, and he could put his people ashore in a proper manner. A spirit of unrest fell upon them all. Big Thumb Horton whispered to Beth that he did not intend to leave her side until all danger was over. The deck was deserted, all the passengers crowding into the smoking-room and the saloons to escape the lava dust. Few kept their rooms or venture to sleep. At intervals a loud detonation from the volcano shook the air, and the mystery and awe of the enveloping loom were so palpable as almost to be felt. Toward midnight the wind changed, driving the clouds of ashes to the southward, and sufficiently clearing the atmosphere to allow the angry glow of the crater to be distinctly seen. Now it shot a pillar of fire thousands of feet straight into the heavens. Then it would darken and roll skyward great clouds that were illumined by the showers of sparks accompanying them. The windows of every cabin facing the volcano were filled with eager faces, and in the smoking-room Uncle John clasped Beth around the waist with one arm, and Patsy with the other, and watched a wonderful exhibition through the window with a grave and anxious face. Tom Horton had taken a position at one side of them and a dark Italian at the other. The latter assured Patsy they were in no danger whatever. Tom secretly hoped they were, and laid brave plans for rescuing Beth or perishing at her side. Louise chose to lie in her birth and await events with calm resignation. If they escaped she would not look haggard and hollow-eyed when morning came. If a catastrophe was pending she would have no power to parent it. It was four o'clock on Sunday morning when the Zuvius finally reached the climax of her trail. With a deep groan of anguish the mountain burst asunder, and from its side rolled a great steam of molten lava that slowly spread down the slope, consuming trees, vineyards, and dwellings in its path, and overwhelming the faded city of Bosco-Tracasa. Our friends marked the course of destruction by watching the thread of fire slowly wander down the mountain slope. They did not know the desolation it was causing, but the sight was terrible enough to inspire all in every breast. The volcano was easier after that final outburst, but the black clouds formed thicker than ever, and soon obscured the sky again. Nieces Abroad This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org. This recording is by Robert Parker of Story City, Iowa. Aunt Jane's Nieces Abroad by L. Frank Baum Chapter 6 Under a Cloud After all, said Uncle John, the next morning, we may consider ourselves very lucky.  If the confounded old hill was bound to spout, it did the fair thing by spouting when we were around. I quite agree with you, said the girl. I wouldn't have missed it for anything if it really had to behave so. But you'll pay for it, growled Senior Valdi, who had overheard these remarks. You'll pay for it with a thousand discomforts, and I'm glad that is so.   Listen, he dropped his voice to a whisper. If these Neapolitans could see the rejoicing in my heart, they would kill me. And you, pa, you're no better. You also rejoice, and they will welcome you to Naples. I have advice. Do not go on shore. It is useless. They were all startled by this strange speech, and the reproof it conveyed made them feel a trifle uncomfortable. But Uncle John whispered that the man was mad, and to pay no attention to him. Although ashes still fell softly upon the ship, the day had somewhat lightened the gloom, and they could see from deck the dim outlines of the shore. A crowd of boats presently swarmed around them, their occupants eagerly clamoring for passengers to go ashore, or offering fruits or flowers and souvenirs to any who might be induced to purchase. Their indifference to their own and their city's danger was astonishing. It was their custom to greet arriving steamers in this way, for by this means they gained a livelihood. Nothing short of absolute destruction seemed able to interfere with their established occupations. A steam tender also came alongside, and after a cordial farewell to the ship's officers and their traveling acquaintances, Uncle John placed his nieces and their baggage aboard the tender, which shortly deposited them safely upon the dock. Perhaps a lot of passengers, more dismal looking, never before landed on the beautiful shores of Naples, beautiful no longer, but presenting an appearance gray and gruesome. Ashes were ankle-deep in the streets, a fine flower-like dust that clung to your clothing, filled your eyes and lungs, and seemed to penetrate everywhere. The foliage of the trees and shrubbery drooped under its load, and had turned from green to the all-pervading gray. The grass was covered. The cornices and balconies of the houses were banked with ashes. Bless me, said Uncle John. It's as bad as Pompey, or whatever that city was called, that was buried in the Bible days. Oh, not quite, Uncle, answered Patsy, in her cheery voice, but it may be before Vesuvius is satisfied. It is certainly bad enough, observed Louise, pouting as she marked the destruction of her petty cloak by the grimy deposit that was fast changing its color and texture. Well, let us get under shelter as soon as possible, said Uncle John. The outlines of a carriage were visible a short distance away. He walked up to the driver and said, We want to go to a hotel! The man paid no attention. Ask him how much he charges, Uncle. You know you mustn't take a cab in Naples without bargaining? What for? Well, the driver will swindle you. Well, I'll risk that, he answered. Just now we're lucky if we get a carriage at all. He reached up and prodded the Yehu in the ribs with his cane. How much to the hotel of Vesuvius! He demanded, loudly, the man woke up and flourished his whip at the same time bursting into a flood of Italian. The girls listened carefully. They'd been trying to study Italian from a small book Beth had bought, entitled Italian in Three Weeks Without a Master. But not a word the driver of the carriage said seemed to have occurred in the vocabulary of the book. He repeated Vesuvio many times, however, with scornful, angry, or imploring intonations. And Louis finally said, he thinks he want to go to the volcano, Uncle. The hotel is the Vesuvius! Not the Vesuvius. And what's the difference? I don't know. All right, you girls just hop in and leave the rest to me. And he tumbled them all into the vehicle, bag and baggage, and then said sternly to the driver, Hotel Vesuvius, Vesuvius, Hotel Vesuvius. Drive there, darn quick, or I'll break your confounded neck. Well, the carriage started. It plowed its way jerkily through the dust-laden streets and finally stopped at an imposing looking structure. The day was growing darker and an electric lamp burned before the entrance, but no one came out to receive them. Uncle John climbed out and read the sign, Hotel Vesuvius! It was the establishment he'd been advised to stop at while in Naples. He compared the sign with a card he drew from his pocket and knew that he had made no mistake. Entering the spacious lobby, he found it deserted. In the office, a man was hastily making a package of some books and papers and did not respond or even look up when spoken to.  Good morning, said Uncle John. Fine day, isn't it? Did you hear it? whispered the concierge. As a dull boom, like that of a distant cannon, made the windows rattle in their casements. Of course, replied Mr. Merrick carelessly, Old Vesuvius seems on a rampage, but never mind that now. We've just come from America, where the mountains are more polite, and we're going to stop at your hotel. The concierge's eyes wandered from the man to the three girls who had entered and grouped themselves behind him. Then they fell upon the driver of the carriage, who burst into a torrent of vociferous but wholly unintelligible exclamations which Uncle John declared, must be an excuse and a mighty poor one for talking. The whiskered man, whose cap was elaborately embroidered in gold with the words Hotel Vesuvius, seemed to understand the driver. He sighed durrily and said to Mr. Merrick, you must pay him 30 liars. How much is that? Six dollars, not by a jug full. You made no bargain. I couldn't talk. He can't talk. He claims it is you who cannot talk. What? And prices are advanced during these awful days. What does it matter? Your money will do you no good when we're all buried deep in ash and scoria. The big man shuddered at this gloomy picture and added listlessly, you'll have to pay. Uncle John paid, but the driver wouldn't accept American money. The disconsolate concierge would, though, he unlocked a drawer, put the six dollars into one section and drew from another two 10-liter notes. The driver took them, bowed respectfully to the whiskered man, shot a broad side of invective Italian at the unconscious Americans, and left the hotel. How about rooms? asked Uncle John. Take any, you please, answered the concierge.  The servants are also gone. The chef has gone. The elevator conductors are gone. If you stay, you'll have to walk up. Where have they all gone? asked Uncle John, wonderingly. They fled, sir, fled to escape destruction. They remember Pompeii, only senior Floriano, the proprietor, and myself are left. We stick to the last. We are brave. So I see. Now look here, my manly hero. It's possible we shall all live through it. I'll bet you a thousand to ten that we do. And then you'll be glad to realize you've pocketed a little more American money. Come out of that box and show us some rooms, and I'll help to build up your fortune. The concierge obeyed. Even the horrors of the situation could not eliminate from his carefully trained nature that desire to accumulate, which is the prime qualification of his profession. The Americans walked up one flight and found spacious rooms on the first floor, of which they immediately took possession. Send for our trunks, said Mr. Merrick, and the man consented to do so provided he could secure a proper vehicle. He'll be obliged to pay high for it, he warned, but that will not matter. To witness the destruction of our beautiful Naples is an unusual sight. It will be worth your money. We'll settle that in the dim her after, replied Uncle John. You get the trunks and I'll take care of the finances. When the concierge had retired, the girls began to stuff newspapers into the cracks of the windows of their sitting room, where the fine ash was sifting in and forming little drifts several inches in thickness. Also, the atmosphere of the room was filled with impalpable particles of dust, which rendered breathing oppressive and unpleasant. Uncle John watched them for a time and his brow clouded. See here, girls, he exclaimed. Let's hold a council of war. Do you suppose we're in any real danger? They grouped around him with eager interest. It's something new to be in danger and rather exciting, don't you think, said Beth. But perhaps we're as safe as we would be at home. Once, said Louise, slowly, there was a great eruption of Vesuvius, which destroyed the cities of Herculaneum and Pompeii. Many of the inhabitants were buried alive. Perhaps they thought there was no real danger. Uncle John scratched his head reflectively. I take it, he observed, that the moral of your story is to light out while we have the chance. Not necessarily, observed the girl, smiling at his perplexity. It is likewise true that many other eruptions have occurred when little damage was done. Forewarned is forearmed, declared Patsy. Naples isn't buried more than six inches in ashes, as yet. And it'll take days for them to reach our windows, providing they're falling at the same rate they do now. I don't see any use of getting scared before tomorrow, anyhow. Well, it's a big hill, said Uncle John gravely, and I've no right to take foolish chances with three girls on my hands. Well, I'm not frightened, Uncle John, nor I, nor I, the least bit. Everyone has left the hotel but ourselves, said he. How sorry they will be afterward, remarked Beth. He looked at them admiringly, and kissed each one. You stay in this room and don't move a peg till I get back. He enjoined them. I'm going out to look over the situation. And this is the end of Chapter Six. Chapter Seven of Aunt Jane's Nieces Abroad. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Aunt Jane's Nieces Abroad by L. Frank Baum. Chapter Seven, A Friend in Need. Some of Mr. Merrick's business friends in New York, hearing of his proposed trip, had given him letters of introduction to people in various European cities. He had accepted them, quite a bunch altogether, but had firmly resolved not to use them. Neither he nor the Nieces cared to make superficial acquaintances during their wanderings. Yet Uncle John chanced to remember that one of these letters was to a certain Colonel, Angeli of the 12th Italian Regiment, occupying the barracks on the piece of Falcon Hill at Naples. This introduction, tendered by a relative of the Colonel's American wife, was now reposing in Mr. Merrick's pocket, and he promptly decided to make use of it in order to obtain expert advice as to the wisdom remaining in the stricken city. Enquiring his way from the still dazed concierge, he found that the piece of Falcon Barracks were just behind the hotel, but several hundred feet above it. So he turned up the St. of St. Lucia, and soon came upon the narrow lane that wound upward to the fortifications. It was a long and tedious climb in the semi-darkness caused by the steady fall of ashes, and at intervals the detonations from Vesuvius shook the huge rock and made its massive bulk seem insecure. But the little man persevered, and finally with sweating brow arrived at the barracks. A soldier carried in the letter to his Colonel and presently returned to ushered Uncle John through the vast building up a flight of steps, and so to a large covered balcony suspended many hundred feet above the Via Partenote, where the hotel was situated. He receded a group of officers, watching intently the cloud that marked the location of the volcano. Colonel Angeli, big and bluff, his uniform gorgeous, his dark, heavy moustaches carefully waxed, his handsome faces ingenuous and merry as a schoolboy's, greeted the American with a gracious courtesy that made Uncle John feel quite at ease. When he heard of the nieces, the Italian made a grimace and then laughed. I am despairing, Signor," said he, in English sufficiently strangulated to be amusing, but nevertheless quite comprehensible, that you and the sweet Signorini ought to see a lovely Napoli under tribulation so very great. But yesterday, in all the world, there's no city so enchanting, so brilliant, so gay, today, look, is it not horrible? Vesuvius is sick, and Napoli mourns until the tyrant is well again. But the danger, said Uncle John, what do you think of the wisdom of our staying here? Is it safe to keep my girls in Naples during this eruption? Ah, why not? This very morning the mountainous and the burst, and we who love our people, dread the news of devastation we shall hear, from the observatory, where his Majesty's faithful servant still remains, come telegrams that the great pebbles, what we call Soria, have ruined our Tejano and San Giuseppe, perhaps they are overwhelmed, but the beast has vomited, he will feel better now, and never become more quiet. I suppose, remarked to Mr. Merrick thoughtfully, that no one knows exactly what the blamethill may do next. I don't like to check chances with three girls on my hands, they're a valuable lot, Colonel, and worth saving. The boyish Italian instantly looked grave, then he led Uncle John away from the others, although doubtless he was the only officer present, able to speak or understand English, and said to him, Where are you living? At the hotel named after Yersik Mountain, Tava Suve. Very good. In the bay, not distant from your hotel, lies a government launch that is under my command, and my home in the Villa Elena are a wife and two children who, should danger that the Sirius arrive, will be put by my soldiers on the launch to carry them to safety. Admirable, is it not? Very good arrangement, said Uncle John. It renders me content to know that in any difficulty they cannot be hurt, I am not scared myself, but it is pleasant to know I have what you call the side that is safe. From my American wife I have many of your excellent speech figures, but now the lunch is big, remain happy in Napoli, happy as the Suvio will let you, and watch his vast, his gigantic exhibition. If danger come, you all enter my lunch and be saved. If no danger, you have a marvelous experience. The Sirius looked glided from his face, and was replaced by a smile as bright as before. Thank you very much, responded Uncle John gratefully. I should go back to the girls, well satisfied. Make the Srini stay in today, worn the Colonel. It is bad just now, and so black, one can nothing at all observe. Tomorrow it will be better, and all can go without. I will see myself, then, and tell you what to do. Then he insisted that Uncle John clear his perch-throat with a glass of vermice, a harmless drink of which all Italians are very fond, and sent him away much refreshed and body and mind. He made his way through the ashy rain back to the hotel, people were holding umbrellas over their heads and plotting through the dusts with seeming unconcerned. At one corner a street singer was warbling, stopping frequently to cough the lava dust from his throat or shake it from his beloved mandolin, a procession of peasants passed, chanting slowly and solemnly the religious hymn. At the head of the column was born aloft a gilded statuette of the virgin, and although Uncle John did not know it, these simple folk were trusting in the sacred image to avert further disaster from the angry mountain. On arriving home, Mr. Merrick told the girls with great elation of his new friend, and how they were to be taken aboard the launch in case of emergency. But how will we know when danger threatens? asked the lilies. Well, Uncle John tried to think of an answer to this puzzling query, someone knocked upon the door. The concierge was standing in the passage, and beside him was a soldier in uniform, a nady cock's plume upon his beaver hat and a short carbine over his arm. It guarded from Colonel Angeli, senor, so the concierge respectfully, to the first respectful tone he had yet employed. The soldier took off his hat with a flourish and bowed low. He used to remain in the hotel, sir, yet will not disturb you in any way, continued the whiskered one. But should he approach you at any time and beckon you to follow him, do so at once, and without hesitation, it is Colonel Angeli's wish. You are in the charge of this brave man who will watch over your welfare. That settles it, my dears. Sir Uncle John cheerfully, when the soldier in the concierge had withdrawn, this Italian friend doesn't do things by haves, and I take it we are perfectly safe from this time on. CHAPTER VIII. ACROSS THE BAY Tom Horton called an hour later. He was in despair because his party had decided to leave Naples for Rome, and he feared Beth would be engulfed by the volcano unless he was present to protect her. Mr. Merrick, said the boy earnestly, you'll take good care of Mr. Graph, sir, won't you? We both live in Ohio, you know, and we've just got acquainted. And I'd like to see her again, sometime if she escapes.  My dear Tom, he said, don't ask me to take care of anyone, please don't. I brought these girls along to take care of me, three of them, sir, and they've got to do their duty. Don't you worry about the girls, just you worry about me. That was not much consolation for the poor fellow, but it could do nothing more than wring their hands, best twice by mistake, and wish them good luck before he hurried away to rejoin his family. I'm sorry to see him go, said Beth honestly. Tom was a nice boy. Quite right, agreed Uncle John. I hope we shall meet no worse fellows than Tom Horton. At noon they were served a modest luncheon in their rooms, for Senior Floriano, having sent his important papers to a place of safety, had resolved to stick to his hotel, and do his duty by any guest that chose to remain with him in defiance of the existing conditions. He had succeeded in retaining a few servants who had more courage than those who had stampeded it at the first of arm. And while the hotel service for the next few days was very inadequate, no one was liable to suffer any great privation. During the afternoon the gloom grew denser than before, while thicker than ever fell the rain of ashes. This was the worst day Naples experienced during the Great Eruption, and Uncle John and his nieces were content to keep to their rooms and live in the glare of electric lights. Owing to their precautions to keep out the heavily laden air, they breathed as little lava dust into their lungs as any people, perhaps in the city, but to escape all was impossible. Their eyes and throats became more or less inflamed by the floating atoms, and the girls declared they felt as if they were sealed in tune. Well, my chickens, how do you like being abroad and actually in Europe? inquired Uncle John cheerfully. Beth and Patsy smiled at him, but Louise looked up from the baydeck as she was studying and replied, It's simply delightful, Uncle, and I'm glad we happened here during this splendid eruption of Vesuvius. Only, only, only what, my dear? Only it is such hard work to keep clean, and such as stainty knees.  And you, Beth? I don't like it, Uncle. I'm sure I'd prefer Naples and Sunshine, although this is an experience we can brag about when we get home. That is the idea exactly, so Louise, and the only thing that reconciles me to the discomforts. Thousands see Naples and Sunshine, but few can boast seeing Vesuvius in eruption. It will give us considerable prestige when we return home. Ah, that is why I selected this time to bring you here, to quote Uncle John, to the comical wing. I ordered the eruption before I left home, and I must say they've been very prompt about it, and doesn't the thing up brown, eh, Patsy?  Don't like Europe, eh? Why, if I thought all Europe was surrounded by volcanoes, I'd go home at once, if I had to walk. But the geographies don't mention many of these spouters, so we may as well stick to our present experience and hope the rest of the continent will behave better. The major will be worried to death when he hears of this. I've sent him a cable, so, Uncle John, what did you say? Ask Patsy eagerly? All safe and well, and enjoying the fireworks. I'm glad you did that, replied the girl, deeply grateful at this evidence of thoughtfulness. It's bad enough for the major to have me away without making him worry into the bargain. Well, no one is likely to worry about me, said Beth, philosophically. Mother seldom reads the papers except to get the society news. Remark Louise? I doubt if she'll hear of the eruption unless the major happens to tell her. I've cabled them all, said Uncle John. They're entitled to know that their kitty winkles are in good shape. The evening was a tedious one, although they tried to enliven it with a game of bridge, in which Uncle John and Louise were quite proficient and the others dreadfully incompetent. Once in a while, the volcano thundered a deep detonation that caused the windows to shiver, but Americans were getting used to the sound and paid little heat to it. In the morning, the wind had shifted, and although the air was still full of dust, all nearby objects were clearly visible, and even the outline of the Suvious could be seen sending skyward its pillar of black smoke. Colonel Angeli appeared soon after breakfast, his uniform fresh and bright, and his boyish face beaming as pleasantly as ever. The Suvio is better, said he, but the Erasquil has badly acted and done much harm to our poor people. Like Herculaneum, our Bosca Tercasse is covered with lava. Like Pompeii, our Arta Juno is buried in ashes, let me advise you. Today, go to Sorrento, and there stay for a time, until we can the dust brush from our streets and prepare to welcome you with the comfort more serene. I must myself ride to the villages that are suffering. My men are already gone, with the Red Cross corps, to sassore whom they can help. I will send you word when you may return. Just now, should you stay, you will be able to see nothing at all. I believe that is wise counsel, replied Uncle John. Sorrento has no ashes, continued the Colonel, and from there you may watch the volcano better than from Napoli. Today come the Duke and Duchess De Osta to render assistance to the homeless and hungry. Tomorrow his Majesty the King will be here to discover what damage has been caused. Alas, we have no sect class, but we are in ashes. I trust you will pardon my poor Napoli for her present in hospitality. Sure thing, said Uncle John, the city may be under a cloud, but her people are the right stuff, and we are greatly obliged to you for all your kindness to us. But that is so little, said the Colonel, deprecatingly. They decided to leave a heavy baggage at the Hotel Du Vesuvie, and carried only their suitcases and light luggage aboard the little steamer that was bound across the bay for Sorrento. The decks were throng with people as eager to get away from the stricken city as were our friends, and Uncle John was only enabled to secure seats for his girls by bribing a steward so heavily that even that modern brigand was amazed at his good fortune. The ride was short, but very interesting, for they passed under the shadow of the smoking mountain and came into a fresh sweet atmosphere that was guiltless of a speck of the disagreeable lavadas that had so long annoyed them. The high bluffs of Sorrento, with their picturesque villas and big hotels, seemed tranced and burnished silver by the strong sunshine, and every member of Uncle John's party was glad that Colonel Angeli had suggested this pleasant change of condition. Small boats took them ashore, and an elevator carried them swiftly to the top of the cliff and deposited them on the terrace of the Victoria, a beautiful inn that nestled in a garden brilliant with splendid flowers and shrubbery. Here they speedily established themselves, preparing to enjoy their first real experience of sunny Italy. Chapter 9 of Aunt Jane's Nieces Abroad This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Aunt Jane's Nieces Abroad by L. Frank Baum Chapter 9 Count Feralti At dinner it was announced that the famous Tarantella would be danced in the lower hall of the hotel at nine o'clock, and the girls told Uncle John that they must not miss this famous sight, which is one of the most unique in Sorrento, or indeed in all Italy. As they entered the pretty circular hall devoted to the dance, Louise gave a start of surprise. A goodly audience had already assembled in the room, and among them the girls seemed to recognize an acquaintance, for after a brief hesitation she advanced, and placed her hand in that of a gentleman who had risen on her entrance and hastened toward her. He was a nice-looking young fellow, Beth thought, and had a foreign and quite distinguished air. Presently Louise turned with cheeks somewhat flushed, and brought the gentleman to her party, introducing him to Uncle John and her cousins as Count Feralti, whom she had once met in New York while he was on a visit to America. The Count twirled his small and slender mustaches in a way that Patsy thought affected, and said in excellent English, It delights me to meet Mr. Merrick and the young ladies. May I express a hope that you are pleased with my beautiful country? Are you Italian, asked Uncle John regarding the young man critically? Surely, Mr. Merrick, but I have resided much in New York, and may well claim to be an adopted son of your great city. New York adopts a good many, said Uncle John dryly.  The dancers entered at that moment, and the Americans were forced to seat themselves hastily, so as not to obstruct the view of others. Count Feralti found the place beside Louise, but seemed to have little to say to her during the course of the entertainment. The dances were unique and graceful being executed by a troupe of laughing peasants dressed in native costume who seemed very proud of their accomplishment, and anxious to please the throng of tourists present. The Tarantella originated in Ischia, but Sorrento and Capri have the best dancers. Afterward, Uncle John and his nieces stood upon the terrace and watched the volcano rolling its dense clouds, mingled with sparks of red-hot scoria toward the sky. The count clung to Louise's side, but also tried to make himself agreeable to her cousins. In their rooms that night, Patsy told Beth that the young foreigner was too highfalutin to suit her, and Beth replied that his manners were so like those of their cousin Louise that the two ought to get along nicely together. Uncle John liked his nieces to make friends, and encouraged young men generally to meet them. But there was something in the appearance of this callow Italian nobleman that stamped his character as artificial and insincere. He resolved to find out something about his antecedents before he permitted the young fellow to establish friendly relations with his girls. Next morning, after breakfast, he wandered through the lobby and paused at the little office where he discovered that the proprietor of this hotel was a brother of that Floriano who managed the Hotel de Vesuve. That gave him an excuse to talk with the man who spoke very good English and was exceedingly courteous to his guests, especially when they were American. I see you have Count Feralty with you, remarked John. Whom, sir? Feralty. Count Feralty. The young man standing by the window yonder. I—I did not know, he said, hesitatingly. The gentleman arrived last evening, and I had not yet learned his name. Let me see. He turned to his list of guests who registered by card and not in a book and continued. Ah, yes. He has given his name as Feralty, but added no title. Account, did you say? Yes, replied Uncle John. The proprietor looked curiously toward the young man whose back only was visible. Then he remarked that the eruption of Vesuve was waning and the trouble nearly over for this time. Are the Feralty's a good family? asked Uncle John abruptly. That I cannot tell you, Signor Merrick. Oh, perhaps you know little about the nobility of your country. I—I know little of the nobility, answered Floriano indignantly. My dear Signor, there is no man better posted as to our nobility in all Italy. Yet you say you don't know the Feralty family. The proprietor reached for a book that lay above his desk. Observe, Signor. Here is our record of nobility. It is the same as the blue book or the peerage of England. Either fortunately or unfortunately, I cannot say, you have no need of such a book in America. He turned the pages and ran his finger down the line of Fs. Find me if you can. Account Feralty in the list. Uncle John looked. He put on his glasses and looked again. The name of Feralty was no place in the record. There is no such Count, Signor Floriano, and no such noble family, Signor Merrick. Uncle John whistled softly and walked away to the window. The young man greeted him with a smile and a bow. I misunderstood your name last evening, he said. I thought you were Count Feralty. And that is right, sir, was the prompt reply. Allow me to offer you my card. Uncle John took the card and read He carefully placed the card in his pocketbook. Thank you, said he. It is a fine morning Count. Charming, Mr. Merrick. Uncle John walked away. He was glad that he had not suspected the young men unjustly. When an impostor is unmasked, it is no longer dangerous. He joined his nieces who were all busy engaged in writing letters home and remarked casually, You've been deceived and your Italian friend, Louise. He is neither a Count nor of noble family. Although I suppose when you met him in New York, he had an object imposing as a titled aristocrat. The girl paused examining the point of her pen thoughtfully. Are you sure, Uncle John? Quite sure, my dear. I've just been through the list of Italian Counts, and his name is not there. Floriano, the proprietor, who knows every aristocrat in Italy, has never before heard of him. How singular, exclaimed Louise. I wonder why he has tried to deceive us.  But when you are on to their game, they are quite harmless. Of course, we won't encourage this young man in any way. It will be better to avoid him. He seems very nice and gentlemanly, said Louise with hesitation. The other girls exchanged glances, but made no remark. Uncle John hardly knew what to say further. He felt he was in an awkward position, for Louise was the most experienced in worldly ways of his three nieces, and he had no desire to pose as a stern guardian, or to deprive his girls of any passing pleasure they might enjoy. Moreover, Louise, being in love with that young well-dom her mother so strongly objected to, she would not be likely to care much for this Italian fellow. And Mrs. Merrick had enjoined him to keep her daughter's mind from dwelling on her entanglement. Oh, well, my dear, he said to her, you must act as you see fit. I do not imagine we shall see much of this young man in any event, and now that you are well aware of the fact that he is sailing under false colors, you will know how to handle him better than I can advise you. I shall be very careful, said Louise slowly, as she resumed her writing. Well then, girls, what do you say to a stroll around the village? asked their uncle. I'm told it's a proper place to buy silk stockings and inlaid woodwork. They come assorted, I suppose. Beth and Patsy jumped up with alacrity, but Louise pleaded that she had several more letters to write, so the others left her and passed the rest of the forenoon in rummaging among the quaint shops of Sorrento, staring at the statue of Tasso, and enjoying the street scene so vividly opposed to those of America. It was almost their first glimpse of foreign manners and customs. In Naples they had as yet seen nothing but darkness and falling ashes. Hotel Victoria faces the Bay of Naples, back of it are the famous gardens, and as you emerge from these you find yourself upon the narrow main streets of Sorrento, not far from the square of Tasso. As our little party entered the street they were immediately aspired by the veterani, or cabman, who rushed toward them with loud cries while they waved their whips frantically to attract attention. One tall fellow was dressed in the most imposing uniform of blue and gold with a high hat bearing a cockade alla inglesa, and shiny top boots. His long legs enabled him to outstrip the others, and in an almost breathless voice he begged Uncle John to choose his carriage, the best de corazza in a town. We don't want to ride, was the answer. The cabman implored. Certainly they must make the Amalfi drive, or to Masa Lubrenza, or Saint Agatha, or at least Il Disorto. The others stood by to listen silently to the discussion, yielding first place to the victor in the race. Uncle John was obdurate. All we want today is to see the town, he declared. We're not going to ride but walk. Ah, but the Amalfi rode, Signora. Surely you will see that. Tomorrow, perhaps, but not now. Tomorrow, Signor. It is good. At what hour? Tomorrow. Ilistrisimo. Oh, don't bother me. We may as well drive to Amalfi tomorrow, suggested best. It is the proper thing to do, Uncle. All right, we'll go then. You take my carazza, Signor. Beg the cabman. It is the best in town. Let us see it. Instantly the crowd scampered back to the square. Followed more leisurely by Uncle John and the girls. There, the uniformed vettorio stood beside the one modern carriage in the group. It was new. It was glossy. It had beautiful, carefully brushed cushions. It was drawn by a pair of splendid-looking horses. Is it not Belissimo, Signor? Asked the man proudly. All right, announced Uncle John nodding his approval. Be ready to start at nine o'clock tomorrow morning. The man promised, where at his conferres, lost all interest in the matter, and the strangers were allowed to proceed without further interruption. They found out all about the Amalfi drive that evening, and were glad indeed they had decided to go. Even Louise was pleased at the arrangement and as eager as the others to make the trip. It is one of the most famous drives in the world along a road built upon a rocky cliff that overhangs the sea and continually winds in and out as it follows the outline of the crags. They had an early breakfast and were ready at nine o'clock, but when they came to the gate of the garden, they found only a dilapidated carriage standing before it. Do you know where my rig is? Uncle John asked the driver at the same time peering up and down the road. Is me, sir, senior, I am engaged by you. Is it not so? Mr. Merrick looked at the driver carefully. It was long leg sure enough, but sure enough his beautiful regalia. Where is your uniform? he asked. Ah, I have to leave it at home. The road is dusty, very. I must not ruin a nice dress when I work, answered the man smiling unabashed. But the carriage, what has become of the fine carriage and the good horses, sir? Ah, it is dreadful, it is horrible, senior. I find me the carazza is not easy. It is not perfect. It do not remain good for a long ride. So I leave him home, for I am kind. I do not wish the seniorini bella to tire and weep. But see the fine vittura you now have. Is he not easy, like feathers, and strong, and multibuena? It may be a bird, but it don't look it, said Uncle John doubtfully. I rented the best-looking rig in town, and you bring me the worst. Only try, senior, others may look. It is only you who must ride. You will be much pleased when we return. Well, I suppose we might as well take it, said the little man in a resigned tone. Hop in, my dears. They entered the crazy-looking vehicle and found the seats ample and comfortable despite the appearance of dilapidation everywhere prevalent. The driver mounted the box, cracked his whip, and the lean nags ambled away at a fair pace. They passed near the square where the first thing that attracted Uncle John's attention was the beautiful turnout he had hired yesterday. It was standing just as it had before, and beside it was another man dressed in a splendid uniform, and his driver had claimed that he had left at home. Here, stop, I say! Stop, I say! He yelled at the man angrily, but the fellow seemed suddenly deaf and paid no heed. He cracked his whip and rattled away through the streets without a glance behind him. The girls laughed, and Uncle John stopped waving his arms and settled into a seat with a groan. We've been swindled, my dears, he said. Swindled most beautifully, but I suppose we may as well make the best of it. Better, agreed Patsy. This rig is all right, Uncle. It may not be as pretty as the other, but I expect that one is only kept to make engagements with when it comes to actual use we don't get it. That's true enough, heat return, but I'll get even with this rascal before I'm done with him never fear. It was a cold, raw morning, but the portierre at the Victoria had told them the sun would be coming out presently, and the day became more genial. Indeed, the sun did come out, but only to give a discouraged look at the landscape and retire again. During this one day in which they had rode to Amalfi and back, Uncle John afterwards declared they had experienced seven different kinds of weather. They had sunshine, rain, hail, snow, and a tornado, and then rain again, and more sunshine. Sunny Italy seemed a misnomer that day, as indeed it does many days in winter and spring, when the climate is little better than the prevailing in the eastern and central portions of the United States. And perhaps one suffers more in Italy than in America owing to the general lack of means to keep warm on cold days. The Italian, shivering and blue, will tell you that it is not cold at all, for he will permit no reproach to lie on his beloved land, but the travel frequently becomes discouraged and the American contingent especially, the American contingent especially, blames those misleading English writers who, finding relief from their own bleak island and Italian climbs, exaggerated the conditions by apostrophizing the country as sunny Italy. And for more than a century uttered such rhapsodies in its praise that the whole world credited them until it acquired personal experience of the matter. Italy is beautiful, it is charming and delightful, but seldom is this true in winter or early spring. The horses went along at a spanking pace that was astonishing. They passed through the picturesque lanes of Sorento, climbed the further slope and brought the carriage to the other side of the peninsula, where the girls obtained their first view of the Gulf of Solerno, with the lovely aisles of the sirens lying just beneath them. And now they were at the great roads that skirts the coast as far as Solerno and has no duplicate in all the known world, for is cut from the solid rock of precipitous cliffs, rising straight from the sea, which the highway overhangs at an average height of five hundred feet. The travel are being protected only by a low stone parapet from the vast gulf that yawns beneath. And on the other side of the road the cliffs continue to ascend to a like distance towards the sky, with their abregular surfaces dotted with wonderful houses that cling to the slopes, and vineyards that look as though they might slip down at any moment upon the heads of the timorous pilgrims. When it rained they put up a carriage top, which afforded but partial shelter. The shower was brief, but was shortly followed by hail as big as peas, which threatened to dash in the frail roof of their carazza. While they shrank huddled beneath the blankets, the sun came out suddenly, and the driver shed his leather napkins, cracked his whip, and began singing merrily as the vehicle rolled over the smooth road. Our travelers breathed again and prepared to enjoy once more the wonderful vistas that were unfolded at every turn of the winding way. Sometimes they skirted a little cove where hundreds of feet below the fisherman's sap beneath their tiny huts busily mending their nets. From that distance the boats drawn upon the sheltered beach seemed like mere toys. Then they would span a chasm on a narrow stone bridge or plunge through an arch dividing the solid mountain. But ever the road returned in a brief space to the edge of the sea-cliff and everywhere it was solid as the hills themselves and seemingly as secure. They had just sighted the ancient town of Posatano, and were circling a gigantic point of rock when the great adventure of the day overtook them. Without warning the wind came whistling around them in a great gale which speedily increased in fury until it drove the blinded horses reeling against the low parapet and pushed upon the carriages if determined to dash it over the precipice. As it collided against the stone wall the vehicle tipped dangerously hurling the driver from his seat to dive ahead foremost into the space beneath. But the man clung to the rains desperately and they rested his fall leaving him dangling at the end of them while the maddened horses jerked at bits by the weight of the man reared and plunged as if they would any instant tumble themselves in the carriage over the cliff. At this critical moment a mounted horseman who unobserved had been following the party dashed to their rescue. The rider caught the plunging steeds by their heads and tried to restrain their terror at his own eminent peril while the carriage lay wedged against the wall and the driver screamed pitifully from his dangerous position midway between the sea and the sky. Then Beth slipped from her seat to the flat top of the parapet step boldly to where the rains were pulling upon the terrified horses and seized them in her strong grasp. Holt fast she called calmly to the driver and began dragging him upward inch by inch. He understood instantly the task she had undertaken and in a moment his courage returned and he managed to get his foot in a crack of the rock and it assist her by relieving part of her weight. Just above him was a slight ledge. He could reach it now and then she had him by the arm so that another instant found him clinging to the parapet and drawing himself into a position of safety. The wind had died away as suddenly as it come upon them. The horses, as soon as the strain upon their bits was relaxed, were easily quieted. Before there was those in the carriage had quite realized and had occurred the adventure was accomplished and the peril was past and all was well again. Uncle John leaped from the carriage followed by Louise and Patsy. The young horsemen had come to their assistance. So, opportunally, was none other than Count Feralty, whom they had had good reason to distrust. He was sitting upon his horse and staring with amazement at bat, at whose feet the driver was groveling while tears flowed down his bronze cheeks and he protested in an absurd mixture of English and Italian by every saint in the calendar that the girl had saved him from a frightful death and he would devote his future life to her service. It is wonderful, murmured Feralty. How could such a little slip of a girl do so great a deed? Well, it's nothing at all, returned Beth, flushing. We're trained to do such things in the gymnasium at Cloverton and I'm much stronger than I appear to be. Twas her head mostly, said Patsy, giving her cousin admiring hug. She kept her wits while the rest of us were scared to death. Uncle John had been observing the Count. One of the young man's hands hung limp and helpless. Are you hurt, sir? He asked.  A little, perhaps, Mr. Merrick, but it's unimportant. The horses were frantic at the time and wrenched my wrist viciously as I tried to hold them. I felt something snap, a small bone, perhaps, but I'm sure it's nothing of moment. We'd better get back to Sorento, said Uncle John, abruptly. Not on my account, I beg you. Return Feralty quickly. We are halfway to Malfi now, and you may as well see it as go on. For my part of my wrist troubles me. I will see a surgeon in Malfi. That is, if you permit me to accompany you. He said this with a different bow and a glance of inquiry. Uncle John could not well refuse. The young fellow might be a sham Count, but the manliness encouraged he had displayed in their grave emergency, surely entitled him to their grateful consideration. The driver had by now repaired a broken strap and found his equipage otherwise uninjured. The horse stood meekly quiescent, as if they had never known a moment's fear in their lives. So the girl and their uncle climbed into the vehicle again, and the driver mounted the box and cracked his whip with his usual vigor. The wind had subsided as suddenly as it had arisen, and as they passed through Positano, which is 400 feet high, the house was all up and down the side of cliffs like swallow's nests. Big flakes of snow were gently falling around them. Count Feralty rode at the side of the carriage, but did not attempt much conversation. His lips were tightly set, and the girl, slyly observing his face, were sure his wrist was hurting him more than he cared to acknowledge. Circling around the cliff beyond Positano, the sun greeted them, and shining from out a blue sky, and they wondered what had become of the bad weather they had so lately experienced. From now on past Pohano and into Amalfi the day was brilliant and the temperature delightful. It was full noon by the time they alighted on the Little Gate house of the ancient Cappuccino Convento, now a hotel much favoured by the tourist. Count Feralty promised to join them later and rode on into town to find the surgeon to look after his injured hand, while the others slowly mounted the long inclines leading in a zigzag fashion up to the old monastery, which was founded in the year 1212. From the arbor veranda of this charming retreat is obtained one of the finest views in Europe, and while the girls sat enjoying it Uncle John arranged with a pleasant-faced woman who had once lived in America for their luncheon. An hour later, and just as they were sitting down to the meal, Count Feralty rejoined them. His hand was bandaged and supported by Sling and in answer to Louise's gentle inquiries he said simply, It was as I had feared, a small bone snapped, but my surgeon is skillful and says time will mend the wrist as good as new. In spite of his courage he could eat no luncheon but merely sip the gas of wine. So Uncle John alarmed as his paler insisted that he take a seat in the carriage on the return journey. Beth wanted to ride the quents horse-home, but there was no sidesaddle to be had, so they led the animal by halter, fastened behind the rickety carriage, and Beth mounted the box and rode beside her friend, the driver. The pleasant weather lasted until they neared Sorrento when another shower of rain came. They reached their hotel damp and bedraggled, but enthusiastic over their wonderful trip and the interesting adventure they had incidentally developed.