LITMIR.BIZ

      CHAPTER XII

       MOVING ON

       Table of Contents

      "Here's a letter from my dear old friend Silas Watson," said Uncle John, delightedly. "It's from Palermo, where he has been staying with his ward—and your friend, girls—Kenneth Forbes, and he wants me to lug you all over to Sicily at once."

      "That's jolly," said Patsy, with a bright smile. "I'd like to see Kenneth again."

      "I suppose he is a great artist, by this time," said Beth, musingly.

      "How singular!" exclaimed Louise. "Count Ferralti told me only this morning that he had decided to go to Palermo."

      "Really?" said Uncle John.

      "Yes, Uncle. Isn't it a coincidence?"

      "Why, as for that," he answered, slowly, "I'm afraid it will prevent our seeing the dear count—or whatever he is—again, at least for some time. For Mr. Watson and Kenneth are just leaving Palermo, and he asks us to meet him in another place altogether, a town called—called—let me see; Tormenti, or Terminal, or something."

      "Give me the letter, dear," said Patsy. "I don't believe it's Terminal at all. Of course not," consulting the pages, "it's Taormina."

      "Is that in Sicily?" he asked.

      "Yes. Listen to what Mr. Watson says: 'I'm told it is the most beautiful spot in the world, which is the same thing you hear about most beautiful places. It is eight hundred feet above the Mediterranean and nestles peacefully in the shadow of Mount Etna.'"

      "Etna!" cried Uncle John, with a start. "Isn't that another volcano?"

      "To be sure," said Beth, the geographer. "Etna is the biggest volcano in the world."

      "Does it spout?" he asked, anxiously.

      "All the time, they say. But it is not usually dangerous."

      "The proper thing, when you go to Eu-rope," declared Uncle John, positively, "is to do Venice, where the turpentine comes from, and Switzerland, where they make chocolate and goat's milk, and Paris and Monte Carlo, where they kick high and melt pearls in champagne. Everybody knows that. That's what goin' to Eu-rope really means. But Sicily isn't on the programme, that I ever heard of. So we'll just tell Silas Watson that we'll see him later—which means when we get home again."

      "But Sicily is beautiful," protested Patsy. "I'd as soon go there as anywhere."

      "It's a very romantic place," added Louise, reflectively.

      "Everybody goes to France and Switzerland," remarked Beth. "But it's because they don't know any better. Let's be original, Uncle, and keep out of the beaten track of travel."

      "But the volcano!" exclaimed Mr. Merrick. "Is it necessary to stick to volcanoes to be original?"

      "Etna won't hurt us, I'm sure," said Patsy.

      "Isn't there a Greek theatre at Taormina?" asked Louise.

      "I've never heard of it; but I suppose the Greeks have, if it's there," he replied. "But why not wait till we get home, and then go to Kieth's or Hammerstein's?"

      "You don't understand, dear. This theatre is very ancient."

      "Playing minstrel shows in it yet, I suppose. Well, girls, if you say Sicily, Sicily it is. All I'm after is to give you a good time, and if you get the volcano habit it isn't my fault."

      "It is possible the Count said Taormina, instead of Palermo," remarked Louise, plaintively. "I wasn't paying much attention at the time. I'll ask him."

      The others ignored this suggestion. Said Patsy to her uncle:

      "When do we go, sir?"

      "Whenever you like, my dears."

      "Then I vote to move on at once," decided the girl. "We've got the best out of Naples, and it's pretty grimey here yet."

      The other nieces agreed with her, so Uncle John went out to enquire the best way to get to Sicily, and to make their arrangements.

      The steamer "Victor Emmanuel" of the Navigazione General Italiana line was due to leave Naples for Messina the next evening, arriving at its destination the following morning. Uncle John promptly booked places. The intervening day was spent in packing and preparing for the journey, and like all travellers the girls were full of eager excitement at the prospect of seeing something new.

      "I'm told Sicily is an island," grumbled Uncle John. "Here we are, on a trip to Eu-rope, and emigrating to an island the first thing we do."

      "Sicily is Europe, all right, Uncle," answered Patsy. "At least, it isn't Asia or Africa."

      That assertion seemed to console him a little, and he grew cheerful again.

      The evening was beautiful as they embarked, but soon after leaving the bay the little, tub-shaped steamer began to tumble and toss vigorously, so that all the passengers aboard speedily sought their berths.

      Uncle John found himself in a stuffy little cabin that smelled of tar and various other flavors that were too mixed to be recognizable. As a result he passed one of the most miserable nights of his life.

      Toward morning he rolled out and dressed himself, preferring the deck to his bed, and the first breath of salt air did much to restore him. Day was just breaking, and to the right he could see a tongue of fire flaming against the dark sky.

      "What is that, sir?" he enquired of an officer who passed.

      "That is Stromboli, signor, the great volcano of Lipari. It is always in eruption."

      Uncle John groaned.

      "Volcanoes to right of us, volcanoes to left of us volleyed and thundered," he muttered dismally, as he fell back in his chair.

      The sky brightened, and the breath of the breeze changed and came to him laden with delicious fragrance.

      "See, signore!" called the officer, passing again; "before us is mighty Etna—you can see it clearly from the bow."

      "Volcanoes in front of us, volcanoes behind us!" wailed the little man. But he walked to the bow and saw the shores of Sicily looming in advance, with the outline of the stately mountain rising above and dominating it.

      Then the sun burst forth, flooding all with a golden radiance that was magical in its gorgeous effects. Patsy came on deck and stood beside her uncle, lost in rapturous admiration. Beth soon followed her.

      Before long they entered the Straits of Messina and passed between the classic rock of Scylla on the Calabrian coast, and the whirlpool of Charybdis at the point of the promontory of Faro, which forms the end of the famous "Golden Sickle" enclosing the Bay of Messina.

      "If this is really Eu-rope, I'm glad we came," said Uncle John, drawing a long breath as the ship came to anchor opposite the Palazzo Municipale. "I don't remember seeing anything prettier since we left New York."

      Presently they had loaded their trunks and hand baggage, and incidentally themselves, into the boat of the Hotel Trinacria which came alongside in charge of a sleepy porter. After a brief examination at the custom-house, where Uncle John denied having either sugar, tobacco or perfumery, they followed on foot the truck laden with their worldly possessions, and

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