Aunt Jane's Nieces Abroad
With strangers he still remained reserved and suspicious, and
occasionally the old sullen fits would seize him and it was well to
avoid his society while they lasted.
On his arrival at Taormina, Kenneth had entered earnestly into the
search for Uncle John, whom he regarded most affectionately; and, having
passed the day tramping over the mountains, he would fill the evening
with discussions and arguments with the nieces concerning the fate of
their missing uncle.
But as the days dragged wearily away the search slackened and was
finally abandoned. Kenneth set up his easel in the garden and began to
paint old Etna, with its wreath of snow and the soft gray cloud of vapor
that perpetually hovered over it.
"Anyone with half a soul could paint that!" said Patsy; and as a proof
of her assertion the boy did very well indeed, except that his
uneasiness on Mr. Merrick's account served to distract him more or less.
Nor was Kenneth the only uneasy one. Mr. Watson, hard-headed man of
resource as he was, grew more and more dejected as he realized the
impossibility of interesting the authorities in the case. The Sicilian
officials were silent and uncommunicative; the Italians wholly
indifferent. If strangers came to Taormina and got into difficulties,
the government was in no way to blame. It was their duty to tolerate
tourists, but those all too energetic foreigners must take care of
themselves.
Probably Mr. Watson would have cabled the State Department at Washington
for assistance had he not expected each day to put him in communication
with his friend, and in the end he congratulated himself upon his
patience. The close of the week brought a sudden and startling change in
the situation.
The girls sat on the shaded terrace one afternoon, watching the picture
of Etna grow under Kenneth's deft touches, when they observed a child
approaching them with shy diffidence. It was a beautiful Sicilian boy,
with wonderful brown eyes and a delicate profile. After assuring himself
that the party of young Americans was quite separate from any straggling
guest of the hotel, the child came near enough to say, in a low tone:
"I have a message from Signor Merrick.
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There was once an honest journeyman tailor, by name Labakan, who learned his trade with an excellent master in Alexandria. It could not be said that Labakan was unhandy with the needle; on the contrary, he could make excellent work: moreover, one would have done him injustice to have called him lazy. Nevertheless, his companions knew not what to make of him, for he would often sew for hours together so rapidly that the needle would glow in his hand, and the thread smoke, and that none could equal him.
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