Aunt Jane's Nieces Abroad
So Mr. Watson sent the cables to John Merrick's bankers and Count
Ferralti's attorney, and the next morning went with Louise to Messina.
Frascatti drove all the party down the road to the station at Giardini,
and as the train pulled out, Beth, who had remained seated in the
victoria with Patricia and Kenneth, suddenly stood up to pull the
_vetturino's_ sleeve.
"Tell me, Frascatti," she whispered, "isn't that Il Duca's child?
Look--that little one standing in the corner?"
"Why, yes; it is really Tato," answered the man, before he thought to
deny it.
"Very well; you may now drive us home," returned Beth, a shade of
triumph in her voice.
CHAPTER XXIII
BETH BEGINS TO PLOT
Once back in their sitting-room behind closed doors, Beth, Patsy and
Kenneth got their three heads together and began eagerly to discuss a
plot which Beth had hinted of on the way home and now unfolded in
detail. And while they still whispered together a knock at the door
startled them and made them look rather guilty until the boy answered
the call and admitted little Tato.
The child's beautiful face wore a smile of demure satisfaction as Tato
bowed respectfully to the young Americans.
Kenneth winked at Beth from behind the visitor's back.
"As you have a guest," he remarked, with a yawn that was somewhat rude,
"I shall now go and take my nap."
"What, do you sleep so early in the day, you lazy-bones?" asked Patsy,
brightly.
"Any time, my dear, is good enough for an overworked artist," he
replied. "Au revoir, my cousins. See you at luncheon."
With this he strolled away, and when he had gone Beth said to Tato:
"Won't you sit down, signorina?"
"Do you mean me?" asked the child, as if surprised.
"Yes; I can see plainly that you are a girl."
"And a pretty one, too, my dear," added Patsy.
Tato blushed as if embarrassed, but in a moment smiled upon the American
girls.
"Do you think me immodest, then?" she asked, anxiously.
"By no means, my dear," Beth assured her. "I suppose you have an
excellent reason for wearing boys' clothes.
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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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