Aunt Jane's Nieces Abroad
Ah; the signor is merry. Never, since the days of Naxos, have
brigands infested our fair country."
"When were the days of Naxos?"
"Some centuries before Christ, signor," bowing his head and making the
sign of the cross.
"Very good. The brigands of those days must, of course, be dead by this
time. Now, sir, when you have leisure, let us hasten."
The horses started and crept slowly upward again. None of the party was
in a hurry. Such beautiful glimpses of scenery were constantly visible
from the bends of the road that the girls were enraptured, and could
have ridden for hours in this glorious fairyland.
But suddenly the horses broke into a trot and dragged the carriage
rapidly forward over the last incline. A moment later they dashed into
the court of the hotel and the driver with a loud cry of "Oo-ah!" and a
crack of his whip drew up before the entrance.
The portiere and the padrone, or landlord--the latter being also the
proprietaire--came out to greet them, extending to their guests a
courteous welcome. The house was very full. All of the cheaper rooms
were taken; but of course the Signor Americain would wish only the best
and be glad to pay.
Uncle John requested them to rob him as modestly as possible without
conflicting with their sense of duty, and they assured him they would do
so.
The rooms were adorable. They faced the sea and had little balconies
that gave one a view of the blue Mediterranean far beneath, with lovely
Isola Bella and the Capo San Andrea nestling on its bosom. To the right
towered the majestic peak of Etna, its crest just now golden red in the
dying sunset.
The girls drew in deep breaths and stood silent in a very ecstacy of
delight. At their feet was a terraced garden, running downward two
hundred feet to where the crag fell sheer to the sea. It was glorious
with blooming flowers of every sort that grows, and the people on the
balconies imagined at the moment they had been transferred to an earthly
paradise too fair and sweet for ordinary mortals.
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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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