Aunt Jane's Nieces Abroad
But Beth only bit her lip and frowned.
Mr. Watson's searching party was maintained all day--for two days, and
three; but without result. Then they waited for the brigands to act.
But a week dragged painfully by and no word of John Merrick's
whereabouts reached the ears of the weary watchers.
CHAPTER XVI
TATO
When Uncle John passed through the west gate for a tramp along the
mountain paths he was feeling in an especially happy and contented mood.
The day was bright and balmy, the air bracing, the scenery unfolded step
by step magnificent and appealing. To be in this little corner of the
old world, amid ruins antedating the Christian era, and able to wholly
forget those awful stock and market reports of Wall street, was a
privilege the old gentleman greatly appreciated.
So away he trudged, exploring this path or that leading amongst the
rugged cliffs, until finally he began to take note of his erratic
wanderings and wonder where he was. Climbing an elevated rock near the
path he poised himself upon its peak and studied the landscape spread
out beneath him.
There was a patch of sea, with the dim Calabrian coast standing sentry
behind it. The nearer coast was hidden from view, but away at the left
was a dull white streak marking the old wall of Taormina, and above this
the ruined citadel and the ancient castle of Mola--each on its separate
peak.
"I must be getting back," he thought, and sliding down the surface of
the rock he presently returned to the path from whence he had climbed.
To his surprise he found a boy standing there and looking at him with
soft brown eyes that were both beautiful and intelligent. Uncle John was
as short as he was stout, but the boy scarcely reached to his shoulder.
He was slender and agile, and clothed in a grey corduroy suit that was
better in texture than the American had seen other Sicilian youths wear.
As a rule the apparel of the children in this country seemed sadly
neglected.
Yet the most attractive thing about this child was his face, which was
delicate of contour, richly tinted to harmonize with his magnificent
brown eyes, and so sensitive and expressive that it seemed able to
convey the most subtle shades of emotion.
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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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