E-text prepared by Afra Ullah, Emmy, and the Project Gutenberg Online
Distributed Proofreading Team (https://www.pgdp.net/)
AUNT JANE'S NIECES ABROAD
by
EDITH VAN DYNE
Author of
"Aunt Jane's Nieces," "Aunt Jane's Nieces at Millville,"
"Aunt Jane's Nieces in Society," etc.
Publishers
The Reilly & Britton Co.
Chicago
1906
* * * * *
The Aunt Jane's Nieces Series
BOOKS FOR GIRLS
By EDITH VAN DYNE
[Illustration]
SEVEN TITLES
_Aunt Jane's Nieces_
_Aunt Jane's Nieces Abroad_
_Aunt Jane's Nieces at Millville_
_Aunt Jane's Nieces at Work_
_Aunt Jane's Nieces in Society_
_Aunt Jane's Nieces and Uncle John_
_Aunt Jane's Nieces on Vacation_
* * * * *
Distinctly girls' books and yet stories that will appeal to
_brother_ as well--and to older folk. Real and
vital--rousing stories of the experiences and exploits of
three real girls who do things. Without being sensational,
Mrs. Van Dyne has succeeded in writing a series of stories
that have the tug and stir of fresh young blood in them.
Each story is complete in itself.
Illustrated 12mo. Uniform cloth binding, stamped in colors,
with beautiful colored inlay. Fancy colored jackets. Price
60 cents each
* * * * *
LIST OF CHAPTERS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. THE DOYLES ARE ASTONISHED 1
II. UNCLE JOHN MAKES PLANS 12
III. "ALL ASHORE!" 24
IV. SOME NEW ACQUAINTANCES AND A WARNING 36
V. VESUVIUS RAMPANT 54
VI. UNDER A CLOUD 57
VII. A FRIEND IN NEED 69
VIII. ACROSS THE BAY 76
IX. COUNT FERRALTI 85
X. THE ROAD TO AMALFI 94
XI. THE EAGLE SCREAMS 110
XII. MOVING ON 120
XIII. "IL DUCA" 137
XIV. UNCLE JOHN DISAPPEARS 153
XV. DAYS OF ANXIETY 169
XVI. TATO 180
XVII. THE HIDDEN VALLEY 189
XVIII. THE GUESTS OF THE BRIGAND 202
XIX. A DIFFICULT POSITION 217
XX. UNCLE JOHN PLAYS EAVESDROPPER 228
XXI. THE PIT 241
XXII. NEWS AT LAST 250
XXIII. BETH BEGINS TO PLOT 263
XXIV. PATSY'S NEW FRIEND 272
XXV. TURNING THE TABLES 283
XXVI. THE COUNT UNMASKS 292
XXVII. TATO IS ADOPTED 304
XXVIII. DREAMS AND DRESS-MAKING 312
XXIX. TATO WINS 326
XXX. A WAY TO FORGET 337
XXXI. SAFE HOME 345
[Illustration]
PREFATORY:
The author is pleased to be able to present a sequel to "Aunt Jane's
Nieces," the book which was received with so much favor last year. Yet
it is not necessary one should have read the first book to fully
understand the present volume, the characters being taken to entirely
new scenes.
The various foreign localities are accurately described, so that those
who have visited them will recognize them at once, while those who have
not been so fortunate may acquire a clear conception of them. It was my
good fortune to be an eye witness of the recent great eruption of
Vesuvius.
Lest I be accused of undue sensationalism in relating the somewhat
dramatic Sicilian incident, I will assure my reader that the story does
not exaggerate present conditions in various parts of the island. In
fact, Il Duca and Tato are drawn from life, although they did not have
their mountain lair so near to Taormina as I have ventured to locate
it. Except that I have adapted their clever system of brigandage to the
exigencies of this story, their history is truly related. Many who have
travelled somewhat outside the beaten tracks in Sicily will frankly
vouch for this statement.
Italy is doing its best to suppress the Mafia and to eliminate
brigandage from the beautiful islands it controls, but so few of the
inhabitants are Italians or in sympathy with the government that the
work of reformation is necessarily slow. Americans, especially, must
exercise caution in travelling in any part of Sicily; yet with proper
care not to tempt the irresponsible natives, they are as safe in Sicily
as they are at home.
Aunt Jane's nieces are shown to be as frankly adventurous as the average
clear headed American girl, but their experiences amid the environments
of an ancient and still primitive civilization are in no wise
extraordinary.
EDITH VAN DYNE.
CHAPTER I
THE DOYLES ARE ASTONISHED
It was Sunday afternoon in Miss Patricia Doyle's pretty flat at 3708
Willing Square. In the small drawing room Patricia--or Patsy, as she
preferred to be called--was seated at the piano softly playing the one
"piece" the music teacher had succeeded in drilling into her flighty
head by virtue of much patience and perseverance. In a thick cushioned
morris-chair reclined the motionless form of Uncle John, a chubby little
man in a gray suit, whose features were temporarily eclipsed by the
newspaper that was spread carefully over them. Occasionally a gasp or a
snore from beneath the paper suggested that the little man was
"snoozing" as he sometimes gravely called it, instead of listening to
the music.
Major Doyle sat opposite, stiffly erect, with his admiring eyes full
upon Patsy. At times he drummed upon the arms of his chair in unison
with the music, nodding his grizzled head to mark the time as well as to
emphasize his evident approbation. Patsy had played this same piece from
start to finish seven times since dinner, because it was the only one
she knew; but the Major could have listened to it seven hundred times
without the flicker of an eyelash. It was not that he admired so much
the "piece" the girl was playing as the girl who was playing the
"piece." His pride in Patsy was unbounded. That she should have
succeeded at all in mastering that imposing looking instrument--making
it actually "play chunes"--was surely a thing to wonder at. But then,
Patsy could do anything, if she but tried.
Suddenly Uncle John gave a dreadful snort and sat bolt upright, gazing
at his companions with a startled look that melted into one of benign
complacency as he observed his surroundings and realized where he was.
The interruption gave Patsy an opportunity to stop playing the tune. She
swung around on the stool and looked with amusement at her newly
awakened uncle.
"You've been asleep," she said.
"No, indeed; quite a mistake," replied the little man, seriously. "I've
only been thinking."
"An' such _beaut_chiful thoughts," observed the Major, testily, for he
resented the interruption of his Sunday afternoon treat. "You thought
'em aloud, sir, and the sound of it was a bad imithation of a bullfrog
in a marsh. You'll have to give up eating the salad, sir."
"Bah! don't I know?" asked Uncle John, indignantly.
"Well, if your knowledge is better than our hearing, I suppose you do,"
retorted the Major. "But to an ignorant individual like meself the
impression conveyed was that you snored like a man that has forgotten
his manners an' gone to sleep in the prisence of a lady."
"Then no one has a better right to do that," declared Patsy, soothingly;
"and I'm sure our dear Uncle John's thoughts were just the most
beautiful dreams in the world. Tell us of them, sir, and we'll prove the
Major utterly wrong."
Even her father smiled at the girl's diplomacy, and Uncle John, who was
on the verge of unreasonable anger, beamed upon her gratefully.
"I'm going to Europe," he said.
The Major gave an involuntary start, and then turned to look at him
curiously.
"And I'm going to take Patsy along," he continued, with a mischievous
grin.
The Major frowned.
"Conthrol yourself, sir, until you are fully awake," said he. "You're
dreaming again."
Patsy swung her feet from side to side, for she was such a little thing
that the stool raised her entirely off the floor. There was a thoughtful
look on her round, freckled face, and a wistful one in her great blue
eyes as the full meaning of Uncle John's abrupt avowal became apparent.
The Major was still frowning, but a half frightened expression had
replaced the one of scornful raillery. For he, too, knew that his
eccentric brother-in-law was likely to propose any preposterous thing,
and then carry it out in spite of all opposition. But to take Patsy to
Europe would be like pulling the Major's eye teeth or amputating his
good right arm. Worse; far worse! It would mean taking the sunshine out
of her old father's sky altogether, and painting it a grim, despairing
gray.
But he resolved not to submit without a struggle.
"Sir," said he, sternly--he always called his brother-in-law "sir" when
he was in a sarcastic or reproachful mood--"I've had an idea for some
time that you were plotting mischief. You haven't looked me straight in
the eye for a week, and you've twice been late to dinner. I will ask you
to explain to us, sir, the brutal suggestion you have just advanced."
Uncle John laughed. In the days when Major Doyle had thought him a poor
man and in need of a helping hand, the grizzled old Irishman had been as
tender toward him as a woman and studiously avoided any speech or
epithet that by chance might injure the feelings of his dead wife's
only brother. But the Major's invariable courtesy to the poor or
unfortunate was no longer in evidence when he found that John Merrick
was a multi-millionaire with a strongly defined habit of doing good to
others and striving in obscure and unconventional ways to make everybody
around him happy. His affection for the little man increased mightily,
but his respectful attitude promptly changed, and a chance to reprove or
discomfit his absurdly rich brother-in-law was one of his most
satisfactory diversions. Uncle John appreciated this, and holding the
dignified Major in loving regard was glad to cross swords with him now
and then to add variety to their pleasant relations.
"It's this way, Major Doyle," he now remarked, coolly. "I've been
worried to death, lately, over business matters; and I need a change."
"Phoo! All your business is attended to by Isham, Marvin & Co. You've no
worry at all. Why, we've just made you a quarter of a million in C.H. &
D's."
The "we" is explained by stating that the Major held an important
position in the great banking house--a position Mr. Merrick had secured
for him some months previously.
"That's it!" said Uncle John. "You've made me a quarter of a million
that I don't want. The C.H. & D. stocks were going to pieces when I
bought them, and I had reason to hope I'd lose a good round sum on them.
But the confounded luck turned, and the result is an accumulation of all
this dreadful money. So, my dear Major, before I'm tempted to do
some-other foolish thing I've determined to run away, where business
can't follow me, and where by industry and perseverance I can scatter
some of my ill-gotten gains."
The Major smiled grimly.
"That's Europe, right enough," he said. "And I don't object, John, to
your going there whenever you please. You're disgracefully countryfied
and uninformed for a man of means, and Europe'll open your eyes and
prove to you how insignificant you really are. I advise you to visit
Ireland, sor, which I'm reliably informed is the centhral jewel in
Europe's crown of beauty. Go; and go whinever you please, sor; but
forbear the wickedness of putting foolish thoughts into our Patsy's
sweet head. She can't go a step, and you know it. It's positive cruelty
to her, sir, to suggest such a thing!"
The Major's speech had a touch of the brogue when he became excited, but
recovered when he calmed down.
"Why, you selfish old humbug!" cried Uncle John, indignantly. "Why can't
she go, when there's money and time to spare? Would you keep her here to
cuddle and spoil a vigorous man like yourself, when she can run away and
see the world and be happy?"
"It's a great happiness to cuddle the Major," said Patsy, softly; "and
the poor man needs it as much as he does his slippers or his oatmeal for
breakfast."
"And Patsy has the house to look after," added the Major, complacently.
Uncle John gave a snort of contempt.
"For an unreasonable man, show me an Irishman," he remarked. "Here
you've been telling me how Europe is an education and a delight, and in
the next breath you deliberately deprive your little daughter, whom you
pretend to love, of the advantages she might gain by a trip abroad! And
why? Just because you want her yourself, and might be a bit lonesome
without her. But I'll settle that foolishness, sir, in short order. You
shall go with us."
"Impossible!" ejaculated the Major. "It's the time of year I'm most
needed in the office, and Mr. Marvin has been so kind and considerate
that I won't play him a dirty trick by leaving him in the lurch."
Patsy nodded approval.
"That's right, daddy," she said.
Uncle John lay back in the chair and put the newspaper over his face
again. Patsy and her father stared at one another with grave intentness.
Then the Major drew out his handkerchief and mopped his brow.
"You'd like to go, mavourneen?" he asked, softly.
"Yes, daddy; but I won't, of course."
"Tut-tut! don't you go putting yourself against your old father's will,
Patsy. It's not so far to Europe," he continued, thoughtfully, "and you
won't be away much longer than you were when you went to Elmhurst after
Aunt Jane's money--which you didn't get. Mary takes fine care of our
little rooms, and doubtless I shall be so busy that I won't miss you at
all, at all."
"Daddy!"
She was in his lap, now, her chubby arms clasped around his neck and her
soft cheek laid close beside his rough and ruddy one.
"And when ye get back, Patsy darlin'," he whispered, tenderly stroking
her hair, "the joy of the meeting will make up for all that we've
suffered. It's the way of life, mavourneen. Unless a couple happens to
be Siamese twins, they're bound to get separated in the course of
events, more or less, if not frequently."
"I won't go, daddy."
"Oh, yes you will. It's not like you to be breakin' my heart by stayin'
home. Next week, said that wicked old uncle--he remoinds me of the one
that tried to desthroy the Babes in the Woods, Patsy dear. You must try
to reclaim him to humanity, for I'm hopin' there's a bit of good in the
old rascal yet." And he looked affectionately at the round little man
under the newspaper.
Uncle John emerged again. It was wonderful how well he understood the
Doyle family. His face was now smiling and wore a look of supreme
satisfaction.
"Your selfishness, my dear Major," said he, "is like the husk on a
cocoanut. When you crack it there's plenty of milk within--and in your
case it's the milk of human kindness. Come! let's talk over the trip."