DREAMS AND DRESS-MAKING
Tato was now one of the family. They left Taormina the next day, and
Frascatti drove all the girls in his victoria to the station.
"You must come again, signorini," said he, looking regretful at their
departure. "Next year the fountain of the ice cream soda will be in
operation, like those you have in Chicago, which is America. Our culture
increases with our civilization. It is even hinted that Il Duca is to
abandon our island forever. He has been interesting to us, but not
popular, and you will not miss him when you come again to find he is not
here. If this time he has caused you an inconvenience, I am sorry. It is
regrettable, but,--"
"But it is so!" said Patsy, laughing.
Tato was again transformed. Patricia, who was the smallest of the three
nieces, though not especially slim, had quickly altered one of her own
pretty white gowns to fit the child, and as she was deft with her needle
and the others had enthusiastically assisted her, Tato now looked more
like a fairy than ever.
It was really wonderful what a suitable dress could do for the tiny
Sicilian maid. She had lost her free and boyish manner and become shy
and retiring with strangers, although when in the society of the three
nieces she was as sweet and frank as ever. She wore her new gown
gracefully, too, as if well accustomed to feminine attire all her life.
The only thing now needed, as Patsy said, was time in which to grow her
hair, which had always been cut short, in boyish fashion.
They were a merry party when they boarded the train for Syracuse, and
Uncle John arranged with the guard to secure two adjoining compartments
all to themselves, that they might have plenty of room.
"Where did you put the money, Uncle John?" Beth whispered, when at last
they were whirling along and skirting the base of Mt. Etna toward the
Catania side.
"I've hidden it in my trunk," he replied, in the same confidential tone.
"There is no bank in this neighborhood to receive it, so I decided to
carry it with us."
"But will it be safe in the trunk?" she enquired.
"Of course, my dear. Who would think of looking there for fifty thousand
dollars? And no one knows we happen to have so much money with us."
"What did the Count--I mean, Mr. Weldon--do with his ransom?"
"Carries it in his satchel, so he can keep it with him and have an eye
on it. It's a great mistake, Beth, to do such a thing as that. It'll
make him uneasy every minute, and he won't dare to let a _facchino_
handle his grip. But in my case, on the other hand, I know it's
somewhere in the baggage car, so I don't have to worry."
The journey was a delightful one. The road skirted the coast through the
oldest and most picturesque part of Sicily, and it amazed them to
observe that however far they travelled Etna was always apparently next
door, and within reaching distance.
At Aci Castello they were pointed out the seven Isles of the Cyclops,
which the blind Polyphemus once hurled after the crafty Ulysses. Then
they came to Catania, which is the second largest city in Sicily, but
has little of historic interest. Here they were really at the nearest
point to the mighty volcano, but did not realize it because it always
seemed to be near them. Eighteen miles farther they passed Leontinoi,
which in ancient days dared to rival Siracusa itself, and an hour later
the train skirted the bay and Capo Santa Panagia and slowly came to a
halt in that city which for centuries dominated all the known world and
was more powerful and magnificent in its prime than Athens
itself--Syracuse.
The day had become cloudy and gray and the wind whistled around them
with a chill sweep as they left their coach at the station and waited
for Kenneth to find carriages. Afterward they had a mile to drive to
their hotel; for instead of stopping in the modern town Uncle John had
telegraphed for rooms at the Villa Politi, which is located in the
ancient Achradina, at the edge of the Latomia de Cappuccini. By the time
they arrived there they were blue with cold, and were glad to seek the
warm rooms prepared for them and pass the remainder of the afternoon
unpacking and "getting settled."
"I'm afraid," said Patsy, dolefully, "that we shall miss the bright
sunshine and warmth of Taormina, Tato."
"Oh, it is not always warm there, nor is it always cold here," replied
the child. "Indeed, signorina, I have heard that the climate of Siracusa
is very delightful."
"It doesn't look it," returned Patsy; "but it may improve."
The interior of the hotel was comfortable, though, however bleak the
weather might be outside. A good dinner put them all in a better humor
and they passed the evening watching the strangers assembled in the
parlors and wondering where they had come from and who they were.
"That money," whispered Uncle John to Beth, as he kissed her good
night, "is still as safe as can be. I've lost the key to my trunk, and
now I can't even get at it myself."
"Lost it!" she exclaimed.
"Yes; but that won't matter. It's the big trunk that holds the things I
don't often use, and if I can't unlock it no one else can, that's
certain. So I shall rest easy until I need something out of it, and then
I'll get a locksmith to pick the lock."
"But I wish you hadn't lost the key," said the girl, thoughtfully.
"Strikes me it's good luck. Pleasant dreams, my dear. I can fancy Arthur
Weldon lying awake all night with his dreadful thirty thousand tucked
under his pillow. It's a great mistake to carry so much money with you,
Beth, for you're sure to worry about it."
The next morning when they came down to breakfast they were all amazed
at the gorgeous sunshine and the genial temperature that had followed
the dreary afternoon of their arrival. Syracuse was transformed, and
from every window of the hotel the brilliant glow of countless flowers
invited one to wander in the gardens, which are surpassed by few if any
in the known world.
The Villa Politi stood so near the edge of a monstrous quarry that it
seemed as if it might topple into the abyss at any moment. Our friends
were on historic ground, indeed, for these quarries--or latomia, as they
are called--supplied all the stone of which the five cities of ancient
Syracuse were built--cities which in our age have nearly, if not quite,
passed out of existence. The walls of the quarry are a hundred feet in
depth, and at the bottom are now acres upon acres of the most delightful
gardens, whose luxuriance is attributable to the fact that they are
shielded from the winds while the sun reaches them nearly all the day.
There are gardens on the level above, and beautiful ones, too; but these
in the deep latomia are the most fascinating.
The girls could scarcely wait to finish breakfast before rushing out to
descend the flights of iron steps that lead to the bottom of the vast
excavation. And presently they were standing on the ground below and
looking up at the vine covered cliffs that shut out all of the upper
world.
It was peaceful here, and soothing to tired nerves. Through blooming
shrubbery and along quiet paths they might wander for hours, and at
every step find something new to marvel at and to delight the senses.
Here were ancient tombs cut from the solid rock--one of them that of an
American midshipman who died in Syracuse and selected this impressive
and lovely vault for his burial place. And there stood the famous statue
of Archimedes, who used in life to wander in this very latomia.
"Once," said Mr. Watson, musingly, "there were seven thousand Athenian
prisoners confined in this very place, and allowed to perish through
starvation and disease. The citizens of Syracuse--even the fine ladies
and the little children--used to stand on the heights above and mock at
the victims of their king's cruelty."
"Couldn't they climb out?" asked Patsy, shuddering at the thought that
some of the poor prisoners might have died on the very spot her feet
now trod.
"No, dear. And it is said the guards constantly patrolled the edge to
slay any who might venture to make the attempt."
"Wasn't it dreadful!" she exclaimed. "But I'm glad they have made a
flower garden of it now. Somehow, it reminds me of a cemetery."
But there were other interesting sights to be seen at Syracuse, and they
laid out a systematic programme of the places they would visit each
morning while they remained there. The afternoons were supposed to be
reserved for rest, but the girls were so eager to supply Tato with a
fitting wardrobe that they at once began to devote the afternoons to
shopping and dress-making.
The child had placed in Uncle John's keeping a liberally supplied purse,
which the Duke wished to be applied to the purchase of whatever his
daughter might need or desire.
"He wants me to dress as you do," said Tato, simply; "and because you
will know what is fitting my station and will be required in my future
life, he has burdened you with my society. It was selfish in my father,
was it not? But but--I wanted so much to be with you--because you are
good to me!"
"And we're mighty glad to have you with us," answered Patsy. "It's no
end of fun getting a girl a whole new outfit, from top to toe; and,
aside from that, we already love you as if you were our little sister."
Beth and Louise equally endorsed this statement; and indeed the child
was so sweet and pretty and so grateful for the least kindness bestowed
upon her that it was a pleasure to assist and counsel her.
Tato looked even smaller in girls' clothing than in boys', and she
improved so rapidly in her manners by constantly watching the nieces
that it was hard to imagine she had until now been all unused to polite
society. Already they began to dread the day when her father would come
to claim her, and the girls and Uncle John had conceived a clever plan
to induce the Duke to let his daughter travel with them on the continent
and then go for a brief visit to them in America.
"By that time," declared Louise, "Tato's education will be
accomplished, and she will be as refined and ladylike as any girl of her
age we know. Blood will tell, they say, and the monk who taught her must
have been an intelligent and careful man."
"She knows more of history and languages than all the rest of us put
together," added Beth.
"And, having adopted her, we mustn't do the thing by halves," concluded
Patsy; "so our darling little brigandess must tease her papa to let her
stay with us as long as possible."
Tato smiled and blushed with pleasure. It was very delightful to know
she had such enthusiastic friends. But she was afraid the Duke would not
like to spare her for so long a time as a visit to America would
require.
"You leave him to me," said Uncle John. "I'll argue the case clearly and
logically, and after that he will have to cave in gracefully."
Meantime the dainty gowns and pretty costumes were one by one finished
and sent to the hotel, and the girls ransacked the rather inadequate
shops of Syracuse for the smartest things in lingerie that could be
procured. As they were determined to "try everything on" and see how
their protege looked in her finery, Tato was now obliged to dress for
dinner and on every other possible occasion, and she not only astonished
her friends by her loveliness but drew the eye of every stranger as
surely as the magnet attracts the needle.
Even in Sicily, where the Greek type of beauty to-day exists more
perfectly than in Helene, there were few to compare with Tato, and it
was only natural that the Americans should be very proud of her.
Kenneth was sketching a bit of the quarry and the old monastery beyond
it, with the blue sea glimmering in the distance. Sometimes he would
join the others in their morning trips to the catacombs, the cathedrals
or the museum; but the afternoons he devoted to his picture, and the
others came to the gardens with him and sat themselves down to sew or
read beside his easel.
Arthur Weldon was behaving very well indeed; and although a good deal of
the credit belonged to Louise, who managed him with rare diplomatic
ability, Uncle John grew to like the young man better each day, and had
no fault whatever to find with him.
He was still rather silent and reserved; but that seemed a part of his
nature, inherited doubtless from his father, and when he chose to talk
his conversation was interesting and agreeable.
Kenneth claimed that Arthur had a bad habit of "making goo-goo eyes" at
Louise; but the young man's manner was always courteous and judicious
when addressing her, and he managed to conceal his love with admirable
discretion--at least when others were present.
Uncle John's private opinion, confided in secret to his friend Mr.
Watson, was that Louise "really might do worse; that is, if they were
both of the same mind when they grew up."
And so the days passed pleasantly away, and the time for their departure
from Syracuse drew near.
On the last morning all of them--with the exception of Tato, who pleaded
a headache--drove to the Latomia del Paradiso to see the celebrated "Ear
of Dionysius"--that vast cavern through which the tyrant is said to
have overheard every whisper uttered by the prisoners who were confined
in that quarry. There is a little room at the top of the cliff, also
built from the rock, where it is claimed Dionysius sat and played
eavesdropper; and it is true that one in that place can hear the
slightest sound uttered in the chamber below.
Afterward the amphitheatre and the ancient street of the tombs were paid
a final visit, with a stop at San Giovanni, where St. Paul once
preached. And at noon the tourists returned to the hotel hungry but
enthusiastic, in time for the table-d'-hote luncheon.