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.