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.

CHAPTER XXIX

TATO WINS

“This is funny!” cried Patsy, appearing before Uncle John with a white and startled face.  “I can’t find Tato anywhere.”

“And her new trunk is gone from her room, as well as her gowns and everything she owns,” continued Beth’s clear voice, over her cousin’s shoulder.

Uncle John stared at them bewildered.  Then an expression of anxiety crept over his kindly face.

“Are you sure?” he asked.

“There can’t be a mistake, Uncle.  She’s just gone.”

“None of you has offended, or annoyed the child, I suppose?”

“Oh, no, Uncle.  She kissed us all very sweetly when we left her this morning.”

“I can’t understand it.”

“Nor can we.”

“Could her father have come for her, do you think?” suggested Mr. Merrick, after a moment’s thought.

“I can’t imagine her so ungrateful as to leave us without a word,” said Patsy.  “I know Tato well, Uncle, and the dear child would not hurt our feelings for the world.  She loves us dearly.”