Although ashes still fell softly upon the ship the day had somewhat lightened the gloom and they could see from deck the dim outlines of the shore.  A crowd of boats presently swarmed around them, their occupants eagerly clamoring for passengers to go ashore, or offering fruits, flowers and souvenirs to any who might be induced to purchase.  Their indifference to their own and their city’s danger was astonishing.  It was their custom to greet arriving steamers in this way, for by this means they gained a livelihood.  Nothing short of absolute destruction seemed able to interfere with their established occupations.

A steam tender also came alongside, and after a cordial farewell to the ship’s officers and their travelling acquaintances, Uncle John placed his nieces and their baggage aboard the tender, which shortly deposited them safely upon the dock.

Perhaps a lot of passengers more dismal looking never before landed on the beautiful shores of Naples—­beautiful no longer, but presenting an appearance gray and grewsome.  Ashes were ankle deep in the streets—­a fine, flour-like dust that clung to your clothing, filled your eyes and lungs and seemed to penetrate everywhere.  The foliage of the trees and shrubbery drooped under its load and had turned from green to the all-pervading gray.  The grass was covered; the cornices and balconies of the houses were banked with ashes.

“Bless me!” said Uncle John.  “It’s as bad as Pompey, or whatever that city was called that was buried in the Bible days.”

“Oh, not quite, Uncle,” answered Patsy, in her cheery voice; “but it may be, before Vesuvius is satisfied.”

“It is certainly bad enough,” observed Louise, pouting as she marked the destruction of her pretty cloak by the grimy deposit that was fast changing its color and texture.

“Well, let us get under shelter as soon as possible,” said Uncle John.

The outlines of a carriage were visible a short distance away.  He walked up to the driver and said: 

“We want to go to a hotel.”

The man paid no attention.

“Ask him how much he charges, Uncle.  You know you mustn’t take a cab in Naples without bargaining.”

“Why not?”

“The driver will swindle you.”

“I’ll risk that,” he answered.  “Just now we’re lucky if we get a carriage at all.”  He reached up and prodded the jehu in the ribs with his cane.  “How much to the Hotel Vesuvius?” he demanded, loudly.

The man woke up and flourished his whip, at the same time bursting into a flood of Italian.

The girls listened carefully.  They had been trying to study Italian from a small book Beth had bought entitled “Italian in Three Weeks without a Master,” but not a word the driver of the carriage said seemed to have occurred in the vocabulary of the book.  He repeated “Vesuvio” many times, however, with scornful, angry or imploring intonations, and Louise finally said: