“Give me the letter, dear,” said Patsy.  “I don’t believe it’s Terminal at all.  Of course not,” consulting the pages, “it’s Taormina.”

“Is that in Sicily?” he asked.

“Yes.  Listen to what Mr. Watson says:  ’I’m told it is the most beautiful spot in the world, which is the same thing you hear about most beautiful places.  It is eight hundred feet above the Mediterranean and nestles peacefully in the shadow of Mount Etna.’”

“Etna!” cried Uncle John, with a start.  “Isn’t that another volcano?”

“To be sure,” said Beth, the geographer.  “Etna is the biggest volcano in the world.”

“Does it spout?” he asked, anxiously.

“All the time, they say.  But it is not usually dangerous.”

“The proper thing, when you go to Eu-rope,” declared Uncle John, positively, “is to do Venice, where the turpentine comes from, and Switzerland, where they make chocolate and goat’s milk, and Paris and Monte Carlo, where they kick high and melt pearls in champagne.  Everybody knows that.  That’s what goin’ to Eu-rope really means.  But Sicily isn’t on the programme, that I ever heard of.  So we’ll just tell Silas Watson that we’ll see him later—­which means when we get home again.”

“But Sicily is beautiful,” protested Patsy.  “I’d as soon go there as anywhere.”

“It’s a very romantic place,” added Louise, reflectively.

“Everybody goes to France and Switzerland,” remarked Beth.  “But it’s because they don’t know any better.  Let’s be original, Uncle, and keep out of the beaten track of travel.”

“But the volcano!” exclaimed Mr. Merrick.  “Is it necessary to stick to volcanoes to be original?”

“Etna won’t hurt us, I’m sure,” said Patsy.

“Isn’t there a Greek theatre at Taormina?” asked Louise.

“I’ve never heard of it; but I suppose the Greeks have, if it’s there,” he replied.  “But why not wait till we get home, and then go to Kieth’s or Hammerstein’s?”

“You don’t understand, dear.  This theatre is very ancient.”

“Playing minstrel shows in it yet, I suppose.  Well, girls, if you say Sicily, Sicily it is.  All I’m after is to give you a good time, and if you get the volcano habit it isn’t my fault.”

“It is possible the Count said Taormina, instead of Palermo,” remarked Louise, plaintively.  “I wasn’t paying much attention at the time.  I’ll ask him.”

The others ignored this suggestion.  Said Patsy to her uncle: 

“When do we go, sir?”

“Whenever you like, my dears.”

“Then I vote to move on at once,” decided the girl.  “We’ve got the best out of Naples, and it’s pretty grimey here yet.”

The other nieces agreed with her, so Uncle John went out to enquire the best way to get to Sicily, and to make their arrangements.

The steamer “Victor Emmanuel” of the Navigazione General Italiana line was due to leave Naples for Messina the next evening, arriving at its destination the following morning.  Uncle John promptly booked places.  The intervening day was spent in packing and preparing for the journey, and like all travellers the girls were full of eager excitement at the prospect of seeing something new.