red, and the path ascended by a series of steps. Gray
olive trees were on either side, and on the bordering banks grew lovely
wild flowers, starry purple anemones, jack-in-the-pulpit lilies, yellow
oxalis, moon-daisies, and the beautiful genista which we treasure as a
conservatory plant in England. As it was country the girls were allowed
to break rank, and keenly enjoyed gathering bouquets; they scrambled up
the banks, vying with one another in getting the best specimens. The
view from the heights was glorious: below them stretched the gray-green
of the olive groves, broken here and there by the bright pink blossoms
of a peach tree; the white houses of Fossato gleamed among the dark
glossy foliage of its orange orchards, and beyond stretched the
beautiful bay of Naples, with its sea a blaze of blue, and old Vesuvius
smoking in the distance like a warning of trouble to come.

It was at this point of the walk that Irene, foolish, luckless Irene,
made a fatal mistake, and, as Miss Bickford afterwards told her,
"wrecked the whole excursion and spoiled everybody's pleasure." She
beckoned Lorna and ran up a hill to obtain a higher vantage ground,
then, instead of descending by the route she had come, she insisted upon
taking a short cut to rejoin the path and catch up with the rest of the
party. Now neither Lorna nor Irene was aware that the mountain was a
network of many paths leading to little vineyards and gardens, and that
when they ran down the opposite side of the slope they were striking a
fresh alley, altogether different from the one along which Miss Bickford
was leading her flock. For quite a long way the two girls walked on,
thinking they were in advance of the others and had stolen a march upon
them. Then they sat down and waited, but nobody came. It was a
considerable time before it dawned upon them that they were separated
from the rest of the party.

"We've come wrong somehow," said Lorna, in much consternation.

"What had we better do?"

"I don't know."

"Perhaps they're not far off. I'll try if I can make them hear."

"I wouldn't shout," objected Lorna, but she was too late, for Irene
was already letting off her full lung power in a gigantic coo-e-e. It
had a totally different effect from what she anticipated. No schoolgirls
with Villa Camellia hats made their appearance, but some rough looking
Italian youths scrambled over a fence and came sniggering towards them.
Their manner was so objectionable and