photos. You'll be pestered to buy post-cards outside
the gates."

"I'd adore to get just one or two snaps," persisted Irene. "I won't take
this big camera, but I'll slip my wee one inside my pocket, and see if I
find a chance."

"Are you ready, girls?" came Miss Morley's voice from the porch, and the
waiting thirteen formed into double line and marched.

They were to go by the electric tram from Fossato to Castellamare, from
which it was only a comparatively short drive to Pompeii. The jogging,
jolting, little tramcar ran along the coast, linking up several towns
and villages and conveying people intent on either business or pleasure.
There were many visitors anxious to make the excursion to-day, but the
contingent from the Villa Camellia had posted themselves by the statue
of Garibaldi in the square, and scrambled for the car as soon as it
arrived, boarding it with three hatless Italian girls, two women with
orange baskets, a sailor carrying a little boy, and a stout old padre,
who apologized prettily for pushing.

"We did those folks from the Hotel Royal," chuckled Delia, sitting on
Irene's knee for lack of further accommodation. "Did you ever see a tram
fill up quicker? I'm afraid I'm heavy. I know I'm an awful lump. We'll
take it in turns, and I'll nurse you after a while. I call this rather
priceless. Everybody's good-tempered even if they do hustle. They don't
seem to mind people treading on their toes. It's infectious. I catch
myself smiling, and I'd jolly well frown as a rule if any one yanked a
basket into my back."

"I think it's the climate," remarked Irene. "In a London tram most faces
don't look too cheerful, but with this sky overhead people are simply
chirping like crickets. It's like a perpetual summer holiday."

The car was rattling along the steep coast road through miles of
glorious scenery. On the left was an ultramarine sea, with white-sailed
boats, and to the right lay cliffs and olive groves. Some of the trees
were covered with catkins, and others had already burst into green leaf;
gorgeous yellow genistas clothed the hillsides, and the banks were
dappled with blue borage and marigolds. There were so many things to
look at from either window of the tram; goats were feeding along the
crags, and a gray businesslike battle-ship was wending its way across
the harbor in the direction of Naples. They passed through several small
towns or villages, getting a vivid impression of the lives of the
i