e giant, in play, had squeezed out the contents of
enormous tubes of oil paint on to the mighty palette of the mountain
side. The air had grown fresh and cold, for they were at an altitude
approaching 4000 feet, and, but for the scenery, might have imagined
themselves in Wales or Scotland.

The light railway ended at a small station, where there was the
observatory and a hotel. All round were masses of enormous cinders, and
above, a grim sight, towered the immense cone of Vesuvius. To scale the
tremendous incline to the summit there was a funicular railway, to which
our party now transferred themselves, sitting on seats raised one above
another as in the gallery of a theater. It was here that, if the events
of the day are to be truly chronicled, we must record a scrimmage
between Irene and her chum, Peachy. The conductor of the light railway
had gathered a bunch of rosemary _en route_, and he now approached the
funicular and bestowed his offering upon Peachy, who happened to be
sitting nearest to the end. She was immensely gratified at the
attention, sniffed the fragrant nosegay, and handed it on for admiration
to Lorna, who, after also burying her nose in it, passed it to Irene.
The latter ought to have realized it was not her own property, but
unfortunately didn't. She calmly appropriated the bunch, and distributed
it in portions to those nearest her. Peachy's cheeks flamed. She was a
hot-tempered little soul underneath her gay banter.

"Well! Of all cool cheek," she exploded. "That was _my_ bouquet. It was
given to _me_, not to you, Renie Beverley. Next time you start being
charitable use your own flowers, not mine. You haven't left me a single
piece."

"I'm sorry," blushed Irene, trying to collect some portion at least of
her offerings to hand back to the lawful owner. "I thought they were
given to me."

"No, you didn't, you simply bagged them," snapped Peachy. "I'm not
friends with you, so don't talk to me any more," and Peachy turned a red
offended face out of the carriage window.

Irene might have apologized further, but the funicular gave a mighty
jerk at that moment, and the carriage started. Up--up went the little
train, working on wire ropes like a bucket coming out of a well. Higher
and higher and higher it rose up the terrific incline, over masses of
cinders, towards the thick cloud of smoke that loomed above. It stopped
at last at a big iron gate, which opened to admit the passengers on to
the summit