as 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.

"I'm told Sicily is an island," grumbled Uncle John. "Here we are, on a
trip to Eu-rope, and emigrating to an island the first thing we do."

"Sicily is Europe, all right, Uncle," answered Patsy. "At least, it
isn't Asia or Africa."

That assertion seemed to console him a little, and he grew cheerful
again.

The evening was beautiful as they embarked, but soon after leaving the
bay the little, tub-shaped steamer began to tumble and toss vigorously,
so that all the passengers aboard speedily sought their berths.

Uncle John found himself in a stuffy little cabin that smelled of tar
and various other flavors that were too mixed to be recognizable. As a
result he passed one of the most miserable nights of his life.

Toward morning he rolled out and dressed himself, preferring the deck to
his bed, and the first breath of salt air did much to restore him. Day
was just breaking, and to the right he could see a tongue of fire
flaming against the dark sky.

"What is that, sir?" he enquired of an officer who passed.

"That is Stromboli, signor, the great volcano of Lipari. It is always in
eruption."

Uncle John groaned.

"Volcanoes to right of us, volcanoes to left of us volleyed and
thundered," he muttered dismally, as he fell back in his chair.

The sky brightened, and the breath of the breeze changed and came to him
laden with delicious fragrance.

"See, signore!" called the officer, passing again; "before us is mighty
Etna--you can see it clearly from the bow."

"Volcanoes in front of us, volcanoes behind us!" wailed the little man.
But he walked to the bow and saw the shores of Sicily looming in
advance, with the outline of the stately mountain rising above and
dominating it.

Then the sun burst forth, flooding all with a golden radiance that was
magical in its gorgeous effects. Patsy came on deck and stood beside her
uncle, lost in rapturous admiration. Beth soon followed her.

Before long they entered the Straits of Messina and passed between the
classic rock of Scylla on the Calabrian coast, and the whirlpool of
Charybdis at the point of the promontory of Faro, which forms the end of
the fam