"Even so, Uncle, I have been taught to shoot in Cloverton, as a part of
my education. Once I won a medal--think of that! So I brought my pet
revolver along, although I may never have need to use it."

Uncle John looked thoughtful.

"It doesn't seem like a girlish accomplishment, exactly," he mused.
"When I was young and went into the West, the times were a bit
unsettled, and I used to carry a popgun myself. But I never shot at a
human being in my life. There were women in the camps that could shoot,
too; but the safest place was always in front of them. If Beth has won a
medal, though, she might hit something."

"Don't try, Beth," said Louise; "you ought to make a hit without
shooting."

"Thank you, dear."

As they left their hotel for a walk they came upon Count Ferralti, who
was standing in the court calmly smoking a cigarette. His right hand was
still in a sling.

No one was greatly surprised at his appearance, but Uncle John uttered
an exclamation of impatience. It annoyed him that this fellow, whose
antecedents were decidedly cloudy, should be "chasing around" after one
of his nieces, Beth and Patsy smiled at each other significantly as the
young man was discovered, but Louise, with a slight blush, advanced to
greet Ferralti in her usual pleasant and cordial way.

There was no use resenting the intrusion. They owed a certain
consideration to this boyish Italian for his assistance on the Amalfi
road. But Uncle John almost wished he had left them to escape as best
they might, for the obligation was getting to be decidedly onerous.

While Ferralti was expressing his astonishment at so "unexpectedly"
meeting again his American friends, Uncle John discovered their English
speaking cocchiere, Frascatti Vietri, lolling half asleep on the box of
his victoria.

"Would your energy like to drive us this morning?" he asked.

"It is my duty, signore, if you wish to go," was the reply.

"Then you are engaged. Come, girls; hop in, if you want to ride."

The three nieces and Uncle John just filled the victoria. The count was
disconsolate at being so cleverly dropped from the party, but could
only flourish his hat and wish them a pleasant drive.

They descended the winding road to the coast, where Frascatti took the
highway to Sant' Alessio, a charming drive leading to the Taormina Pass.

"By the way," Uncle John asked the driver, "do you know of a duke that
lives in this neighborhood?"

The laughing face of t