irty years ago, by an ancestor who loved
retirement. It has been in my family ever since. We all love
retirement."

"Very desirable spot for a brigand, I'm sure," remarked the American,
puffing his pipe composedly.

"Brigand? Ah, it pleases you to have humor, signore, mia. Brigand! But I
will be frank. It is no dishonor to admit that my great ancestors of
past centuries were truly brigands, and from this quiet haven sallied
forth to do mighty deeds. They were quite famous, I am told, those olden
Dukes d'Alcanta."

"I do not question it."

"Our legends tell of how my great ancestors demanded tribute of the rich
who passed through their domain--for all this end of Sicily was given to
us by Peter of Aragon, and remained in our possession until the second
Ferdinand robbed us of it. Those times were somewhat wild and barbarous,
signore, and a gentleman who protected his estates and asked tribute of
strangers was termed a brigand, and became highly respected. But now it
is different. We are civilized and meek, and ruled most lovingly by
Italy. They will tell you there is no brigandage in all Sicily."

"So I understand."

"To-day I am nobody. My very name is forgotten. Those around this
mountain know nothing of my little estate, and I am content. I desire
not glory: I desire not prominence; to live my life in seclusion, with
the occasional visit of a friend like yourself, is enough to satisfy
me."

"You seem well known in Taormina."

"Quite a mistake, signore."

"And the natives must have climbed these peaks at times and looked down
into your secluded kingdom."

"If so, they have forgotten it."

"I see."

"I give to the churches and the poor, but in secret. If I have an enemy,
he disappears--I do not know how; no one knows."

"Of course not. You are an improvement on your ancestors, Duke. Instead
of being a brigand you belong to the Mafia, and perform your robberies
and murders in security. Very clever, indeed."

"But again you are wrong, signore," replied the Duke, with a frown. "I
have never known of this Mafia, of which you speak, nor do I believe it
exists. For myself, I am no robber, but a peaceful merchant."

"A merchant?" returned Uncle John, surprised by the statement.

"To be sure. I have some ancient and very valuable relics in my
possession, treasured most carefully from the mediaeval days. These I
sell to my friends--who are fortunately all foreigners like yourself and
can appreciate such trea