f brigandage to the
exigencies of this story, their history is truly related. Many who have
travelled somewhat outside the beaten tracks in Sicily will frankly
vouch for this statement.

Italy is doing its best to suppress the Mafia and to eliminate
brigandage from the beautiful islands it controls, but so few of the
inhabitants are Italians or in sympathy with the government that the
work of reformation is necessarily slow. Americans, especially, must
exercise caution in travelling in any part of Sicily; yet with proper
care not to tempt the irresponsible natives, they are as safe in Sicily
as they are at home.

Aunt Jane's nieces are shown to be as frankly adventurous as the average
clear headed American girl, but their experiences amid the environments
of an ancient and still primitive civilization are in no wise
extraordinary.

EDITH VAN DYNE.

CHAPTER I

THE DOYLES ARE ASTONISHED

It was Sunday afternoon in Miss Patricia Doyle's pretty flat at 3708
Willing Square. In the small drawing room Patricia--or Patsy, as she
preferred to be called--was seated at the piano softly playing the one
"piece" the music teacher had succeeded in drilling into her flighty
head by virtue of much patience and perseverance. In a thick cushioned
morris-chair reclined the motionless form of Uncle John, a chubby little
man in a gray suit, whose features were temporarily eclipsed by the
newspaper that was spread carefully over them. Occasionally a gasp or a
snore from beneath the paper suggested that the little man was
"snoozing" as he sometimes gravely called it, instead of listening to
the music.

Major Doyle sat opposite, stiffly erect, with his admiring eyes full
upon Patsy. At times he drummed upon the arms of his chair in unison
with the music, nodding his grizzled head to mark the time as well as to
emphasize his evident approbation. Patsy had played this same piece from
start to finish seven times since dinner, because it was the only one
she knew; but the Major could have listened to it seven hundred times
without the flicker of an eyelash. It was not that he admired so much
the "piece" the girl was playing as the girl who was playing the
"piece." His pride in Patsy was unbounded. That she should have
succeeded at all in mastering that imposing looking instrument--making
it actually "play chunes"--was surely a thing to wonder at. But then,
Patsy could do anything, if she but tried.

Suddenly Uncle John ga