dead and crushed; and you are lucky to be here. Listen," he
dropped his voice to a whisper: "if these Neapolitans could see the
rejoicing in my heart, they would kill me. And you? Pah! you are no
better. You also rejoice--and they will welcome you to Naples. I have
advice. Do not go on shore. It is useless."

They were all startled by this strange speech, and the reproof it
conveyed made them a trifle uncomfortable; but Uncle John whispered that
the man was mad, and to pay no attention to him.

Although ashes still fell softly upon the ship the day had somewhat
lightened the gloom and they could see from deck the dim outlines of the
shore. A crowd of boats presently swarmed around them, their occupants
eagerly clamoring for passengers to go ashore, or offering fruits,
flowers and souvenirs to any who might be induced to purchase. Their
indifference to their own and their city's danger was astonishing. It
was their custom to greet arriving steamers in this way, for by this
means they gained a livelihood. Nothing short of absolute destruction
seemed able to interfere with their established occupations.

A steam tender also came alongside, and after a cordial farewell to the
ship's officers and their travelling acquaintances, Uncle John placed
his nieces and their baggage aboard the tender, which shortly deposited
them safely upon the dock.

Perhaps a lot of passengers more dismal looking never before landed on
the beautiful shores of Naples--beautiful no longer, but presenting an
appearance gray and grewsome. Ashes were ankle deep in the streets--a
fine, flour-like dust that clung to your clothing, filled your eyes and
lungs and seemed to penetrate everywhere. The foliage of the trees and
shrubbery drooped under its load and had turned from green to the
all-pervading gray. The grass was covered; the cornices and balconies of
the houses were banked with ashes.

"Bless me!" said Uncle John. "It's as bad as Pompey, or whatever that
city was called that was buried in the Bible days."

"Oh, not quite, Uncle," answered Patsy, in her cheery voice; "but it may
be, before Vesuvius is satisfied."

"It is certainly bad enough," observed Louise, pouting as she marked the
destruction of her pretty cloak by the grimy deposit that was fast
changing its color and texture.

"Well, let us get under shelter as soon as possible," said Uncle John.

The outlines of a carriage were visible a short distance away. He walked
up to the d