the wisdom of
our staying here? Is it safe to keep my girls in Naples during this
eruption?"

"Ah! Why not? This very morning the mountain asunder burst, and we who
love our people dread the news of devastation we shall hear. From the
observatory, where His Majesty's faithful servant still remains, come
telegrams that the great pebbles--what we call scoria--have ruined
Ottajano and San Guiseppe. Perhaps they are overwhelmed. But the beast
has vomited; he will feel better now, and ever become more quiet."

"I suppose," remarked Mr. Merrick, thoughtfully, "that no one knows
exactly what the blamed hill may do next. I don't like to take chances
with three girls on my hands. They are a valuable lot, Colonel, and
worth saving."

The boyish Italian instantly looked grave. Then he led Uncle John away
from the others, although doubtless he was the only officer present able
to speak or understand English, and said to him:

"Where are you living?"

"At the hotel named after your sick mountain--the Vesuve."

"Very good. In the bay, not distant from your hotel, lies a government
launch that is under my command. At my home in the Viala Elena are a
wife and two children, who, should danger that is serious arise, will be
put by my soldiers on the launch, to carry them to safety. Admirable, is
it not?"

"Very good arrangement," said Uncle John.

"It renders me content to know that in any difficulty they cannot be
hurt. I am not scare, myself, but it is pleasant to know I have what you
call the side that is safe. From my American wife I have many of your
excellent speech figures. But now! The launch is big. Remain happy in
Naples--happy as Vesuvio will let you--and watch his vast, his gigantic
exhibition. If danger come, you all enter my launch and be saved. If no
danger, you have a marvelous experience." The serious look glided from
his face, and was replaced by a smile as bright as before.

"Thank you very much," responded Uncle John, gratefully. "I shall go
back to the girls well satisfied."

"Make the signorini stay in to-day," warned the colonel. "It is bad,
just now, and so black one can nothing at all observe. To-morrow it will
be better, and all can go without. I will see you myself, then, and tell
you what to do."

Then he insisted that Uncle John clear his parched throat with a glass
of vermouth--a harmless drink of which all Italians are very fond--and
sent him away much refreshed in body and mind.

He made h