ey've got to do their duty. Don't you worry about the girls;
just you worry about _me_."

That was not much consolation for the poor fellow, but he could do
nothing more than wring their hands--Beth's twice, by mistake--and wish
them good luck before he hurried away to rejoin his family.

"I'm sorry to see him go," said Beth, honestly. "Tom is a nice boy."

"Quite right," agreed Uncle John. "I hope we shall meet no worse fellows
than Tom Horton."

At noon they were served a modest luncheon in their rooms, for Signor
Floriano, having sent his important papers to a place of safety, had
resolved to stick to his hotel and do his duty by any guests that chose
to remain with him in defiance of the existent conditions. He had
succeeded in retaining a few servants who had more courage than those
that had stampeded at the first alarm, and while the hotel service for
the next few days was very inadequate, no one was liable to suffer any
great privation.

During the afternoon the gloom grew denser than before, while thicker
than ever fell the rain of ashes. This was the worst day Naples
experienced during the great eruption, and Uncle John and his nieces
were content to keep their rooms and live in the glare of electric
lights. Owing to their wise precautions to keep out the heavily laden
air they breathed as little lava dust into their lungs as any people,
perhaps, in the city; but to escape all was impossible. Their eyes and
throats became more or less inflamed by the floating atoms, and the
girls declared they felt as if they were sealed up in a tomb.

"Well, my chickens, how do you like being abroad, and actually in
Europe?" enquired Uncle John, cheerfully.

Beth and Patsy smiled at him, but Louise looked up from the Baedecker
she was studying and replied:

"It's simply delightful, Uncle, and I'm glad we happened here during
this splendid eruption of Vesuvius. Only--only--"

"Only what, my dear?"

"Only it is such hard work to keep clean," answered his dainty niece.
"Even the water is full of lava, and I'm sure my face looks like a
chimney-sweep's."

"And you, Beth?"

"I don't like it, Uncle. I'm sure I'd prefer Naples in sunshine,
although this is an experience we can brag about when we get home."

"That is the idea, exactly," said Louise, "and the only thing that
reconciles me to the discomforts. Thousands see Naples in sunshine, but
few can boast seeing Vesuvius in eruption. It will give us considerable
pre