"Yes," responded Irma, "as I have seen only this one, I am sure I'd prefer the other."

When they returned to the hotel, Marion and Irma found Aunt Caroline and Uncle Jim enthusiastic over their excursion to Posilipo, declined by the young people in favor of the Aquarium.

"You missed it, Marion," said Uncle Jim, "the region where we have been is just filled with classical memories. The Posilipo was a favorite stamping ground of Virgil's. He wrote the Georgics and the Æneid there, and you can have as long an argument as you wish with the guides as to whether the tomb they show is really his or some other fellow's. If you say it is, Petrarch and Bocaccio, who used to go there, are on your side. Not far off, between Puteoli and Baiae, Caligula performed some foolish stunt of his on a bridge of boats. Or, if that doesn't content you, you can remember that Augustus was fond of the Posilipo. You can also hunt for the ruins of the villa of Lucullus. Our friends, the Roman patricians, loved this region. Instead of digging up ruins, your aunt and I just sat in front of one of the little cafés and incidentally had a magnificent view."

"Yes, we didn't try to go on to Solfaterra," continued Aunt Caroline, "though some one who had been there told a tale of fissures from which gas was exuding, and of remarkable sounds of water boiling violently not far beneath the surface when you put your ear to the ground."

"Isn't Puteoli the place where St. Paul landed?" asked Irma timidly.

"Yes, my dear, and he found a number of Christians there to welcome him. Indeed, all the region of the Posilipo and beyond, has so many associations that we ought to spend a week here."

"Come," said Uncle Jim, "we must all agree to be true philosophers. The rapid flight of time and the shortness of human life in general compel us to let many delightful places go unvisited. Like everything in life, it's a question of choices. While we try to see the most important things along our route, we must still neglect other things and places that are not unimportant."

"Capri, for example," murmured Marion.

"Nothing could induce me to repeat that odious trip," and Aunt Caroline shuddered at the remembrance. "Bad landings, and boats so overcrowded, combined with rough water, make it positively dangerous, at least to one's nerves. If I could fly, I'd go there gladly."

"But isn't Capri very beautiful?" queried Irma.

"And the blue grotto something no one should miss?" added Marion.

"You children can go there, if you prefer it to Paestum."

"What is Paestum?" asked Irma.

"Not to know Paestum—and you a school girl fitting for college. Now I shall insist on your going with me. For certainly, you have one thing to learn, 'What is Paestum!'" and Uncle Jim walked away, as if quite in despair at Irma's ignorance.

"Capri really is beautiful," continued Aunt Caroline, turning to Marion and Irma. "Its men and women are fine types. As I remember there were quantities of flowers around the pretty little white cottages, and charming scenery at every turn. I don't know whether the people still wear their picturesque costumes, and make soft, high-colored ribbons and weave beautiful white woolen materials. But I imagine it is less changed than some other parts of Italy, and if you should go there five years from now, you would probably find it just the same. They still give a wonderful fête in July or August to ward off the grape disease. They have celebrated it for centuries with dancing and sports, but, as they carry a cross at the head of the procession, they fancy it's religious."

"It sounds great," said Marion, "but we can't wait until midsummer. If I should go, I'd hunt up the ruins of Tiberius's villas. This was his favorite resort, and so terribly cruel was he that mothers still threaten bad children that 'Timberio' will get them. I believe a steep rock is shown from which he used to throw his victims into the sea below."

"Well done, Marion. If we have time perhaps we'll go to Capri in spite of the wretched boats. But failing that we'll visit Vedder's studio in Rome. He has a summer villa at Capri, and if he has not used Capri types in his pictures, he can tell us about the people."

CHAPTER VII

"We stay at Cava for the night, and to-morrow go to Paestum. Of course you know about Paestum," said Uncle Jim teasingly.

"I am contented with Cava," replied Irma.

At dusk the little Cava station gave no hint of what the place was. A group of facchini fell upon their baggage, the four were hurried into a carriage, and after driving through a long, quiet street, they reached the outskirts. Here, at the entrance of a house in a garden, a fat landlady welcomed them with many bows. A facchino with a green apron took some bags, a diminutive cameriera, in scarlet skirt and pink blouse, seized others, and soon Irma found herself in a small room filled with massive inlaid furniture. Curtesying low, the little cameriera quickly returned with a can of hot water. Left to herself, Irma was a trifle lonely, and she was glad when the little maid returned to guide her to the dining-room. There she heard a strange mixture of accents, as she entered the room. Her uncle came forward and led her to a seat. As she watched and listened, she found that her opposite neighbors were Germans, while beside her was an Italian lady. Now indeed she was in a foreign country. The dinner, too, was different from the conventional table d'hôte of their Naples hotel. Irma refused an elaborate dish of macaroni, remembering the curtains of yellow macaroni drying in untidy places, that she had noticed from the train.

"If you don't eat macaroni," said Uncle Jim, understanding her reluctance, "you will often have to go hungry."

In the morning Irma woke to the depressing sound of rain.

"No Paestum, to-day!" exclaimed Uncle Jim, as she took her seat at breakfast.

"Paestum! What is Paestum?" she asked, and after that he permitted her to eat in peace.

All the morning the rain poured in torrents, to the discouragement of two or three parties of automobilists, who had planned a trip to Paestum, and a return to Naples by the Amalfi road. Most of the men wandered about the huge house aimlessly, dropping occasionally into a chair in the sitting-room, trying vainly to help time pass more quickly by reading the month-old newspapers and magazines on the little center table. A few wrote letters, and a number of men and women gathered in little groups to compare notes about past or future travels.

Marion held himself aloof from the three or four other young people in the house. He sat in the furthest corner of the long drawing-room, buried in a book, and he said not a word to Irma during the whole morning. As for Irma, she spent perhaps an hour on her diary that she had neglected for a day or two. Opposite her, at the center table, was a girl of about her own age. Often the two paused from their labors—for the girl was also writing—at about the same moment. Finally the other girl broke the rather oppressive silence by asking Irma if she was on her way to or from Naples. Learning that Irma had been in Italy hardly a week, she informed her that she had been there all winter, and with her parents was now on her way to Naples. She questioned Irma about the best shops in Naples, and Irma was able to give her some addresses she wished. She in turn told Irma of many shops and other things of interest in Rome and Florence. Those Irma entered carefully in her notebook. While the two were thus occupied, Marion rose and passed them on his way to the door. When he had left the room the other girl leaned toward Irma.

"Isn't that Marion Horton?"

"Why, yes; do you know him?"

"No. But I have heard a great deal about him, as he visits cousins of mine. It is strange to see him in Europe. I should think he would be at home now."

"Why shouldn't he be in Europe?"

"Surely you must have heard the story if you left New York only a few weeks ago."

"I don't know what story you refer to," responded Irma with dignity. "Marion is travelling with my uncle and aunt. He is a relation of theirs."

"He is in your party? Then you must have heard——"

But at that moment the porter brought a message summoning Madge Gregg to get ready at once for a train that would start in half an hour for Naples. This unexpected departure put all thoughts of Marion Horton out of Madge's mind. She gathered up her writing materials, bade Irma good-by, expressing the hope that they might meet again.

"What can the story be?" thought Irma. "Marion is sometimes queer, and yet—I do not believe he has done anything wrong." Still she felt that for the present it would be wiser not to question her uncle and aunt about Marion. Sometime they would tell her what they wished her to know.

After déjeuner the rain ceased, and by three o'clock the sun was shining.

"This was a fortunate storm that kept us here, for they say that up there on the hills there's an interesting old monastery, such as we may not see again. The carriage will be here in ten minutes, so run and get your bonnet and shawl, as they used to say in old novels," said Uncle Jim.

Soon they were on their way to the monastery, Uncle Jim, Aunt Caroline, and Irma.

"Aren't you coming with us?" Aunt Caroline had asked Marion, as they started.

"Oh, I'll follow; I have arranged with a donkey boy to take me."

"Is it possible that he's going to ride?" asked Aunt Caroline.

"I'm sure I don't know. There are times when it's best not to question Marion. Haven't you found that out, Irma?" said Uncle Jim.

"I do not know Marion very well," replied Irma.

"But you ought to be great friends, you are so near of an age, and almost cousins."

The country through which they drove for a quarter of an hour was very pretty, with many trees and shrubs that looked particularly green and fresh after the recent rain, and the hilly roads were far less muddy than they had expected. From one high point they had a delightful view of the village they had just left, circled by hills. On one was a ruined castle, on another the remains of an old monastery where a hermit monk was said to live. Irma felt that now she was indeed in the old world. On two or three hills she noted slender, gray stone towers, and through Aunt Caroline the driver explained that they were used for snaring pigeons.

"From those little openings, like portholes, small white stones are thrown out, which the pigeons mistake for food, and as they swoop down upon it they are snared in nets cleverly contrived for their capture."

"That seems cruel," cried Irma.

"But it would be still more cruel to deprive a lot of hungry people of their pigeon pie," said Uncle Jim.

Now turning their backs on the lovely view, the carriage went up a higher hill. It passed an occasional simple cottage, and they met two or three groups of people evidently returning from a visit to the monastery. They stopped for a moment at a church in front of which was a stone on which the driver said Pope Urban II had dismounted more than nine hundred years ago. A few minutes later they were at their goal, the old Benedictine Monastery, La Trinità della Cava.

"Ought we to go in before Marion arrives?" Aunt Caroline's tone implied that she thought they should wait.

"Marion is too uncertain, and the hours for visiting the monastery are limited!"

Soon the door opened, showing a pleasant-faced monk standing there to welcome them. Before they went within he halted at the entrance, explaining that a handful of churchmen had established themselves here in the very early days because on these remote heights they could be comparatively safe from marauders.

"It is certainly a natural fortress," responded Uncle Jim, looking from the steep cliff on which they stood to the narrow river bed, far, far below. "And a few sharp-shooting bowmen up here on the heights could keep off any number of the enemy. Come, Irma. Can't you imagine the venturesome Lombards creeping up the ravine, only to be held back by the storm of arrows?"

"But it could only be for a little time. In the end I am sure that the bold Northerners won. I don't know how it was in this particular case, as all traces of the Lombards in this region have now passed away. They were so few compared with the native races, and now the people here are Italians pure and simple."

"Your theories are interesting," said Aunt Caroline, as they followed the monk inside, "but unfortunately for them the convent here was founded by a member of an old Lombard family. The site was chosen for defence, probably against marauding nobles."

Their guide spoke clearly and slowly and Aunt Caroline easily translated what he said. He told them that the convent gave a school and college training to boys of good family, and that these large and attractive halls had been provided for them. In the library were some good old pictures, but the most valuable treasures were the ancient manuscripts, among them the laws of the Lombards on parchment of the early eleventh century, and a Bible of the early eighth century. But for all this there was time for only a passing impression, and Uncle Jim was rather amused by the awe with which Irma regarded them. On their way out they saw a number of boys walking up and down the cloisters, arrayed in long surpliced coats that made them look like very youthful priests.

"They are intended for the Church," explained Aunt Caroline, "but those smaller boys in ordinary clothes will go into other professions. I am sorry," she added a moment later, as they stood in an ancient room, built into the solid rock,—almost the only thing remaining of the original abbey, "that Marion will miss this. It is too late, our guide tells me, for us to get admission to the church, and we must bid him good-by here."

So, after their monk had dropped their visitor's fee in a collection box near the door, they went down the hills toward Cava di Tirreni. They did not meet Marion on the way, nor in the course of their drive along the one-mile, narrow street of the little town. The arcaded shops were dingy and the houses unattractive.

"In Italy you must get used to these squalid, rather dirty towns in the heart of a lovely country. The Italians love to herd together, clinging closely to a habit no longer necessary for defence against enemies, as it was in the ancient times. Even in America they prefer city to country life," said Uncle Jim.

The soup plates had been removed when Marion appeared at dinner. He greeted his friends pleasantly without explaining what had detained him. Though Aunt Caroline gave a glowing account of their afternoon's trip, he made no comments beyond a mere "I wish I had been with you."

After dinner he turned to his book, and soon went to his own room on the plea that he must repack his valise and get to bed early in preparation for their morning start.

During the evening Irma and Aunt Caroline joined their landlady in the deserted dining-room to look at some of the antiques in glass cases along the wall intended for sale. After picking them over carefully, Aunt Caroline bought one or two old iron knockers and a piece of glass that she felt sure was Murano. The landlady's husband appeared at just the right moment to fix the price, and from a secret drawer produced a bit of old brocade that Aunt Caroline pounced on with exclamations of delight.

"It won't last until you reach Rome!"

"Oh, indeed it will. But it is for ornament and not use, and the kind of thing I never can pass by."

After this Aunt Caroline added several other things to her collection—an old key and lock, and a fine bit of carved wood.

"If only it wouldn't crack and split in our dry atmosphere I would take some of this inlaid furniture home with me," she said. "Everything in the house is seemingly for sale even to the bed that Madame our hostess sleeps on. Although she is married to an Italian, I observe that she prefers 'Madame' to 'Signora.'"

At this moment the landlady approaching, invited them into the garden. "As Madame the American lady admired old things she might like to examine the lion's head at the door. It had belonged to the great Filangeri family, as indeed did the hotel in the ancient days. Naturally Madame had observed that this was no ordinary hotel, but a veritable palace with ancient traditions and legends, and——"

Finally Aunt Caroline stopped her flow of words to show Irma that the massive lion's head with its open mouth was but a flambeau holder to light the path of guests at night.

"You will need more than one flambeau to light your path to-night," said Uncle Jim, joining them, as they stood there reading a tablet with an interesting inscription. "Remember that we take an early train for Paestum."

"Paestum—what is Paestum?" rejoined Irma mockingly, as she hurried ahead of Uncle Jim up the long marble staircase that led to her room.

In the morning, however, long before their train reached Paestum, Irma knew all about it. The country through which they began to pass, soon after leaving Salerno, was not closely settled. Farther on there were great stretches of marshes where cattle roamed about. Marion was surprised to discover that the so-called buffaloes were quite unlike the bison, resembling large grayish oxen with a slight hump. They are the chief beasts of burden for the country people of this region. Uncle Jim explained that the whole country here was malarious. It had a bad reputation even in the time of Augustus, and on this account the name of ancient Poseidonia had been changed to "Pesto," and if you doubt me, you may look on the map. There, indeed, Irma did find "Pesto" instead of the more classic name, yet she continued to doubt Uncle Jim's account of its origin—"Paestum" was evidently from "Poseidonia."

CHAPTER VIII

"There is said to be one vehicle in Paestum," remarked Uncle Jim, as they reached the little station, "and as we are not the only passengers on this train we might as well make up our minds in advance whether we shall fight for it or walk."

"Walk," was the unanimous response, and after checking their luggage they started up a long, dusty road. Some distance from the station an arch spanned the roadway. "It must have been part of an old town wall," said Marion, and at the same moment a tall, short-skirted woman came toward them, carrying a large stone water jar on her head. In an instant Irma had focussed her camera, aiming it just as the woman was in the center of the arch.

"She doesn't seem to object," murmured Aunt Caroline. The woman was now close to them, and as she passed them she did not even deign to smile or to look at them directly.

"The Temples! The Temples!" A few minutes later Irma gave an exclamation of delight.

"How beautiful—with the view of the sea beyond," added Aunt Caroline.

Then all stood still. Before them, with a background of blue sea and bluer sky, rose the two great temples, the largest of the three edifices that are now practically the sole remains of a once great city—Poseidonia—founded six hundred years before Christ, by colonists from Sybaris in Greece.

"Outside of Athens, there are no finer temples left standing in the world!" said Uncle Jim.

"Until I read it in my guidebook to-day, I thought one had to go to Greece to see Greek temples," added Irma.

"Oh, there are several in Sicily," rejoined Marion, in what Irma to herself called his "high and mighty tone," a tone that always made her feel that he despised her lack of knowledge.

"Yes," said Aunt Caroline, "but for those of us who are not going now to Greece or Sicily, these are worth printing on our memories. I dare say, Marion, with your exactness, you would like to walk around them and measure them to see whether they are what they are represented to be. Irma and I will content ourselves with general impressions."

"I might verify the fact that the Temple of Neptune is one hundred and ninety-six feet long and seventy-nine feet wide, but it would be harder for me to prove without a ladder that each of the thirty-six columns is twenty-eight feet high," responded Marion good naturedly.

"No, no," cried Aunt Caroline, "no such uninteresting facts! All I wish to remember is the soft, mellow brown of the whole structure and its noble proportions."

Then, looking to the slightly smaller structure at the left, she added, "The Basilica is less complete and less imposing. It has something of the attractiveness of a younger sister."

"I don't like its color as well, but I suppose both are faded."

"Undoubtedly, though originally they were both covered with stucco to imitate marble; the pediment was adorned with sculptures, and the temple held other works of art."

They were now crossing the rough field between them and the Temple of Neptune. Some of those who had come with them in the train were wandering about the interior—if a roofless space without walls may be called an interior—and a larger group had gone with the uniformed guide toward the more distant Temple of Ceres.

"That pinkish flower over there must be asphodel," said Uncle Jim. "Now don't rush to gather it, Irma. It would be far wiser to sit here and test the luncheon the padrone provided for us. Here is a good place, and Marion will open the box."

As Uncle Jim made room at the base of a great Doric column, Irma gave a little scream.

"Oh, it's only a little lizard—no, two little lizards, and you can't blame them for showing alarm at a party of American invaders. Why, even Marion doesn't object to them."

A deep flush rose on Marion's cheek. Irma was looking at him as Uncle Jim spoke, and saw that he pressed his lips tightly, as if to suppress an angry reply.

"Before he opens the box," continued Uncle Jim, whose spirits were rising, "I can tell exactly what that pasteboard receptacle contains,—two hard-boiled eggs for each of us, a fine assortment of chicken legs and wings, some butter, some salt, several unbuttered rolls almost too hard to eat, and an orange apiece."

"You must have prepared the menu yourself," said Irma, laughing; "for things are absolutely what you said, except," and she opened a little package, "here is a piece of cheese."

"Oh, yes, I forgot the cheese. But I have opened too many Italian luncheon boxes not to know what to expect, and in ten years they haven't changed."

"Muore di fame, muore di fame," whined a small voice in their ears. Looking about, Irma saw a girl of twelve or fourteen, with a shawl over her head, carrying her hand to her mouth in the well-known gesture of hunger.

"Muore di fame (I am dying of hunger)," she repeated, standing in front of the four picnickers, while at the same time she turned her head from side to side as if fearing some one's approach.

"It is the custode," exclaimed Uncle Jim; "begging here on Government property is probably against the rules, and she fears he will return before we have given her all our luncheon."

"No, no," he cried, but the girl reached out her hand as if to snatch.

"Oh, give her something," cried Marion, "or at least I will; the poor thing may be starving."

"Muore di fame, muore di fame," repeated the girl, catching the sympathetic note in his voice. Then, just as he had given her a roll and a chicken leg she took to her heels, disappearing over a hedge of bushes between the temple enclosure and a partly ploughed field that stretched between them and the sea.

A moment later the custode came around the corner of the temple, thus explaining the girl's sudden flight. At the same time two dogs appeared, sniffing for their share of the luncheon. More polite than the girl, however, when told to go away, they went off some distance, sitting on their haunches and still eyeing the party hungrily.

It was now Irma's turn to be sympathetic.

"That little one makes me think of Nap, and I just can't help giving him a wing with something on it."

"Just wait until we have finished."

Obedient to this suggestion, Irma waited, and at last there was a good heap of bones as well as some scraps of bread on which the two little creatures fell greedily.

Later, making her way with difficulty over the brambles, Irma reached the grass beyond the strip of ploughed land. She carried a little package containing rolls, an orange or two, and a little chicken. She had gone ahead of the others to get a photograph from this point of view. She had already taken nearer views of portions of the columns and base with Aunt Caroline posed for comparative size, looking a veritable pigmy.

The temples, with the background of hills, were less imposing from the other side. The eye could not help seeing not only the temple, but a lot of ugly little houses in the far background near the station.

"Muore di fame, muore di fame," cried two voices, one after the other. The girl with the shawl had crept up behind Irma, and a larger girl stood beside her. The first girl was a pitiable object, yet Irma knew that she had lately had something to keep her from starvation. The other was fairly well dressed, and for her Irma felt no sympathy. In fact the two had a manner so impertinent that she took no notice of the oft-repeated monotonous "Muore di fame."

But she cast anxious glances toward the temples. Why did her uncle and aunt delay coming! Then she caught a glimpse of them just entering the Basilica. One of her tormentors now jerked her skirt, the other shook her hand in her face.

Irma waved them back, crying, "Andate, andate" (go away, go away), in Aunt Caroline's most effective tone.

The girls grew bolder and dashed at Irma as if to take both her camera and her package. Yet Irma, though frightened, was determined not to surrender either.

At last, when she attempted to call for help, she could not make a sound loud enough to be heard by her uncle or aunt. Of course she had not stood still all this time, but with one girl clutching her dress she could not move fast, especially as she was now in the ploughed ground, into which her feet sank deeper with every step. There was no occasion to fear, as the girls could accomplish no very desperate deed before help came, but Irma's spirit was up, and her nerves irritated by the constant "Muore di fame." So she held the package of food more closely than the camera, and the older girl, watching her chance, rushed off with it, while the other, making a dash at Irma's head, tore off her hat.

"Help, help," cried Irma, finding her voice as the amateur brigands ran toward the road. Then, almost at the same moment, something flew past her so quickly that she could hardly tell what it was. A minute later he had reached the two girls, who were unaware of the avenger's presence until too late to escape. When the flying figure stood still Irma recognized Marion, and a moment later he was back at her side, holding triumphantly aloft the hat and the camera.

"Did they hurt you?"

"Is it ruined?" The two young people spoke in one breath.

"No, of course they didn't hurt me," responded Marion, with some indignation, while Irma wondered why a little stream of blood trickled down his cheek.

"No," said Irma, in the same tone, "of course my hat isn't ruined," and she smoothed out the crushed ribbon bows, and plucked off one of the wings that had been broken in the tussle.

Then Marion wiping his face discovered a scratch. "I thought one of those girls had mighty sharp claws," he said, and Irma, opening her bag, presented him with a strip of thin court-plaster from the case John Wall had given her as a parting present, and then they retraced their steps toward the Basilica, where their elders were awaiting them.

"You haven't explored the temples," said Aunt Caroline. "You can get a very good idea of the interior by examining the stones that show the position of the altar, and——"

"Oh, I don't care about temples now, not until I have studied more. I just like to look about and wonder what the town was like with all its people moving here, when these fields were streets, or——"

"There, there," interposed Aunt Caroline. "When I look about, I can only think that in a solitary place like this I should hate to be attacked by brigands. At the present moment we are monarchs of all we survey. Even the custode is lost to sight, though perhaps he'd appear if we were in real danger."

"I didn't find him of much use," she began, but at a warning glance from Marion, she was silent.

"I wish we had time to go down by the sea, where the Greeks originally landed. As it's much lower land, the temples must show up wonderfully well."

"You must give up the seashore this time. We can barely catch the train, after visiting the Temple of Ceres. Come, children."

But Irma and Marion remained seated.

"Oh, Aunt Caroline, we'd rather wait a while; we'll go back part way by the town wall, and meet you under the Siren's Arch, that would be much more fun. You can dig for the Roman remains that they say lie hidden in that field over there. You know this is one of the towns that remained faithful to Rome in Hannibal's time. Ugh," concluded Marion suddenly, wincing, as if in pain.

"Oh, it's nothing," he replied to Irma's inquiries. "Perhaps I ran too hard in the field over there. You were a brick not to tell Aunt Caroline about it; she would have come down on me mighty hard."

Though Irma did not understand Marion's meaning, she thanked him for recovering her camera.

"It was nothing at all; the little wretches were probably more than half in fun and wouldn't have dared keep it long, with the custode likely to pounce on them, for I suppose one of them, at least, lives in that miserable little house beyond the fence. But it's strange that Uncle Jim didn't ask about the court-plaster on my face. His eyes are generally so sharp. But see what I've found for you," he concluded, picking up something near the base of the great, weather-beaten column beside which they sat.

Irma gave an exclamation of delight as he put in her hand a small piece of the travertine that in some way had been broken off from the column, inside which was a tiny shell,—a shell now exposed to the light for the first time in the more than two thousand years since the temples were built. When she had tied this up in a corner of her handkerchief, and had pressed two of the pink blossoms that Uncle Jim called "asphodel" between the leaves of her notebook, Irma felt that she indeed had begun to collect classical trophies.

From the old town wall, several sections of which are still in fair condition, Marion and Irma took their last view of Paestum and the surrounding plain. "I suppose the old Poseidonians used to go up in that corner tower and watch for their enemies," said Marion.

"Well, Aunt Caroline and Uncle Jim are not enemies, yet we can watch for them. Ah, there we are! And if we return to the road now we can reach the station ten minutes ahead of them and have time to select post cards before train time."

"It will be dusk," said Aunt Caroline, as they took their places in the crowded train, "before we reach Pompeii. I am sorry we have to give up the beautiful Amalfi drive on the high, rocky road above the sea. But that rainy day at Cava was a lost day, and the telegram your uncle received as we left Naples requires him to hurry to Rome to keep a business engagement. To-morrow, Pompeii, and the morning after we leave Naples for Rome."

Of the Amalfi drive Irma caught a glimpse from a curve in the road above picturesque Salerno, and even away from the sea, looking toward the mountains they had glimpses of snow-clad peaks in strange contrast with the summer-like aspect of the country nearer them. But the people she saw at the stations along the way interested Irma almost more than the scenery. At Salerno station, especially, there were peasants of a very strange type. One man with a beard of long growth, in coat and trousers of sacking, carried a long axe, as if bound for the woods. Another brigandish creature with khaki trousers and a slouched hat wore a long black cloak, an end of which was thrown over his shoulders. Two girls setting out on a journey wept bitterly, as an old gray-headed woman kissed them good-by. One carried her belongings in two fairly large baskets, and the other had a white sacking bag for hers, with a few extra things tied up in a black handkerchief. The girls wore no hats, but like all the other women at the station they had their hair elaborately bedecked with combs, front, back, and side combs, until Irma wondered how their heads could bear the weight. Carbonieri, with their picturesque cocked hats, strutted across the platform. A railroad official with red pipings on his hat and gilt buttons on his coat also added to the gaiety of the scene.

"What are we waiting for?" at last Marion cried impatiently.

"The horn man doesn't dare blow until every one in Salerno visits this train."

At this moment the little man with brass buttons on his coat blew his small brass trumpet, and the train set off for Pompeii, still a couple of hours away.

From Pompeii Irma wrote her first long letter to Gertrude, long in comparison with the one sent from the ship. But she had plenty of time that evening after dinner, and though tired after her hours of strolling in the ruined city, she felt in the mood for writing. Moreover, Gertrude had especially asked her to describe Pompeii, and having promised, Irma knew that the most sensible thing was to make good her promise promptly.

"My dear Gertrude," she began. "After all I am not to see Herculaneum, although you hoped I would. But a man we met to-day said we need not be sorry we have no time for Herculaneum. It gave him a kind of smothered feeling, and he did not stay there long. They have not yet dug out enough to make it really interesting, and all the fine statues have been taken to the Naples Museum, so there isn't so much to see yet, and it is all underground.

"But Pompeii is different. In one way it is cheerful, though at times I had an awfully melancholy feeling when I looked about at those roofless buildings and remembered how they had been destroyed, with thousands of people, all in an instant. Our hotel is close to the entrance, in fact my bedroom window looks out on the gate, and when I went to bed it seemed uncanny to be sleeping near so gruesome a place. But in the morning, when I saw two or three carriages standing there and loafers lounging about and tourists going in and out of the little curiosity shop next door, I forgot everything, except that I was a sightseer, too.

"There is nothing shut up about Pompeii, and I am glad I left the Museum until the last, for that took away some of my cheerful feeling.

"I was surprised when we first began to move about, to see such enormous paving-stones in their narrow streets, and you can hardly believe that the chariot wheels could wear such deep ruts. The horses' feet must sometimes have slipped down between the stones.

"The houses have no roofs, and from the street they are so small that I could think of nothing but playhouses. Some of them open out when you go inside and have more than one court. They all have at least one court, with rooms opening off it, and some have little fountains in the center, and sometimes the white marble basins are beautifully carved and there is grass growing around the margin, and even bright plants and vines are trained here and there, just as in the time of the live Pompeians.

"As you walk about you can tell which room was a kitchen and which a bathroom, for they used lead pipes just like ours. In the smaller houses the family used to spend most of their time in the atrium. The sleeping rooms were generally tiny, and the poor slaves were put in little cubby-holes upstairs.

"The frescoes on some walls are bright, but I think our taste has changed, for Marion and I did not admire them so very much. In one lovely house I saw where the Young Narcissus had been found. The original is in the Naples Museum, but a copy is here in its old place. Another interesting house is where they found the graceful statue of a dancing faun. I saw the house that Bulwer calls the house of Glaucus, in the 'Last Days of Pompeii,' and there in front of it is the inscription in mosaics, Cave canem, which I needn't translate for you. They are always uncovering new houses, and one of the newest, the 'House of the Vetii,' is the most beautiful, partly because they have left most of the things in the places where they found them, instead of sending them off to museums. The frescoes here are the most fascinating little Cupids playing games and amusing themselves. Of course one carries away only a general impression of these houses. There are traces of bright color everywhere inside, chiefly red and yellow. The bases of many of the columns in the houses were one of these colors. Some streets were full of shops—tabernae. Would you have known what that meant? You can see the marble-covered counters, and the earthen jars for oil and wine and other things. One market has paintings on the walls, showing that various kinds of provisions were sold there, and in a large pit in the center quantities of fish scales were found. Probably that was where the fish were kept. Instead of quart measures like ours, I saw a set of marble basins side by side, with holes in the bottom to let the liquid run out into the buyer's jars. Most of the shops are labelled, so you can tell what was sold there. On some walls are notices scratched, that take the place of our posters, though Uncle Jim says they have more to do with politics than with buying and selling.

"The great baths astonished me, for they had hot and cold water and different rooms for people to pass through, like a Turkish bath. You can't say it's a good thing that Pompeii was destroyed, but as long as it had to be, it's fine that they have excavated it. To see for yourself how these people lived is better than a hundred lessons in history. Of course it gives you an awful feeling when you stand by the villa of Diomedes and hear that the bodies of eighteen women and children were found there. They had fled to the cellar and had food enough with them to last some time, but the ashes sifted in and they were found with wraps over their heads and hands out trying to shield themselves.

"Diomedes, with keys in his hand, was at the door, and a slave carrying money and valuables. I haven't time to tell you about the Forum and the Basilica and the theatre. Just imagine the fifty or sixty gladiators, whose bodies were found in the gladiators' barracks! Most of them wore heavy manacles, and what they must have suffered when they found they could not escape!

"When I walked up the street of Tombs, where you get the best view of Vesuvius, I could not help thinking that in spite of its calm appearance the mountain is a very dangerous neighbor, and I am rather glad that we have decided not to make the ascent.

"Afterwards when I stood on a small hill, it was hard to believe that under the green slopes in front of us there lay perhaps as large a part of Pompeii as they have yet uncovered. Who knows what wonderful things may yet be found, though it may take more than fifty years to finish the work? It was up here that I dared pick a few tiny buttercups, that I send you as a souvenir of Pompeii.