lorna had never realized before how much of life can be compressed into a few days. the interval between her father's departure for naples and his return for the week-end was spent almost entirely with her friends. it marked for her an altogether new phase of existence. she had read in books about jolly families of brothers and sisters, and parties of young people, but her own experience was strictly limited to school. here in capri, for the first time she tasted the delights of which she had often dreamed, and found herself cordially included in a charmed circle. though the beverleys were mainly responsible for thus taking her up, the camerons also offered much kindness. "the cameron clan" as they called themselves, consisted of father, mother, jess, and two brothers, angus and stewart, and almost every evening the young folk would meet at their villa and gather round a wood fire in the salon. though the days were so warm the nights were chilly, and it was cheerful to watch the blazing logs. what times they had together! it was an established rule that everybody contributed some[288] item to the general entertainment, and in spite of fierce denials even the least accomplished were compelled to perform. it brought out quite unexpected talent. peachy, who had always declared her music "wasn't up to anything," charmed the company by lilting darkie melodies or pathetic indian songs, captain preston remembered conjuring tricks which he had learned in india, mr. roper proved a genius at relating short stories, and mrs. cameron could recite old ballads with the fervor of a medieval minstrel. the walls of the italian salon seemed to melt away and change to a wild moorland or a northern castle as she declaimed "fair helen of kirconnell," "the lament of the border widow," "bartrum's dirge," or "the braes o' yarrow."
"modern people want more poetry in their veins," she insisted. "i've no patience with the stuff most of them read. there's more romance in one of those stories of ancient times than you'd find in a whole boxful of the latest library books. people weren't ashamed of their feelings then, and they put them into beautiful words. nowadays it seems to me they've neither the feelings nor the language to clothe them in. i'm a century or two too late. i ought to have lived when the world was younger."
if his wife adored her native ballads mr. cameron, on his part, had a good stock of scottish songs, and would trill them out in a fine baritone voice, the audience joining with enthusiasm in the choruses of such favorites as "bonny dundee,"[289] "charlie is my darling," and "over the sea to skye."
"there's a ring about jacobite melodies that absolutely grips you," said mrs. beverley, begging for "wha wad na fecht for charlie," and "farewell manchester." "perhaps it's in my blood, for my ancestors were jacobites. one of them was a beautiful girl in 1745, and sat on a balcony to watch her prince ride into faircaster. the cavalcade came to a halt under her window and 'charlie' looked up and saw her, and asked her to dance at the ball that was being given that night in the town. she was greatly set up by the honor, and handed the tradition of it down the family as something that must never be forgotten. oh! i'd have fought for the 'hieland laddie' myself if i'd been a man in his days. is the spirit of personal loyalty dead? we give patriotic devotion to our country, but love such as that of an ancient highlander for his hereditary chief seems absolutely a thing of the past."
while their elders entertained the circle with northern legends or border ballads the young people also did their share, and contributed such choice morsels as ghost stories, adventures in foreign lands, or weird tales of the occult. stewart, who was an omnivorous reader of magazines, tried to demonstrate the romance of modern literature, though he could never convince his mother of its equality with old-world favorites. marjorie anderson, who had a sweet voice, loved soldier ditties, and caroled them[290] much to the admiration of captain preston, who always managed to contrive to get a seat near her particular corner of the fireside.
"i believe those two are 'a match,'" whispered peachy to irene one evening.
"so do i. they met first when marjorie was at school. dona told me all about it, and it was quite romantic. they'd have seen more of each other only, after the armistice, his regiment was ordered out to india. he's home on leave now. he wrote to marjorie all the time he was away, regularly. she's tremendous friends with his sisters, and they asked her to join them on this tour. looks suspicious, doesn't it?"
"rather! i hope it will really come off," answered peachy, looking sympathetically at the attractive pair whose chairs always seemed to gravitate together. "she's pretty! and his brown eyes are the twinkliest i've ever seen! yes! i'm prepared to give them my blessing! i only wish he'd get on with it. why doesn't somebody give him a push over the brink and make him propose? he's marking time, and for two cents i'd tell him so myself. i guess his eyes would pop out, but i shouldn't care! don't be alarmed! i promise i won't interfere. but onlookers see the most of the game, and with an affair like this under my very nose i'll be mad if they don't fix-it up."
captain preston was hardly likely to conduct his love-making under full fire of inquisitive eyes, but he[291] generally managed to appropriate marjorie on walks or excursions; they strolled out together to admire the moon, hunted for orchids on the hills, searched the beach for shells, and saw enough of one another's society to satisfy the most ardent matchmakers. it was an established fact that these two should always sit together in boat or carriage, but the rest of the party revolved like a kaleidoscope. lorna sometimes found herself escorted by stewart or angus, sometimes by charlie or michael foard, the friends who were staying with them, and oftener still by vincent beverley, whose fair hair, blue eyes, and merry face—so like irene's—specially attracted her. she was so unaccustomed to have a cavalier at all that it seemed wonderful to her that any one should take the trouble to carry her basket, pick flowers that grew out of her reach, help her up difficult steps or hand her into a rocking boat. this new aspect of the world was very sweet. insensibly it affected her.
"lorna's growing so pretty," commented peachy to irene. "she's a queer girl. at school she goes about looking almost plain and as dreary as an owl. she's suddenly jumped into life here. anybody who hadn't seen the two sides of her wouldn't believe the difference. when she's animated she's nearly beautiful."
"i don't think she's ever been really appreciated at the villa camellia," replied irene. "mums likes her immensely. she says there's so much in her, and[292] that she only wants 'mothering' to bring her out. as for vin, his head's turned. he's made me vow faithfully to engineer that he sits next to lorna in the boat to-day. are you going with stewart? well, i've promised michael if he's a particularly good boy i'll let him row me in the little skiff. i dare say charlie will be angry, but i can't help it. the foards are as alike as buttons in looks, but the younger one is so infinitely nicer than the other."
tuesday, wednesday, and thursday had slipped blissfully by. except for the few hours daily during which the steamer from naples visited capri, with promenade deck filled with tourists, the little island was wonderfully quiet, and by keeping away from the marina grande or the highroads it was possible to avoid other holiday-makers. if they were not on the sea "the clan," as the whole party liked to call themselves, generally went up the hills to escape civilization. the natives had begun to know them, and though they might be offered oranges, figs, or dates by street vendors they were not continually pestered to take carriages, engage guides or donkeys, or buy picture post-cards or long strings of coral. irene loved occasional excursions into the white town on the rock. the strict rules and convent seclusion of the villa camellia had given her no opportunity of sampling shops at fossato, so, except for her half-term holiday at naples, this was her first experience[293] of marketing in italy. the unfamiliar money and measures were of course confusing, but the quaint little cakes, the lollipops wrapped in fringed tissue paper of gay colors, the sugar hearts, the plaited baskets, the inlaid boxes, the mosaic brooches, the beads, and the hundred and one cheap trifles spread forth on stalls or in windows fascinated her, and drew many lire from her purse. she only knew a few words of colloquial italian, but she used these to the best advantage, and made up the rest with nods and smiles, a language well understood by the kindly people of capri, to whom a gesture is as eloquent as a whole sentence. vincent, whose talents ran more towards prowess at football than a gift for languages, would often escort his sister, and conducted his bargaining by pointing to what he wanted and counting the price in lire on his five fingers, an operation that caused fits of amusement to the shopkeepers, with whom the fair young englishman became quite a favorite. as long as vincent could see what he wished for on sale and indicate it with a finger he got along all right, but matters grew complicated if he tried to explain himself. one day his mother, having run short of methylated spirit, for her teakettle, sent him with a bottle to buy some more. he looked the words up in a dictionary, entered a chemist's, and demanded "alcohol for burning" in his best italian. the assistant seemed mystified, but suddenly a light flooded his intelligent face,[294] he flew to a series of neat little drawers behind the counter, rummaged about, and in much triumph produced an "alcock's porous plaster," which he vehemently assured vincent would be sure to burn, and was a real english medicine, imported with great trouble and expense, and certain to cure the ailment from which he was suffering. how vincent would have got out of the tangle, or convinced the chemist's assistant that he was not in need of medical aid, is uncertain, but at that moment irene, who was walking with lorna in the square, spied him through the window, and brought her chum to the rescue. lorna's italian was excellent; she soon unravelled the matter, returned the porous plaster to the disappointed assistant, and explained to vincent that the local name for methylated spirit was "spirito," and that it was generally procured from an oil colorman's.
"how was i to know?" grumbled vincent dramatically. "a fellow goes by the dictionary."
"it's always called 'alcohol' in rome, and in some other places," pacified lorna, who was still laughing at the mistake, "and i've bought it at a chemist's myself in naples. come along round the corner and we'll find the right shop. i had my own bottle filled there yesterday, so i know where to go."
on the friday, mrs. cameron, who by universal consent had constituted herself organizer of the various joint expeditions, sent out invitations for a grand gathering of the clan to go and view the[295] ruins of the villa of tiberius. this was one of the principal sights of the island, and, as the preston party were not staying over the following week, it would have seemed a pity for them to miss it.
"it's a case of taking nose-bags and going for the day," said stewart, delivering his messages at the various villas. "meeting-place, the piazza in the town. those who like to come up by the funicular can do so. we'll wait for them. i think the mater will take the train and save herself some of the climb. she doesn't like these endless steps, and it's certainly a pull from our place to the town. it's worth while walking down to the marina to get the railway."
mrs. beverley, mrs. roper, and joyce preston joined mrs. cameron in taking advantage of the little "ferrovia funicolare" that connected the harbor with the town, and arrived on the piazza cool and fresh compared with those who had preferred to toil up the steep path.
"i told you to come with me, renie child," chided mrs. beverley. "look how hot you are already. you'll be quite overdone before we get to the summit."
"oh, mums darling, i'm not tired! i've saved the fare and bought this swanky little cane instead. look! isn't it dinky?" protested irene, proudly exhibiting her newly purchased treasure. "it has a leather strap and a tassel and a knob that one can suck."[296]
"you baby," laughed her mother. "we shall have to buy you a tin trumpet. i don't believe you're out of the nursery yet."
"tin trumpet, mums darling? oh! you've given me such an idea," purred irene, running to michael foard and whispering some communication into his sympathetic ear, which caused him to walk back to a certain street stall and purchase nine tin whistles, with which the younger members of the party armed themselves and immediately began a desperate attempt to reproduce "the bluebells of scotland," hugely to the entertainment of the natives, who flocked to their doors all smiles and amused exclamations.
"bairns! i think shame of you," declared mrs. cameron. "they'll take us for a wandering circus. put those unmusical instruments in your pockets till we're clear of the town. i never heard a poor scottish air so mangled. you may practice your band on the hills and scare the goats. don't play it in my ears again till you catch the proper tune."
the musicians, after their first burst of enthusiasm was expended, were glad to save their breath for the climb. when houses were left behind their way wound between high walls, up, up, up, along a paved pathway among orange groves, till at last the allotments disappeared, and they were on the open hillside, among the low shrubs and the rough grass and the beautiful flowers. irene, running up a bank in quest of bee-orchises, broke her new cane into four[297] pieces, but was somewhat consoled by a stick which michael cut her from a chestnut tree.
"it hasn't a knob to suck," he laughed, "but i'll tie a stick of peppermint on to the end of it if you like."
"don't tease me, or i'll throw a squashy orange at you."
"i thought you were fond of peppermint."
"so i am, and if there's another of those creamy neapolitans left in your pocket i'll accept it and forgive you."
"right you are, o queen! there are two here. does your majesty prefer a purple paper or a green?"
the ruins, which formed the goal of their expedition, were the remains of a once splendid villa erected by the emperor tiberius, and used constantly by him until his death in a.d. 37. most of the party were disappointed to find them, as peachy expressed it, "so very ruiny." it was difficult to picture what the original palace must have been like, for nothing was left of all the grandeur but crumbling walls, over which nature had scattered ferns and flowers. at the very top some of the old masonry had been used to build a tiny church; this was closed, but, peeping through the grille in the door, the visitors could catch glimpses of blue-painted roof and of little model ships, placed as votive offerings by the sailors in gratitude for preservation from danger at sea. outside this chapel was a great stone monu[298]ment built so near the edge of the cliff that, when sitting on its steps, one could look down a sheer drop of several hundred feet into the blue waters below. the view from here was magnificent, and as the clan, in turns, scanned the neighboring coast of italy with field glasses, they believed they could even distinguish the greek temples at pæstum. the girls described the glorious excursion they had taken there from school.
"you were lucky to be able to go all the way by char-à-banc," commented mrs. cameron. "dad and i went there on our honeymoon, years and years ago, and traveled all the way from naples by a terrible little jolting train that carried cattle-trucks and luggage-trucks as well as passenger carriages. i shan't ever forget that journey. we had to leave the station at 6.30 and when we came downstairs we found it was a pouring wet day. it was only the fact that the sleepy looking waiter at our hotel must have roused himself at 5 a.m. to prepare our coffee, and that we did not like to ask him to do it again another morning, that forced us to set off in the rain. i never felt so disinclined for an excursion in my life. dad said afterwards if i'd given him the least hint he'd have joyfully relinquished it, but each thought the other wanted to go, so off we set. all the way to cava it simply streamed, and we sat in our corners of the carriage secretly calling ourselves idiots, and wondering how we were going to look over temples in a deluge. but our heroism was re[299]warded, for just as the train crossed the brigand's marsh the rain stopped and the sun shone out, and the effect of blue sky and clouds was simply glorious. we had a great joke at pæstum. a mosquito had stung me badly on one lid so that i looked as if i had a black eye. it was most uncomfortable and painful, i remember. well, a party of french tourists were going round the temples, and as they passed us they glanced at my eye and then at daddy—a husband of three weeks' standing—and they murmured something to one another. i couldn't catch their words, but quite plainly they were saying: 'oh, these dreadful english! he's evidently given her a black eye, poor thing! that's how they treat their wives!'
"the french people went on to the second temple, and dad and i sat down to eat our lunch. we were fearfully annoyed by dogs that sat in front of us and watched every mouthful, and barked incessantly. (did they trouble you too! how funny! they must surely be the descendants of our dogs who've inherited a bad habit.) dad got so utterly exasperated that he said he must and would get rid of them, so he seized my umbrella, shook it furiously at them and yelled out 'va via' in the most awful and blood-curdling voice he could command. just at that moment the french tourists came back round the corner. they turned to one another with nods of comprehension, as if they were saying, 'there! didn't i tell you so! see what a brute he really is,'[300] and they cast the most sympathetic glances at me as they filed by. isn't that true, daddy?"
mr. cameron lazily removed his cigarette.
"it's a stock story, my dear, that you've told against me for the last twenty years. i won't say that it's not exaggerated. go on telling it if you like. my back's broad enough to bear it. shall i return good for evil? well, as i walked through the town to-day, waiting till you came up by the funicular, i saw one of the tarantella dancers, and i engaged the whole troupe to come to the house to-night and give us a performance. you said you wanted to see them. will our friends here honor us with their company and help to act audience?"
it seemed an appropriate ending to such a delightful day, and all the party readily accepted the invitation. after twilight fell they assembled at the camerons' villa and took their places in the salon, which had been temporarily cleared of some of its furniture. the tarantella dancers, who were accustomed to give their small exhibition to visitors, brought their own orchestra with them, a thin youth who played the violin, a stout individual who plucked the mandolin, and an enthusiast who twanged the guitar. the performers were charmingly dressed in the old native costumes of the country, the men in soft white shirts, green sleeveless velvet coats, red plush knickers, silk stockings and shoes with scarlet bows, while the girls wore gay skirts, striped sashes, lace fichus, and aprons, and gold beads round their[301] shapely throats. they danced several sprightly measures, waving tambourines and rattling castanets, or twining silk scarves together, while the musicians fiddled and strummed their hardest; then six of them stood aside and the two principal artists advanced to do a "star turn." "romeo" sang an impassioned love song, with his hand on his heart, while "juliette" plucked at her apron and appeared doubtful of the truth of his protestations. then the "funny man" had his innings. he sat in a chair with a shoe in his hand and tried to smack the head of a humorist who knelt in front but always managed neatly to avoid his blows, the whole being punctuated by vigorous exclamations in italian, and much energetic music from the orchestra.
a pretty girl sauntered next on to the scene, and sang—in a rather peacock voice—a little ditty lamenting the weather, at which a velvet-coated cavalier came to the rescue, and chanting his offer of help sheltered her with a huge green umbrella, under which they proceeded to make love, and finally executed a dance beneath its friendly shade. the whole of the little performance was very graceful and attractive, savoring so thoroughly of southern italy and showing the courteous manners and winning smiles to the utmost advantage. the dancers themselves seemed to have enjoyed it, and stood with beaming faces as they bowed their adieux and thanked the audience for their kind attention.
"aren't they just too perfect," commented peachy.[302]
"i want to wear a velvet bodice and a green skirt with a yellow border. i want to dance the tarantella with a tambourine in my hand."
"won't a two-step content you?" said angus. "mater says since the room is cleared we may just as well finish with a little hop ourselves. may i have the pleasure? thanks so much. mrs. beverley's going to play for us. it's a beast of a piano but it's good enough to dance to. we mustn't notice if the bass is out of tune."
