ee Solomon Johns?

No; it was Solomon John and the two other little boys--but grown so that
they were no longer little boys. Even Mrs. Peterkin was unable to
recognize them at first. But the tones of their voices, their ways, were
as natural as ever. Each had a banana in his hand, and pockets stuffed
with oranges.

Questions and answers interrupted each other in a most confusing
manner:--

"Are you the little boys?"

"Where have you been?"

"Did you go to Vesuvius?"

"How did you get away?"

"Why didn't you come sooner?"

"Our India-rubber boots stuck in the hot lava."

"Have you been there all this time?"

"No; we left them there."

"Have you had fresh dates?"

"They are all gone now, but the dried ones are better than those
squeezed ones we have at home."

"How you have grown!"

"Why didn't you telegraph?"

"Why did you go to Vesuvius, when Papa said he couldn't?"

"Did you, too, think it was Pnyx?"

"Where have you been all winter?"

"Did you roast eggs in the crater?"

"When did you begin to grow?"

The little boys could not yet thoroughly explain themselves; they always
talked together and in foreign languages, interrupting each other, and
never agreeing as to dates.

Solomon John accounted for his appearance in Smyrna by explaining that
when he received his father's telegram in Athens, he decided to meet
them at Smyrna. He was tired of waiting at the Pnyx. He had but just
landed, and came near missing his family, and the little boys too, who
had reached Athens just as he was leaving it. None of the family wished
now to continue their journey to Athens, but they had the advice and
assistance of their Russian friend in planning to leave the steamer at
Constantinople; they would, by adopting this plan, be _en route_
for the proposed excursion to the Volga.

Mrs. Peterkin was overwhelmed with joy at having all her family together
once more; but with it a wave of homesickness surged over her. They were
all together; why not go home?

It was found that there was a sailing-vessel bound absolutely for Maine,
in which they might take passage. No more separation; no more mistakes;
no more tedious study of guide-books; no more weighing of baggage. Every
trunk and bag, every Peterkin, could be placed in the boat, and safely
landed on the shores of home. It was a temptation, and at one time Mrs.
Peterkin actually pleaded for it.

But there came a throbbing in her head, a swimming in her eyes,