rtress in turns. It
looked the real brigand stronghold of old stories, as impregnable as
some of our Scottish castles and a fit subject for legend.

One feature of the Sicilian landscape greatly struck the Ingletons.

"There are no cottages scattered about like we have in England,"
remarked Lilias. "Do the people who work in the fields all live in these
little towns on the tops of hills? Why don't they have their homes close
to their work?"

"It's an old Sicilian custom," explained Signor Trapani. "In former days
there were so many robbers that nobody would have dared to live alone in
a cottage in the open country; even now it would scarcely be thought
wise, and the peasants feel far safer at night in a town, with their
neighbors to help to protect them and their valuables. A Sicilian
peasant would rather walk many miles to his fields than run the risk of
brigands stealing his savings. Nearly everybody keeps a few goats, and
each morning the goatherd blows a horn and leads the flock of the whole
town out to pasture. He keeps guard over them all day and brings them
back in the evening, when each trots home to its own stable to be
milked. The children often wait at the city gate to welcome the goats
back, and you can see quite affectionate little meetings between them."

"Kids welcoming kids!" murmured Dulcie, who clung to schoolgirl slang,
rather to the consternation of Signor Trapani, who did not always
understand it, and much to the indignation of Cousin Clare, who was
continually urging her to speak pure English.

From Castrogiovanni the way lay down hill to Palermo, which they reached
in the evening, just when a golden sunset was lighting up its
eastern-looking houses, its beautiful gardens, and magnificent harbor.
Ernesto, Vittore, and Douglas were waiting for them at the hotel, so
they made a jolly party of ten at dinner, and had a round table all to
themselves in the _salle a manger_. Signor Trapani, in his enthusiasm as
host, even suggested the theater afterwards, but Cousin Clare said
"No," after such a long motor run, and sent the girls off to bed.

"They may go and see an Italian play to-morrow evening, if you don't
work them too hard at sight-seeing during the day," she relented, "but
remember, I want to keep the roses in their cheeks, and Lilias, at any
rate, must not get overdone. I'm the stern chaperon, you know."

"So I understand," laughed Signor Trapani, "though such a charming lady
cannot make a