Count Ferralti had disappeared as if
by magic, and no one could account for it.
Noon arrived, but no Uncle John. The girls became dispirited and
anxious, for the little man was usually very prompt in keeping his
engagements, and always had returned at the set time.
They waited until the last moment and then entered the _salle a manger_
and ate their luncheon in gloomy silence, hoping every moment to hear
the sound of their uncle's familiar tread.
After luncheon they held a hurried consultation and decided to go into
town and search for him. So away they trooped, asking eager questions
in their uncertain Italian but receiving no satisfactory reply until
they reached the little office of the tax gatherer at the Catania Gate.
"_Ah, si, signorini mia_," he answered, cheerfully, "_il poco signore
passato da stamattini._"
But he had not returned?
Not yet.
They looked at one another blankly.
"See here," said Patsy; "Uncle John must have lost his way or met with
an accident. You go back to the hotel, Louise, and wait there in case he
returns home another way. Beth and I will follow some of these paths and
see if we can find him."
"He may have sprained an ankle, and be unable to walk," suggested Beth.
"I think Patsy's advice is good."
So Louise returned through the town and the other girls began exploring
the paths that led into the mountains from every turn of the highway.
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