It belonged to the past. Before her lay
Sorrento, the bay of Naples, oranges, white clouds, and the children of
the sun. Mamma was south, too--if she were only going to her. So the day
dragged on, until with the evening they reached Naples. They spent the
night with a friend of Lisetta, who rented apartments to English and
Americans. Mae was fortunate, therefore, in securing an unlet bedroom
that was comfortably furnished. She enjoyed listening to Lisetta's
stories of Rome and the Carnival; and after a quiet night in a clean
bed, awoke tolerably happy and very eager for her first sight of the
bay. They took an early train out to Castellamare, and as they left the
city, Mae wondered if Bero were just entering it. But she soon forgot
him and every one in the blue glories of the bay.
At Castellamare, Gaetano, Lisetta's husband, was awaiting them, with a
malicious little donkey, tricked out gaily enough in tags of color and
tinkling bells. It was very quaint and delightful to get into the funny,
low, rattling cart, and go jogging off, while the feminine sight-seers
fanned themselves in the windows of the ladies' waiting-room, and
grumbled, and the poor masculine travellers bartered in poor Italian,
with their certain-to-conquer enemies, those triumphant swindlers, the
drivers of the conveyances between Sorrento and Castellamare.
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