约翰叔叔去了哪里呢？原来，他失踪的那天在山间闲逛多时打算返还时遇到了一个名叫塔托的“小男孩”。“他”声称费雷尔受伤派他前来寻求帮助。“小男孩”带领着约翰穿过偏僻的山间，到了一处隐匿的山谷，然而正当约翰叔叔想知道这是什么地方的时候，他发现男孩消失了，一同消失的还有来路。
When Uncle John passed through the west gate for a tramp along the mountain paths he was feeling in an especially happy and contented mood.The day was bright and balmya，the airbracingb，the scenery unfolded step by step magni？cent andappealing.To be in this little corner of the old world，amid ruins antedatingc the Christian era，and able to wholly forget those awful stock and market reports of Wall street，was a privilege the old gentleman greatly appreciated.
So away he trudged，exploring this path or that leading amongst the rugged cliffs，until ？nally he began to take note of his erratic wanderings and wonder where he was.Climbing an elevated rock near the path he poised himself upon its peakand studied the landscape spread out beneath him.
There was a patch of sea，with the dim Calabrian coast standing sentry behind it.The nearer coast was hidden from view，but away at the left was a dull white streak marking the old wall of Taormina，and above this the ruined citadeld and the ancient castle of Mola—each on its separate peak.
"I must be getting back，"he thought，and sliding down the surface of the rock he presently returned to the path from whence he had climbed.
To his surprise he found a boy standing there and looking at him with soft brown eyes that were both beautiful andintelligent.Uncle John was as short as he was stout，but the boy scarcely reached to his shoulder.He was slender and agile，and clothed in a grey corduroy suit that was better in texture than the American had seen other Sicilian youths wear.As a rule the apparel of the children in this country seemed sadly neglected.
Yet the most attractive thing about this child was his face，which was delicate of contoura，richly tinted to harmonize with his magni？cent brown eyes，and so sensitive and expressive that it seemed able to convey the most subtle shades of emotion.He seemed ten or twelve years of age，but might have been much older.
As soon as the American had returned to the path the boy came toward him in an eager，excited way，and exclaimed：
"Is it not Signor Merrick？"
The English was ？uent，and only rendered softer by the foreign intonation.
"It is，"said Uncle John，cheerfully."Where did youdrop from，my lad？I thought these hills were deserted，until now.""I am sent by a friend，"answered the boy，speakingrapidly and regarding the man with appealing glances."He is in much trouble，signore，and asks your aid.""A friend？Who is it？""The name he gave me is Ferralti，signore.He is near tothis place，in the hills yondera，and unable to return to the town without assistance.""Ferralti.H—m—m.Is he hurt？""Badly，signore；from a fall on the rocks.""And he sent for me？""Yes，signore.I know you by sight—who does not？—and as I hurried along I saw you standing on the rock.It is most fortunate.Will you hasten to your friend，then？I will lead you to him."Uncle John hesitated.He ought to be getting home，instead of penetrating still farther into these rocky fastnesses.And Ferralti was no especial friend，to claim his assistance.But then the thought occurred that this young Italian had befriended both him and his nieces in an extremityb，and was therefore entitled to consideration when trouble in turn overtook himself.The natural impulse of this thought was to go to his assistance.
"All right，my lad，"said he."Lead on，and I'll see whatcan be done for Ferralti.Is it far？""Not far，signore."With nervous，impatient steps the child started up the narrow path and Uncle John followed—not slowly，but scarcely fast enough to satisfy his zealous guide.
"What is your name，little one？"
"Tato，signore."
"Where do you live？""Near by，signore."
