CHAPTER XI
"AUNTIE"
ONE afternoon the yacht touched at Capri, and Norvell went ashore in the launch to bring back his sister and her luggage. Fen's excitement was divided between the prospect of Auntie's arrival and the wonder of the Bay of Naples. It lay vibrant blue under a clear, pale sky; far off, Vesuvius was shrouded with masses of smoke which seemed immovable. Around the bay swept the undulating coast-line of faintly violet cliffs, with the mountains rising behind, luminous and bright; and beneath all, the living sea, now vivid cobalt, now clear as liquid emerald. Right at hand, was Capri itself, its beetling cliffs clothed with olive-trees, and its strange white and rosy houses clustering up beside rock-hewn stairs.
The launch puffed alongside, at last, and Aunt Cynthia stood on the deck. She was tall and slender and laughing; her coppery hair was fastened in shining coils low on her neck, and her hazel eyes were very much like Fen's, except that in her eyes was all happiness and light, while in the depths of his was the shadow of his suffering. She kissed Sally and Larry and Mrs. Norvell, and then turned and went quickly to Fen. Taking both his hands in hers, she kissed him very gravely, and they looked into each other's eyes.
"Upon my word, Cynthia," cried Norvell, "how much Fen looks like you! I'd never thought of it before,—had you, Emily?"
"It's because we both have red hair—isn't it. Fen?" said Auntie, laughing.
"No," said her brother, "it's a lot more than that, somehow."
The yacht was under way again by the time Cynthia had settled herself in the cabin which had been made ready for her, and that evening they anchored at Naples, under a new moon. Lights shone and swung from the thousand vessels riding on the purple waters. The mountains seemed ethereal and transparent in their faint blue mists, and below them the Chiaja gemmed the dusk with garlanded lamps.
"Bedtime, Fen," said his mother, "Yes, I know it's very lovely, but it's quite late, and I want you to be asleep before Larry goes to bed."
Cynthia, who had been talking with her brother by the rail, flitted to them.
"I think that I shall put my nephew to bed to-night, if nobody minds," she announced. "You can have him any time, Emily."
Fen did not tell her that it was 
She seemed to know all about putting little boys to bed.
"I'm too heavy!" he protested, as Cynthia stooped over him.
"Nonsense! Why, you don't weigh anything at all!" she said, as she gathered him up. "Run away, Emily—I can find what I want."
In the passage they encountered the excited Mammy.
"Who's this, my dear?" inquired Cythia.
"You needn't stay, Mammy," commanded Fen, a little loftily; "my aunt will put me to bed to-night."
Auntie was a very independent person. She searched about until she found what she needed, and she seemed to know all about putting little boys to bed—even little boys who had been hurt and couldn't do anything for themselves.
"You were such a small person when I saw you last!" said Auntie, as she unfastened Fen's collar. "You called me 'An Tinky.' You used to bring me very short-stemmed buttercups."
"Did I?" said Fen; "I don't remember it a bit! How funny!"
"You were very round and cuddly, and you had copper-colored curls all over your head," said Auntie; "and when I tried to make a picture of you, you ran away and hid under a sofa."
"Did I?" said Fen. It seemed quite incredible to him that he should ever have been able to hide under a sofa.
"But," said Auntie, critically, "I think I like you a great deal more now than I did then, if such a thing were possible, my darling."
As Auntie tucked him in, after letting him look for a few minutes at the twinkling lights through the port-hole, Fen threw his arms around her neck.
"Oh, Auntie" he said, "I think I 'm going to love you almost as much as I do Siddereticus."
"What in the world is—it?" asked Auntie, but Fen grew suddenly shy, and hid his face in the pillow.