“Ah, that Vesuvius! I hope he will be spitting forth his smoke and fire and lava while I am there. That Bay of Naples! I wonder if it is really so beautiful. But no, there’s nothing so beautiful there as our Giotto’s Tower in Florence! I will tell my Uncle Tony and my Aunt Vanna about that, how lovely it is, rising up beside the Cathedral like a finger pointing heavenward.”

When at last in August the cocoons had been carefully loosened from the delicate threads that held them tied to the twigs, and when each girl had neatly rolled and wrapped up her straw braid, they all went again to Florence. Annina said not a word in all the four lovely miles, ripe with the ripeness of the late summer, but listened to the gay and excited talk of Mario and Fioretta, both so anxious for the trip to Naples. But was not she herself just as eager to go? Yes, but…