Publisher's Synopsis
Excerpt from Little Folk of Many Lands
March 5, 1873 - my father and I sat huddled luxuriously on the warm Neapolitan sand. We watched Vesuvius lightly tossing Skyward delicate sprays of smoke. We watched the blue, blue water at our feet, and the faint, opalescent outlines of distant Capri. We watched the pink and golden sunset as it glowed upon the grey trunks, the green leaves, and the yellow fruit of the grove behind us. A fruit-stone's throw beyond us, and just so much nearer the seductive Mediterranean water, squatted a trio of children. The two boys had their evening meal of bread and chestnuts laid between them, and the baby (almost as big as they), lying in the low willow basket, had a milk-bottle and a jingling string of sea-shells.
It was my ninth birthday, and, because of something my father said to me as we sat together there, I remember that birthday apart from and beyond all my other birth days.
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