The butcher was just taking down his shutters, opening shop for the afternoon. The bakery stood opposite; the smell of fresh bread floated from the window. The baker’s wife sat sewing in the doorway; a baby, swaddled stiff as a papoose, lay in her lap. “Enter, enter!” she said hospitably. “Will the Signora be pleased to see the oven?” She threw open the iron door; a brushwood fire roared and crackled in the black cavern. “He has made one baking already; see how light the bread is!” She broke a small loaf to show what good bread her husband made. The officer tasted a morsel. “_Va bene_,” he nodded. “Tell Pietro I am content.” As we walked about the village, the officer told me its brief history: “Built for the Queen by the sailors of the battleship, Regina Elena, and the soldiers of the 19th Infantry. It has been an immense fatigue--that cannot be denied. O! the rain, rain, rain, that’s been the worst of it. The sailors had a change of clothes, it wasn’t so bad for them; our soldiers had but one uniform--when that was wet, there was no other to change. So many have died, some from exposure--they were poorly nourished, they gave half their rations to the starving women and children--some from blood-poisoning, _poverini_! If one had a little scratch, a mere nothing, on his hand when he went on duty, excavating the ruins, taking out the dead--bah! a pin-prick was enough!” The houses are neat and comfortable, painted white and whitewashed over the paint, as double precaution against vermin. Each house has a porch and wooden steps. The village is under military control; a kindly control one saw that, as every man, woman, child we met had a smile for the Capitano. “What is that building?” I asked; we were passing a small house with barred windows. “Alas! Signora, it is a prison. Discipline is necessary--our men are good fellows but they are human--a firm hand is the kindest in the end.” We passed through the Via Principessa Mafalda and the Piazza Giovanna, named for the little princesses, to the Piazza Emanuele, the center of the village life. The tiny church stands here, a tall flagpole with the national flag of Italy directly before the door. “It has cost us more trouble to build this than all the rest,” laughed the Capitano. The chapel contains an altar, a confessional and a cupboard for the vestments, books and mass vessels. There is no room for the congregation; they must stand or sit outside for the service. * * * * * “It has been a little hard--during the deluge; that must come to an end; in general, as the Signora has heard, this is a fine climate!” As a child keeps the biggest plum for the last, my officer had kept the school, the crowning glory of the Villaggio, for the end. “Opened on the 7th of March, Signora, nearly a month ago, at her Majesty’s desire. She did not wish the children to lose a year’s schooling--they have not lost much time, these little ones, have they?”