How I love every old cobblestone! You will see the fat old women rattling home in their market carts, and hear the clang and click of wooden shoes down the streets.

Then there'll be the high gate of customs in the old stone wall that fences in the village, and the country road beyond.

You'll climb the hill with the new moon coming up behind the tall Lombardy poplars, and go on between the fields, turning brown in the twilight, till the Gate of the Giant Scissors looms up beside the road like a picture out of some fairy tale.

A little farther on you'll come to Madame's dear old villa with the high wall around it, and the laurel hedges and lime-trees inside.
"I wonder which of you will have my room with the blue parrots on the wall-paper.

Oh, I'm _homesick_ to go back.