Who knows?
I should, I am sure.

Is he dead?
I did not know.

Come along! If Don Antonino is not away we shall get some bread." So they trudged on through the sand.

It was still very hot on the yellowish white beach, under the great southern sun in September, but the Children of the King had been used to bearing worse hardships than heat, or cold either, and the thought of the big brown loaves in Don Antonino's wine-shop was very cheering.
At last they reached the foot of the terraced village that rises with its tiers of white and brown houses from the shore to the top of the hill.

Not so big nor so prosperous a place as Verbicaro, but much bigger and richer than Diamante.