This is the second part of a story about a dog and a boy, set in the ancient city of Pompeii just before its destruction by earthquake and volcano in AD 79. The boy, Tito, was a blind orphan boy of twelve or thirteen. The dog, Bimbo, was not only dog, but nurse, pillow, playmate, mother and father to Tito. The day before the volcano, Bimbo had snatched from the bakery some raisin and sugar cakes for Tito's breakfast.

The next morning there were two of the beloved raisin and sugar cakes for his [Tito's] breakfast. Bimbo was unusually active and thumped his bit of a tail until Tito was afraid he would wear it out. The boy could not imagine whether Bimbo was urging him to some sort of game or was trying to tell something. After a while, he ceased to notice Bimbo. He felt drowsy. Last night's late hours had tired him. Besides, there was a heavy mist in the air—no, a thick fog rather than a mist—a fog that got into his throat and scraped it and made him cough. He walked as far as the marine gate to get a breath of the sea. But the blanket of haze had spread all over the bay and even the salt air seemed smoky.

He went to bed before dusk and slept. But he did not sleep well. He had too many dreams—dreams of ships lurching in the Forum, of losing his way in a screaming crowd, of armies marching across his chest, of being pulled over every rough pavement of Pompeii.