The Wabbit made up a tour for himself. He just went for the first thing that came into his head and then another and so on. His first site was Superga because he liked to ride the Tramway up the hill. At the top there was a Basilica. It had been the site of many adventures and he stood stock still remembering them all. He murmured like a tour guide. The war with France culminated in the Siege of Turin. Vittorio Amedeo II fulfilled a promise to build a cathedral on the hill if the French were overturned. The Wabbit mulled it over. "Good job too," he thought. But he was pensive. "Many soldiers killed in that war, thousands." He nodded his head. His personal tour was going rather well. He looked up. The sky turned a peculiar shade. Buildings too. "I'm in an old photograph!" he thought. But it couldn't be anything to do with history. The Wabbit was an expert on photography and knew it was invented in the early 1800s. He blinked. Suddenly colour was back. Then it was gone again. Sepia returned. He thought for a while. "Maybe it's me." Then he heard a voice calling. "Wabbit, Wabbit! Follow me." He couldn't see anyone to follow. "Here, here!" He looked down. It was a military hat, more of a cap really. And it was red - a vivid crimson in a sea of sepia. He stooped down to speak to it. The hat looked up, or at least the peak did. "What's your name?" asked the Wabbit. "Eusebio Airoldi." came the reply. "That's a mouthful." said the Wabbit gently. "Call me Sebby," said the hat.
