Yesterday was August 24, AD 79. We were in Pompeli, a small town in southern Italy, during the time of the Roman Empire. The town lied just below Mount Vesuvius, an ancient volcano. Farmers grew food on the slopes of the mountain. People were busy in the town. Let's walk down the main street. First we passed a taverna. A young man was drinking a glass of wine at the bar. Next we smelled fresh bread from the bakery. Two women were buying loaves and honey cakes. In the road a crowd of children were playing a game with stones. Maximus Minimus walked past-he lived behind the bakery. He invited us in. We followed him into his opened air courtyard. His wife, Agrippina was here, writing a letter. The workmen were painting pictures of the countryside on the walls. A dog was sleeping In the corner Suddenly there was an explosion. The sky went dark. The ground shakes violently. Then was lightning. Everybody thought it was an earthquake, but they were wrong. It was the volcano. After 800 years, Mount Vesuvius has woken up. Fire and lava bursted out of the top. Blac clouds of hot ash filled the sky and the wind took them over Pompeii. Maximus grabbed Agrippina's hand and they ran out of the house. The dog hid under a table. The hildren cried for their parents. Men, women, children and animals ran through the streets. Most of them escaped but two thousand died. When it was over, the sky stayed dark. Piles of ash covered everything. It looked like snow