From 8-year old Hilda’s diary:
I wonder if my father still has that same funny mustache with a curl at each end of it. Every morning when he gets up, he wraps the curls in a paper and he sits and practices the flute. The last time he was here he took me to the house of a very nice lady and she played the piano and together they played duets. Afterwards they had a tea party and she gave me a big piece of cake made of different colors. She called it a marble cake because the colors swirl and look like marble and then my father said that in Italy many beautiful churches are made out of colorful marble like the cake.