'My brothers and I have lived the book ["Treasure Island"] many times and the Bois de Boulogne is full of places that we re-christened with Treasure Island names such as Skeleton Island ? Treasure Island itself is that inaccessible island in the fairly large lake at the back of the Jardin d?Acclimatation. I gave it that name because there are no boats on the lake and we were never able to get anywhere near it. We were only little boys. I peopled the Bois de Boulogne with many strange tribes. We used to wonder if there was a ?Ben Gunn? marooned on the Treasure Island and for many hours we have gazed at it lying in the grass hoping for a signal of distress. You have no idea how the B de B is full of imaginary perils, adventures, Indians, Pirates, Cannibals, Outlaws and all of the hundred and one things that come into a boy?s life through books of adventure. What virgin forests we have explored in this way. Some day I must show you the Grand Canyon of Colorado at St. Cloud. How many times was the coach held up here and the passengers taken captive, to be rescued after fierce fights with Outlaws, Redskins and Renegades. Our coach was a Swiss condensed milk packing case, two broomsticks for shaft, and two old pram wheels; all of it painted a gorgeous but rather horrible brown. My youngest sister, Ethel, was usually the fair lady passenger. To young boys the spot really seemed fraught with danger and romance because very few people ever pass that way. There is an old bridge over this canyon, and steep banks barely scalable in places. ?. I was always planning some new affair, getting up some wild scheme. It was a good life for us. We were very, very poor boys but few were as rich as we were in imagination and few rich boys ever got as much spice out of life as we did. It was a healthy life too, always trotting about in the open. I really love the B de B and St Cloud woods; B de B as a little kid up to 12 or 13, then St Cloud, which grew dearer still in all my strenuous cross country days. I can remember many a pleasurable thrill in cross country when the trail led us over old familiar spots where our camp fires had burned (not really) and where we had seen stirring scenes of ?daring do?'.