The heart of a boy = Cuore : a story

CDMONDO DEANlCfX.

JLLltfTRATED.

fu^Cic £>i^anj

^urcdascd witd State Uunds

9'

i

Thcv darted out of the house loith Unoered bayonets.

JJc ivoit every day to teach the prisoners in the jail.

The band . . . surrounded by a cro7C'd of boys.

A boy, dressed as a peasant and zuith a biDidle.

THE HEART OF A BOY

(CUORE)
A STORY

BY

EDMONDO DE AMICIS

the One Hundred and Sixty-sixth Italian Editloo

BY

PROF. G. MANTELLINI

ILLUSTRATED

CHICAGO
LAIRD >i^ 1 I h, PUBLISHERS

J

Snter«d according to Act of Ctongress In the year elght««n

hundred and nlnety-flve by

WILLIAM H. LEE,

In the office of the Librarian of Congress at Washlniptoo.

(ALL BIGHTS KESERVBD.)

CONTENTS

October : page

The First Day of School, 9

Our Master, 11

An Accident, 12

The Calabrian Boy, 13

My Classmates 15

A Noble Action 16

My School Mistress of the Upper First, 18

In an Attic, 20

The School, 22

The Little Patriot of Padua, 23

November:

The Chimney Sweep 25

All Souls' Day, 27

My Friend Garrone, 28

The Charcoal Man and the Genlleman, 30

My Brother's School-Mistress 31

My Mother, ' 33

My Companion Coretti, 35

The Principal of the School, 39

The Soldiers, 40

The Protector of Nelli 42

The First of the Class, 44

The Little Vidette of Lombardy, . 46

The Poor, 51

December :

The Trading Boy, 53

Vanity, 54

The First Snow Storm, 56

The Little Mason, 68

A Snow Ball, 59

The School-Mistress, 62

In the Home of the Wounded Man, 63

4 C EXTENTS

Page

The Little Florentine Writer, 65

WiU, 72

Gratitude, 74

January :

The Substitute 75

Stardi's Library 77

The Son of the Blacksmith, 78

A Nice Visit, 80

The Funeral of Vittorio Emanuele, 82

Franti Expelled from School, 83

The Sardinian Drummer Boy, 85

The Love of Our Country, 93

Envy, 95

Franti's Mother, 97

Hope, 99

February :

A Well-Awarded Medal, 101

Good Resolutions, . . 103

The Little Railway Train, 104

Pride, 106

The Wounds of Work 108

The Prisoner, 110

Papa's Nurse, 113

The Workshop, 122

The Little Clown, 124

The Last Day of the Carnival, 128

The Blind Boys, .131

The Sick Master, 137

The Street, 139

March :

The Evening Schools, 140

The Fight, 142

The Boy's Relatives, 144

Number 78, 146

The Little Dead Boy, 148

The Eve of the Fourteenth of March, 150

The Distribution of Prizes, 151

A Quarrel, 156

My Sister, . 158

CONTENTS 6

Page

Blood of Romagna 160

The Little Mason Seriously 111, 168

The Count Cavour, 170

April :

Spring, 172

King Umberto, 173

The Infant Asylum 178

At the Gymnasium, 182

My Father's Teacher, 185

Convalescence, 194

The Friend of the Workman, 196

Garrone's Mother, 198

Giuseppe Mazzini, 19d

Civic Valor, 201

May :

The Children with the Rickets 206

Sacrifice, 208

The Fire, 210

From the Apennines to the Andes, 214

Summer, 248

Poetry, 249

The Deaf and Dumb Girl, 251

June :

Garibaldi, 258

The Army, 260

Italy, 262

Thirty-two Degrees Centigrade, 263

My Father. 265

In the Country, 266

The Distribution of Prizes to the Workmen. ... 269

My Dead School-Mistress, 272

Thanks, 274

A Shipwreck, 275

July:

The Last Page from My Mother. 282

The Examination 283

The Last Examination, 285

Farewell, , . . 287

AUTHOR'S PREFACE.

This book is particularly dedi-
cated to boys of the elementary
schools, between the ages of nine to thirteen years, and it
might be called, "History of a School Year, by a pupil of
the Third Grade of a Public School in Italy."

By saying that it was written by a pupil of the third grade,
I do not wish to convey the idea that it was written by him
entire, or as it appears in print. The boy noted down success-

ively in a copy-book, what he knew, what he saw, what he
felt, thought and experienced inside and outside the school;
and his father, at the end of the year, wrote these pages from
those notes, endeavoring not to alter the thought but to pre-
serve, as near as possible, even the words used by his son.
The latter, however, four years later, having entered the High
School, re-read the manuscript and added to it something of
his own, drawing upon his memory, still fresh, of the people
and things.

Now read this book, boys. I hope it will please yoa and
do you some good.

THE HEART OF A BOY

OCTOBER

THE FIRST DAY OF SOHCK)L

Monday the lyth.

This is the first day of school. My three months spent in
the country passed like a dream. This morning my mother
took me to the Baretti school to have me entered for the third
elementary grade. I was thinking of the country and went
reluctantly. The streets were swarming with boys; the book-
sellers' shops crowded with fathers and mothers who were
buying bags, portfolios, and copybooks; and so many people
thronged in front of the school that a janitor and policeman
had a very hard time keeping the entrance clear.

Near the door, some one touched me on the shouiaer; it was
my teacher of the second elementary. Always cheerful, he said :

*' Well, Enrico, are we separated forever ? "

I knew it too well, still those words pained me.

We made our way through the crowd with difficulty.
Ladies, gentlemen, women of the middle class, workingmen.
officers, grandmothers, servants, each leading a boy with one
hand and holding the books of promotion with the other, were
crowding the entrance and the stairway, making such a buzzing
that it seemed like entering a theatre. I saw with pleasure the
large hall on the ground floor with the doors of the seven class
rooms where I had passed nearly every day for three years.
There was a crowd of school mistresses coming and going. She

(9)

10 THB HEART OP A BOT

who had taught me in the first upper class saluted me from the
door of her room and said:

* * Enrico, you go upstairs this year, I shall not even see you
pass ! ' ' and looked at me with sadness. The principal had
around him mothers in distress because there was no room for
their children, and it seemed to me that his beard was a little
whiter than it was last year. I also noticed that some of the
boys had grown taller and stouter.

On the ground floor, where the divisions had already been
made, there were children of the first and lowest grade who did
not want to enter the class-room and who balked like donkeys;
it was necessary to push them in ; some escaped again from
their benches; others, seeing their parents leave, commenced to
cry, and the father or mother would return to o£fer consolation
or take them home again, and the teachers were in despair.

My little brother was to enter the class of Mistress Delcati ;
I was put in that of Master Perboni up on the first floor.

At ten o'clock we were all in the class-room; fifty-four of us;
only fifteen or sixteen of my class-mates of the second grade,
among whom was Derossi, the one who always wins the first
prize. The school-room seemed small and sad to me. I was
thinking of the woods and mountains where I had spent the
summer. I was also thinking of my teacher of the second
class; he was so good and always laughed with us, and so small
that he seemed like a companion, and I was sorry not to see
him there with his bushy red hair. Our present teacher is tall,
with long hair and no beard, and he has a straight wrinkle
across his forehead. His voice is heavy and he looks at us
fixedly, as though to read our inmost thoughts; I do not think
he ever laughs. I was saying to myself: " This is the first
day. Nine more months. How much work, how many
monthly examinations, how much fatigue! " I felt the need of
finding my mother at the close. I ran to her and kissed her
hand. She said: " Courage, Enrico! we will study together, "
and I returned home happy. But I no longer have my master

THE HKAKT OF A BOY 11

with his kind and cheerful smile, and the school does not seem
so pleasant to me as it did last year.

OUR MASTER

Tuesday the i8th.

My new teacher pleases me since this morning. While we
were coming in, he stood at his post, and many of his pupils
of last year peeped in through the door to salute him :
"Good day, Signor teacher," "Good day, Signor Perboni;"
some would enter, touch his hand and run away. It was plain
that they liked him and would have been pleased to remain
with him. He answered : "Good day," shook the hands that
were tendered him, but looked at no one, and at every salute
remained serious, with the straight wrinkle on his forehead,
turning his head toward the window and looking at the roof of
the house opposite. Instead of enjoying those salutations he
seemed to suffer from them. Then he looked at us, one after
the other, attentively. While dictating, he came walking
down between the benches, and seeing a scholar whose face
was all red with pimples, he paused, took the boy's face be-
tween his hands and looked at him; asked the cause of the
trouble and felt his forehead to see if it were warm. In the
meanwhile, the bo>- behind him stood up on the bench and be-
gan to play the marionette. Our master turned around sud-
denly; the boy sat down quickly and awaited his punishment.
The teacher placed his hand on his head and said: " Do not
do it any more!" and returned to his desk. When he had
finished dictating, he looked at us silently for a moment, and
then said very slowly, in his heavy yet kind voice:

" Listen, we have a year to pass together, let us seek to
pass it well. Study and be good. I have no family. You
may take the place of my family. I had a mother last year
but she is dead. I have no one else in the world now but you.

12 THE HEART OF A BOY

I have no other affection, no other thought than you. You
must be my sons; I love you; you must love me. I do not
want to be obliged to punish any one. Show me that you are
boys with good hearts, and our school will be a family and you
will be my consolation and my pride. I do not ask a promise
of you^ I am sure that in your hearts you have already told me
' yes' and I thank you."

At that moment the janitor came in to announce that the
class was over, and we left our desks very quietly. The boy
who had stood up on his bench approached the master and
said to him in a trembling voice :

' ' Signer master, will you forgive me ? "

The master kissed his forehead and said: " Go, my son."

AN ACCIDENT

Friday the 21st.

The year has commenced with an accident. Going to school
this morning, I was repeating the words of the teacher to my
father, when we beheld the street thronged with people who
were crowding in front of the school. My father said: " An
accident! the year commences badly."

We entered with some difficulty. The large hall was so
crowded with relatives of the boys that the teachers could
hardly reach their class-rooms, and all were turned toward the
principal's room and we could hear them saying, *' Poor boy."
"Poor Robetti!"

Above the heads at the further end of the room, which was
thronged with people, one could see the helmet of a policeman
and the bald head of the principal; then a gentleman with a
silk hat entered and they all said: " It is the doctor." My
father asked a teacher what was the matter, and he answered:
"A wheel passed over his foot." " It crushed his foot," said
another. "It is a boy of the second grade, who, when

THH HEART OF A BOY 13

coming to school through the street Dora Grossa, saw a child
of the first grade, who had run away from his mother, fall in
the middle of the street only a few steps from an omnibus
which was coming upon him. He ran and caught up the boy
and put him in safety, but not being quick enough to withdraw
his own foot, the omnibus had passed over it. He is the son
of an artillery captain." While they were telling us this, a lady
entered the room looking like a crazy woman, breaking her
way through the crowd. It was the mother of Robetti, for
w^hom the}^ had sent. Another lad}^ ran to meet her and threw
her arms around her neck, sobbing; it was the mother of the
child who had been saved. Both ran into the room and a des-
perate cry was heard : " Oh, my Giulio, my child! "

At that moment a carriage stopped in front of the door, and
the principal appeared with the boy in his arms, the sufferer's
head leaning upon his shoulder, with a white face and closed
eyes. All were silent, and one could hear the mother sobbing.
The principal stopped a moment, raised the boy with both arms
and showed him to the people. Then masters, mistresses, par-
ents and boys murmured together: *' Bravo, Robetti! Bravo, poor
boy! " They threw kisses at him, and the mistresses and boys
who were Hear him kissed his hands and his arms. He opened
his eyes and said: " My satchel ! " The mother of the boy
who had been saved showed it to him and said : "I will bring
it for you, you angel, I will bring it for you." In the mean-
time she was sustaining the mother of the wounded boy, who
covered her face with both hands. They went out, laid the
boy in the carriage, which was driven away. Then we all
entered the class room silently.

THE CALABRIAN BOY

Saturday the 22nd.
Last evening, while the teacher was giving us the news of
poor Robetti — who will be compelled to walk on crutches for a

14 THE HEART OF A BOY

time — the principal entered the class room with a new pupil, a
boy with a brown face, black hair, big black eyes, and with
thick eyebrows which met between his eyes. He was dressed
in dark clothes with a black leather belt around his waist.
The principal, after whispering into the ear of the master, left
the boy with him. He looked at us with his big black eyes as
though he were frightened. Then the master took him by the
hand, and said to the class: "You must congratulate your-
selves. To-day there enters the school a little Italian boy, born
at Reggio di Calabria, more than five hundred miles away from
here. You must love your brother who comes from so far.
He was bom in that glorious country which has given to Italy
many illustrious men, that still gives her strong workers and
brave soldiers; where there are great forests and high moun-
tains; one of the finest parts of our land, inhabited by people
full of talent and courage. Do love him in a way that will
make him forget that he is far away from the place where he
was bom. Demonstrate to him that an Italian boy, no matter
in what Italian school he may be placed, will find brothers
there." After saying this, he arose and pointed out on the
wall map of Italy the place where Reggio di Calabria is situ-
ated. Then he called :

*' Ernest Derossi," the one who always gets the first prize.
Derossi stood up.

" Come here," said the master. Derossi left the bench and
went and stood by the desk opposite the Calabrian boy.

** As the first in the school," said the master, "give a wel-
come to your new companion, the welcome of a boy of Pied-
mont to the son of Calabria."

Derossi embraced the Calabrian boy, saying with hi?, cler/r
voice, "Welcome! " and the latter kissed him on both cheeks
with impetuosity. All clapped their hands. "Silence! " cried
the master; *'one does not clap hands at school;" but one
could see that he was happy; the Calabrian boy was also happy.

THE HEART OF A BOY 16

The master assigned him his place and accompanied him to
his desk, then he said :

" Remember what I am about to tell you. In order that a
Calabrian boy might be at home in Turin, and that a boy of
Turin be welcome in Reggio di Calabria, our country fought for
fifty years and thirty thousand Italians died. You must respect
each other, love each other, and any one who would ofifend his
class mate because he was not born in our province would
rende himself ever unworthy to raise his eyes when the flag
of our country passes. ' '

As soon as the Calabrian boy was seated in his place, his
neighbors presented him with some pens and a picture, and
another boy from the last bench sent him a rare Swedish post-
age stamp.

MY CLASSMATES

Tuesday the 25th.
The boy who sent the postage stamp to the Calabrian N)y
is the one I like best. He is called Garrone; is the tallest v^f
the class, and is almost fourteen years old. He has a large head
and broad shoulders. He is good, one can see that when he
smiles, but it seems to me that he is all the time thinking like
a man. I already know the names of my classmates. There
is another one I like; his name is Coretti, and he wears a knit-
ted chocolate colored coat and a cat-skin cap. He is always
jolly; he is the son of a huckster of w^ood, who was a soldier in
the war of '66. in the army of Prince Humbert, and I have
heard he has three medals. There is little Nelli, a hunchback,
a frail boy with a pale face. There is one very well dressed,
who wears fine velvet and who is called Votini. On the bench
near me there is a boy whom thej^ call "The Little Mason "
because his father is a mason. His face is round like an apple,
his nose is like a ball, and he has a particular skill for making
the "hare's face." He wears a little soft hat which he dou-
bles up like a handkerchief and puts in his pocket. Next to the

16 THE HKART OF A BOY

Little Mason, there is Garoffi, a tall, thin fellow with a nose
like an owl's beak and very small eyes. He is always trading
marbles, pictures, match boxes, and stamps. He writes his
lessons on his nails to read when the teacher is not watching
him. There is also a little gentleman called Carlo Nobis. He
looks as though he were rather proud, and he sits between two
boys whom I like very much; one is the son of a blacksmith
ironmonger. He wears a big coat which reaches down to his
knees, seems fearful of saying much and never laughs. The
other is a lad with red hair who has a withered arm which he
carries in a sling suspended from his neck. His father has gone
to America, and his mother goes around selling green vegetables.
Stardi, my neighbor on the left, is a curious type. He is a
little fellow, heavily built, a grumbler who never speaks to
any one and seems to understand very little. He pays atten-
tion to the teacher without winking, with his forehead wrinkled
and his teeth shut tight. If spoken to while the master speaks,
the first and second time he does not answer, but the third time
he kicks. He has next to him a boy with a shrewd face. His
name is Franti, and he has already been expelled from another
school. There are also two brothers who look as much alike
as two drops of water. They both wear hats Calabrian in
style with a pheasant feather stuck in the top. But the hand-
somest and most talented one of all, he who will surely be the
first this year, is Derossi ; and the teacher, who has already
comprehended this, questions him all the time. However, I
like Precossi, the son of the blacksmith ironmonger, the boy
who wears the long jacket, and who looks so scared ; they say his
father beats him. He is very timid, and every time he questions
or touches any one, he says * ' Excuse me, ' ' and looks up with
his sad, gentle eyes. But Garrone is the bravest and the best.

A NOBLE ACTION.

Wcd7icsday the 26th.
Garrone made himself known this morning. When I

THE HEART OF A BOY 17

entered the school (a little late, as I had been stopped by
my old teacher of the first grade, who asked me at what time
she might come to see us at home) the teacher had not yet
arrived, and three or four boj^s were tormenting poor Crossi,
the one with, red hair, who has a paralyzed arm and whose
mother sells green vegetables. They would poke him with
rulers, throw chestnut burrs in his face, and call him * ' cripple ' '
and " monster," mimicking him as he appeared with his with-
ered arm suspended by the sling from his neck. He was all
alone at his end of the bench looking like a dead person, and
was listening, looking first at one and then at another with
supplicating eyes, beseeching them to let him alone, but they
ridiculed him still more and he commenced to tremble and
redden with rage. All of a sudden Franti, the one with the
ugly face, jumped on the bench, pretending that he was carry-
ing two baskets on his arms, aping Crossi 's mother as she used
to come and wait for her son at the door; for now she is ill.
Many began to laugh loudly. Then Crossi lost his head, and
grasping an ink-stand he threw it wath all his might at the head
of Franti, who dodged it, and it struck the chest of the teacher,
who w^as just entering the school room. The boys all scam-
pered to their places and were silent and frightened.

The teacher, pallid, ascended to his desk and in an altered
voice asked :

"Who did it?"

No one answered.

The teacher looked again, raising his voice, and demanded :
"Who did it?"

Then Garrone, moved with pity for poor Crossi, rose with
a dash and said, resolutely : " It was I."

The teacher looked at him, and then at the other pupils, as
though stupified, and said in a tranquil voice : * ' No, it was
not you."

After a moment, he added : * ' The guilty one will not be
punished; let him rise."

18 THE HEART OF A BOY

Crossi rose and said, cn-ing : "They were beating me,
they were insulting me, and I lost my head and threw "

* ' Sit down, ' ' said the teacher. ' ' Those who provoked him
rise up."

Four arose w4th bowed heads.

* ' You, ' ' said the teacher, ' ' you have insulted a companion
who did not provoke you; you have marked an unfortunate
boy, tormented a weak one who could not defend himself. You
have committed one of the lowest acts, one of the most shame-
ful that can stain a human creature. Cowards! "

Having said this, he descended among the benches, put a
hand under Garrone's chin, who sat with his head down, mak-
ing him raise his face; he looked straight into his eyes and
said : "You are a noble soul! "

Garrone, profiting by the moment, murmured something in
the ear of the master, who tiurned toward the guilty ones and
said: ' ' I forgive you. "

MY SCHOOI. MISTRESS OF THE UPPER FIRST

Thursday the 2yth.

My old teacher has kept her word. She called at the house
to-day, just as I was going out with my mother to take wash-
ing to a poor woman mentioned in the paper. It was a year
since we had seen her in our home, and we all greeted her
cheerfull3\ She is not changed ; still the same little woman
with a large green veil around her head, plainly dressed and
her hair carelessly arranged. She has no time to make herself
look nice. She has a little less color than she had last year,
has some white hair, and coughs all the time. My mother said
to her :

*' Dear teacher, you do not take good care of yourself."
**0h, never mind," she answered with a pleasant, but
melancholy smile.

THE HEART OF A BOY 1^

' ' You strain your voice so, ' ' suggested my mother. ' ' You
do too much for the boys. ' '

It is true one can always hear her voice. I remember
when I was going to her school, she always spoke so that the
boys would not become inattentive, and she would not remain
seated for a moment. I was very sure she would come be-
cause she never forgets her pupils. She remembers their
names year by year, and on the days of the monthly examina-
tion, runs to the principal to a^k how many points they have
made. She waits for them at the exit and has them show their
compositions to see whether they have made progress. Some
of the boys from the high school, who w^ear long trousers and
carry a watch, still come to see her. To-day she was return-
ing, all out of breath, from the Pinacoteca (picture gallery)
where she had taken her boys. Last year she took her pupils
every Thursday to a museum and explained everything to them.
Poor mistress; she has grown thinner than of old, but she is
still lively. She always becomes animated when any one
speaks to her of the school. She wished to see again the bed
where she beheld me sick two years ago, and which is now my
brother's; she looked at it for awhile and could not speak. She
could not stay long as she had to go and visit a boy of her
class who is sick with the measles, the son of a saddler close by.
Besides, she had a bundle of papers to correct, an evening's
work, and two private lessons in arithmetic to give to a woman
who keeps a shop, before night came.

" Well, Enrico," she said to me when going, *'do you still
love your mistress, now that you are able to solve a difficult
problem and can write a long composition ? ' ' She kissed me
and called up from the bottom of the stairs: " Do not forget
me, Enrico! "

Oh, my good mistress, never, never will I forget you.
When I am a big fellow, I will still remember you and will go
to see you among your boys, and every time I pass near a
school and hear the voice of a mistress, it will seem to me that

20

THK HEART OF A BOY

I hear your voice, and I will live over again the two years
which I spent in your school, where I learned many things;
where I saw you so many times so sick and tired, yet always
so cheerful, so intelligent, and in despair if one acquired some
bad way of holding the pen ; trembling when the examiner
questioned us, happy when we made a good showing; always
good, always loving like a mother. Never, never, w411 I forget
you, my mistress!

IN AN ATTIC

Friday the 28fk,

LabC evening, my mother, sister and I went to take some
clothes to a poor woman recommended for charity by the

newspaper. I carried the
parcel and Silvia had the
newspaper with the initials
of her name, and the ad-
dress. We went up under
the roof of a high house,
through a long corridor
with many doors. My
mother knocked at the last
one and a woman opened
it ; she was a blonde, still
young but thin. It oc-
cured to me at once that I
had seen her somewhere
before with that same blue
handkerchief worn on her
head.

"Are you the woman
mentioned in the newspaper as so and so ? " asked my mother.
"Yes, Signora, I am."
"Well, we have brought you some clothes." Then the

THE HEART OF A BOY 21

woman began so thank and bless us without end. In the mean-
while, I saw in a corner of the bare, dark room, a boy kneeling
before a chair with his back turned toward us ; he looked as
though he were writing, and he was, indeed, writing, with his
paper on the chair.

* * How can he write in the dark ? ' ' While I said this to
myself, I suddenly recognized the red hair and jean jacket of
Crossi, the boy with the paralyzed arm, the son of the vegeta-
ble vender. I told it softly to my mother, while the woman
was putting away the clothes.

'* Hush," said my mother. " Maybe he is ashamed to see
you because you bestow charity on his mother ; do not call
him."

At that moment, Crossi turned around and I felt embar-
rassed ; he smiled, and my mother gave me a push to make me
run and embrace him. I did so, and he arose to his feet and
took my hand. Then his mother said :

*' I am here all alone with this boy ; my husband has been
in America for six years ; besides, I am sick so that I cannot
go around selling green vegetables and earn a few soldi, I
have not even a table left, upon which my poor little Luigino
can do his w^ork. "When I had a bench down at the door, he
could at least write on that ; but even that has been taken
away, and he has not even a little light by which to study
without ruining his eyes. It is fortunate for me that I can
send him to school, as the municipality provides him with
books and copy-books. Poor little Luigino, who would study
so willingly. Miserable woman that I am."

My mother gave her the contents of her purse and kissed
the boy, who almost cried when w^e left. She did right to tell
me : " Look at the poor boy, how he is obliged to work ; and
you, you have all the comforts and still study seems hard to
you. Ah, my Enrico, there is more in one day of his work
than in a year of yours. Such pupils ought to be given the
£rst prize."

22 THE HEART OP A BOY

THE SCHOOIy

Veif dear Enrico^ study is hardy as thy mother tells thee.
Yet, I do not see thee go to school with that resolute mhid and
smiling face y as I would like. Thou art still stubborn ; but, listen,
thitik a little how miserable and despicable thy days would be if
thou didst not go to school! At the end of a week thou wouldst
ask with clasped hands to return again, wearied by annoyance and
shame y tired of thy new toys, ajid of thy own existence. Every-
body studies now, Enrico. Think of the workmen who go to
school in the evejiing, after having worked all day ; of the women
and girls of the laboring class, who go to school on Sunday, after
having worked all week ; of the soldiers who take up their reading
and writi7ig books after they return tired fro7n their drilling;
think of the deaf and dumb boys and of the blind, who also
study ; even priso?iers learn to read and write. Think in the
morning, when thou goest out, that on that very mo? 7ii?ig, in thy
own town, there are thirty thousand boys, going like thyself, to
shut themselves in for three hours in order to study. Then again!
Think of the innumerable crowds of boys who go to school about
the same hour in all countries. Think of them — in thy imagi-
natio7i, while they are goi7ig — goi7ig through village by-ways,
through noisy streets, alo7ig the shores of the sea a7id of the lakes,
through the mist or U7ider the bur7iing su7i; i7i little boats, in
countries where there are ca7ials, on horseback through great
prairies, in sleighs over the S7iow, over moimtains and hills,
through woods and across • torre7its , up tluvugh solitary paths of
the mountains; alone, in couples, i7i groups, in lo7ig files; all with
books U7ider their ar7ns, clothed i7i a thousa7id differe7it costu7nes.
speaking a thousand diffe7'e7it t07igues; fro7n the re7notest schools
of Russia, al77iost lost i7i the ice, to the reinutest schools of Arabia
shaded with pal77i trees; millio7is a7id millio7is, all goi7ig to learn
the same things in a Jumdrcd differe7it zvays. Imagi7ie these vast
multitudes of boys fro77i himdrcds of natio7is, this i77imense 77iove-
ment of which you for 771 a part. And k7ioio that if this 77iovement
were to cease, humanity woidd fall back into barbarism. This

THE HEART OF A BOY 28

movement is the progress^ the hope, the glory of the world.
Have courage then, thou little soldier of this immense army.
Thy books are thy weapons, the whole world thy field of battle; and
the victory is human civilization. Do not be a cowardly soldier ^
my Enrico. Thy Father,

THE LITTLE PATRIOT OF PADUA

(MONTHLY STORY.)

Saturday the 2gth,
No, I will not be a ** cowardly soldier," but I would go to
school more willingly if the teacher would tell us a story every
day like the one he told us this morning. He says he will tell
us one every month. He will give it to us in writing, and it
will always be a tale of noble and true acts performed by a
boy. "The Little Patriot of Padua" is the title of this. Here
it is :

A French steamer left Barcelona, a city in Spain, for
Genoa. There were on board Frenchmen, Italians, Spaniards,
and Swiss. There was among the others a boy of eleven,
apparently quite alone, who kept himself aloof like a savage.
And no wonder he looked at every one with forbidding eyes.
Two years previous to this, his father had sold him to the
master of a company of mountebanks, who after having taught
him to perform tricks by dint of beatings, kicks and fasting,
had taken him across France and Spain, abusing him very
often and never giving him enough to eat.

Arriving at Barcelona, no longer able to stand the ill-treat-
ments and hunger, reduced to a pitiable state, he had run
away from his tormenters and had gone to ask protection of
the Consul of Italy, who moved with pity, had put him on
board that steamer, giving him a letter to the chief of police in
Genoa, who was ordered to send him back to the parents who
had vSold him like a beast.

24 THE HKART OF k BOY

The poor boy was ragged and sickly looking. They had
given him a second-class cabin. All looked at him, some
questioned him, but he did not answer, and seemed to hate and
despise everyone. So much privation and so many blows had
irritated and spoiled him. Three of the passengers, however,
by insisting with their questions had succeeded in making him
loosen his tongue, and in a few rough words, a mixture of
Venetian, Spanish and French, he told his story. Those three
passengers were not Italians, but they understood him, and
partly from compassion, more because excited by wine, they
gave him a few soldi, joking, jesting, and urging him to tell
them more. Several ladies having entered the salon at that
moment, two or three of them, for the purpose of making a
show of themselves, gave him some more money, crying:
" Take this, take that," and making the money sound upon
the table.

The boy pocketed everything, thanking them in a subdued
voice in his brusque manner, but with a look for the first time
smiling and affectionate. Then he climbed up to his berth,
pulled the curtains, and remained thinking of his own affairs.
With that money he could enjoy a good meal on board, after
two years of starvation ! He could buy himself a jacket, as
soon as he landed in Genoa. For two years he had gone
dressed in rags! He could also take some home, and be re-
ceived by his father and mother a little more humanely than if
he arrived there penniless. It was a little fortune for him. He
was thinking of all this and taking comfort in his thoughts be-
hind the curtain of his cabin, while the three passengers were
talking, seated at the dining table in the middle of the second-
class salon. They were drinking and talking about their trav-
els and of the countries they had visited, going from one topic
to another. At last, they began to discuss Italy. One com-
menced to complain about the hotels, another about the rail-
roads; and then, growing warmer, they all began to abuse
everything. '' One would prefer to travel in I^apland," said

THE HEART OP A BOY 25

one; another, " had found in Italy none but swindlers and
brigands." The third added that Italian officials did not know
how to read.

"An ignorant people," repeated the first.

" A filthy people," quoth the second.

** Rob " exclaimed the third, meaning to say robbers,

but could not finish his word. A tempest of soldi and half-lire
fell upon their heads and shoulders and leaped upon the table
and floor, making a great noise. All three arose at once,
looking up, and received another handful of coin upon their
faces

" Take back your soldi," said the boy disdainfully, looking
out between the curtains of his berth, " I do not accept alms
from those who insult my country ! ' '

NOVEMBER

THE CHIMNEY SWEEP

Tuesday the isf.

Last evening, I went to the girls' school building, next to
our own, in order to give the story of the boy from Padua to
Silvia's teacher, who wanted to read it. There are seven
hundred girls in this school ! When I arrived, they were just
coming out, all happy on account of the vacation of All Souls'
day, and something beautiful took place before my eyes. In
front of the door of the school, on the other side of the street,
a chimney sweep stood, leaning with his head on his arm
against the wall. He was a very small lad, all black in the
face, with his bag and scraper, and he was crying and sobbing
as though his heart would break. Two or three of the girls
of the second grade approached him and asked :

** What is the matter with you? Why do you cry in this
way ? ' ' But he did not answer and kept on crying.

26

THE HEART OF A BOY

" But tell us, why do you weep ? ' repeated the girls.
Then he raised his head from his arm, showing the face of a
baby, and said, weeping: * ' I have been in many houses to sweep
the chimneys and earned thirty soldi; but
I have lost them, they slipped through a
hole in my pocket," and he showed the
pocket which had a rip in it. He further
said that he did not dare go home without
the money.

' ' The master will beat me, ' * he sobbed,
— and again dropped his head on his arm ,
as though he were in deep despair. The.
girls stopped a moment and looked at
him sorrowfully. In the meanwhile,
other girls had gathered around him,
rich and poor, with their satchels on their
arms. One, who had a blue feather in
her hat, pulled from her pocket two
soldi and said:

' ' I have nothing but two soldi, let us
make a collection. ' '

*' I also have two soldi," said another
dressed in red, *' we will be able to find thirty among all of
us," and they began to collect, calling aloud: ** Amalia!
Luigia! Annina! A soldo! Who has any soldi? Here are
the soldi."

Some of them had soldi with which to buy flowers and
writing books, and they gave them. Others, smaller ones, gave
some centesimi, and the one with the blue feather collected
everything and counted in a loud voice :

" Eight, ten, fifteen ; " but more was needed. Then, one of
the largest of them appeared ; she looked like a young lady,
and gave a half-lira, and all began to cheer her. Still five
soldi were lacking.

* ' Now some of the fourth grade are coming, and they have

THE HEART OF A BOY 27

some," said one. Those of the fourth class came, and the
soldi fell down in a shower. They all hurried forward eagerly.
It was a fine sight to see that poor chimney sweep in the midst
of those girls, dressed in so many different colors; it looked
like a whirl of feathers, ribbons and girls. The thirty soldi
had been collected, and more were giving; the little ones who
had no money would make their w^ay among the larger ones,
throwing him their bouquets of flowers in order that they
might give something. All of a sudden the janitress came out
crying:

" The signora directress! " The girls scampered away on
all sides like a flock of birds, and, at that moment, the little
chimney sw^eep was seen standing alone in the middle of the
street, wiping his eyes. He was happy with his hands full of
money, and he had in the button holes of his jacket, in his
pockets, and on his hat, bouquets of flowers, and there were
some on the ground at his feet.

AI.L-SOULS DAY

Wednesday the 2d,

This day is consecrated to commemorate the dead. Dost thou
know J Enrico, to whose death you boys should dedicate a thought
071 this day? To those who have died for you— for boys and for
all children. How maiiy have died, a7id how ma7iy a7^e continu-
ally dyi7ig! Hast thou ever thought how ma7iy fathers have
worn out their lives by toili7ig? How many 77iothers have de-
sce7ided i7ito their graves before their ti7ne, used tip by privatio7i
to which they had conde77i7ied the7nselves for the sake of sustain-
i7ig their childre7if Dost thou know how many me7i put a knife
in their hearts, in despair, rather than see their childre7i in mis-
ery, a7id how i7iany wo77ie7i drown the7nselves, or die of grief, or
go insane because they have lost a child? Thi7ik of all these dead

28 THE HEART OE A BOY

ones on this very day^ Enrico. Think^ too, of Jhe many school-
mistf esses who have died youngs who were consumed by the
fatigues of the school^ for the love of children^ whom they had
not the heart to leave. Think of the many physicians who
have died from cojitagious diseases^ having courageously sac-
rificed themselves to cure childre?t. Think ^ too, of all those
who have perished in shipwrecks^ in fireSy in times of famine y
who in the supreme 'moment of danger have yielded to infancy the
last morsel of breads the last hope of escape ^ the last place of
safety y and who expire ^ glad of their sacrifice^ since they have
saved the life of a little innocent. They are innumerabley En-
rico. Every ccTnetery contains hundreds of these sairited beings.
If they could rise a mofnent foin their graves^ they would cry the
narne of some child for whom they sacrificed the joys of youth , the
peace of old age , all affection ^ their intelligencCy their life; young
mothers of twenty , vien in the bloojn of youths octogenarians , old
wo77ten, young men; heroic and obscure martyrs to infancy; so
ma7iy who were great and noble, that the earth does not produce
flowers enough to cover their graves. Think to-day with grati-
tude of those dead, arid thou wilt be better and more affectio7iate
to those who live and toil for thee, dear fortunate son, who in the
' * Day of the Dead ' ' hast no one for whom to weep.

Thy Mother.

MY FRIEND GARRONB

Friday the 4th,

There were only two days of vacation, and yet it seems to
me such a long time since I have seen Garrone. Tlie more I
know him, the better I like him, and it is so with all the others
except those who are overbearing and are not friendly toward
him, because he does not allow them to indulge their oppres-
sion. Every time any one of them raises his hand over a little
fellow the little fellow cries: ** Garrone!" and the big boy
does not strike him any more. His father is an engineer on

THE HKART OF A BOY 29

the railroad. He commenced late to go to school because he
was ill for two years. He is the tallest and strongest of the
class; he can raise a bench with one hand. He eats all the
time. He is good ; one may ask anything of him, chalk,
rubber, paper, or pen-knife ; he lends or gives everything away,
and he never whispers or laughs in school. He keeps quiet on
his bench, — which is rather narrow for him, — with his back
bent and his head bowed. When I look at him, he smiles with
his eyes half closed as though he would say: ''Well, Enrico,
are we friends ? ' ' But he makes me laugh. Tall and big as
he is, he wears a jacket, trousers, sleeves, ever}- thing too small
for him ; a hat that will hardly set on his head, thick shoes, a
cravat tied like a string around his neck, and he has his hair
clipped. Poor Gan'one, to look into his face is to like him.
All the little ones like to sit near him. He knows his arith-
metic well. He carries his books in a pile bound with a strap of
red leather. He has a knife with mother-of-pearl handle which
he found last year in the field for military manoeuvring, and
once he cut his finger to the bone with it ; but no one at school
knew it and he said nothing at home for fear he might frighten
his parents. He takes with good nature anything told him in
jest and he is never offended; but woe to the one who tells him:
" It isn't true ! " When he affirms a thing, fire flashes from
his eyes, and he hammers upon the desk with his fist hard
enough to split it. Saturday morning, he gave a soldo to a boy
of the first upper, who was in the street, because some one had
stolen the boy's soldo and he could not buy himself a copy-book.
Garrone has been working for three days, making a pen orna-
mentation around an eight-page letter for the ' ' Saint's Day "
of his mother, who often comes to take him home, and who is
tall and stout like him, and looks rather pleasant. The teacher
always notices Garrone and every time he comes by him puts
his hand on his head. I am very fond of him. I am sure that
he would risk his life to save a companion, that he would allow
himself to be killed in order to defend him ; one can see

30 THE HEART OF A BOY

this so clearly in his eyes ; and, although it seems as though he
always grumbles with his big voice, it is unquestionably a voice
which comes from a kindly heart.

THE CHARCOAL MAN AND THE GENTLEMAN

Mojiday the yth.

Garrone would never have said what Carlo Nobis said yes-
terday morning to Betti. Carlo Nobis is vain because his
father is a grand signor, a tall gentleman who always wears a
full black beard, very serious looking, and who comes nearly
every day to accompany his son. Yesterday morning, Nobis
quarreled with Betti, one of the smallest boys, the son of a
charcoal man; and not knowing how to answer him, because
he was in the wrong, he said to him in a loud voice: " Your
father is a worthless ragged man." Betti grew red to the
roots of his hair and said nothing, but tears came to his eyes,
and when he went home he repeated those words to his father;
and, behold, the charcoal man, a little fellow, all black, ap-
peared at the school in the afternoon with the lad, in order to
make his complaint to the teacher. While he was telling his
grievance to the master, every one was quiet. The father of
Nobis, who was taking off his son's overcoat on the threshold
of the door, as he usually does, hearing his name pronounced,
entered and asked an explanation. The master answered:
" It is this workman who comes here to complain because your
son Carlo said to his boy * Your father is a worthle&s ragged
man.' "

Nobis* father frowned and blushed a little and then asked
his son, *' Did you say those words ? ' ' Carlo standing in front
of little Betti in the middle of the school room, with drooping
head, did not answer.

Then his father took him by the arm and pushed him further
ahead, beside Betti, so that the two almost touched each other
and said: ' ' Beg his pardon. ' '

THE HEART OF A BOY 81

The charcoal man tried to interfere, saying " No, no," but
the gentleman paid no heed, and repeated to his son, * * Beg his
pardon.

*' Repeat my words: ' I beg to apologize for the insulting,
senseless and ignoble words which I said against your father,
whose hand my father feels honored to grasp. "

The charcoal man made a gesture as if he would say, " 1
will not," but the gentleman paid no heed, and his son said
slowly, with a tremor in his voice, without raising his eyes

from the floor: " I beg to apologize for the insulting

senseless and ignoble words which I said against your

father, whose hand my father feels himself honored to grasp. ' '

Then the gentleman reached his hand to the charcoal man,
who grasped it with force: and then suddenly pushed his son
into the arms of Carl Nobis.

' * Do me the favor to put them next to each other, * ' said
the gentleman to the teacher. The teacher placed Betti
in Nobis' bench, and when he saw them in their places, the
father of Nobis made a bow and left.

The charcoal man remained a few moments, standing there
in thought, looking at both boys; then he approached the
bench, looked at Nobis with an expression of affection and re-
gard, as if he wished to say something, but said nothing. He
stretched out his hand as if to give him a caress, but dared
not, and only strclred his brow with his large hand, then
started for the dour, turning once more to look at him, and
departed.

" Remember well what you have seen, boys," said the
teacher; * * this is the finest lesson of the year. ' '

MY brother's schooi, mistress

Thursday the loih

The son of the charcoal man was a pupil of Mistress Delcatl.
who came to-day to see my sick brother. She made us laugh by

32 THE HEART OF A BOY

telling that the mother of that boy two years ago brought to her
home an armful of charcoal, to thank her because she had given
a medal to her son. The poor woman persisted in leaving it
and almost cried when she had to return home with her apron
full. The mistress also told of another good woman, who
brought her a very large bouquet of flowers inside of which
there was a quantity of soldi. She amused us a great deal by
telling us stories, and my brother took his medicine which be-
fore he did not want to swallow. How much patience they
must have with those boys of the first grade, all without
teeth like the old men, who cannot pronounce either the r's or
the s's. One coughs, another has the nose bleed, and another
loses his shoes under the bench. This one cries, because he
has pricked himself with a pen, and that one weeps, because
he has bought copy-book number two instead of number one.
Fifty all in one class, who know nothing, with those little hands
like butter, who have to be taught to read and write! They
carry in their pockets pieces of licorice, sugar, buttons, brick
dust, every kind of small articles, and the teacher is obliged
to go through their pockets, but they hide these things even
inside their shoes. They pay no attention; if a fly enters
through the window, it puts them all in confusion. In sum-
mer, they carry horn-bugs to school, which fly around and fall
into the ink-stands and stain the copy-books with ink. The
mistress, who plays the part of mother toward them, must help
them to dress, bandage the fingers that are pricked, pick up
the caps that fall, take heed that they do not exchange their
coats, or else they indulge in cat-calls and shrieks. Poor
school mistress, and besides some of the mothers will go and
complain: "How is it, madam, that my child has lost his
pen?" "How is it that mine does not learn anything?"
" Why don't you give the prize to my boy, who knows so
much ? " " Why don't you have the nail which has torn the
trousers of my Piero taken out of the bench ? ' '

At times, my brother's mistress gets angry at the boys, and

THE HEART OF A BOY 33

when she can endure it no longer, she bites her finger in order
not to give a blow. She loses her patience and then she
repents, caresses the child who has been scolded, sends the
little rogue out of the school, and then stops her own tears.
She gets angry wath the parents, who, in order to punish their
children, compel them to fast. Mistress Delcati is young and
tall, has a dark complexion, and dresses well. She is so restless
and nerv^ous that she is affected by a mere trifle. She speaks
with a great deal of tenderness.

' ' But at least the children are attached to you ? ' ' my
mother asked. "Some are," she answered, " but when the
year is over, the greater part do not look at me any more.
When they are w^ith the male teachers they are ashamed to
have been with a school mistress. After two years of cares,
after we have loved a child so much, it is sad to be separated
from him; w^e say: ' Oh, I am sure of that one, he will love me. '
But, the vacation over, we return to school, we run to meet
him: ' Oh, my child, my child ! ' and he turns his head the
other way." At this point, the mistress was interrupted.
" But you will not do this, little fellow? " she said ; then arose
with her e^-es full of tears and kissed my brother, ' ' You will
not turn your head the other way, will you ? You will not
deny your poor old friend?' '

MY MOTHER

In the presence of thy brother' s preceptress thou hast failed to
respect thy mother! Let this not happen again, my Enrico, never,
never again! Thy i? reverent words entered my heart liJze a steel
blade. I was tliinkijig of thy mother whe7i, yea^s ago, she stood
a whole night bent over thy little bed to watch for t/iy breath, cry-
ing with anguish, and shuttiyig her teeth in terror because she
thought she was goiiig to lose thee, and I was afraid she would
lose her mind; ayid I Jclt a sense of reproof for thee. Thou hast
offended thy mother! TJiy motlier^ who would give a year of

34

THE HEART OF A BOY

happiness to spare thee an hour of sorrow^ who would ask alms
for thee, who would allow herself to be killed to save thy life!
Listen^ E?irico, fix this thought well in thy miiid. Remember that
destiny has 7nany troubles in store for thee. The greatest trouble
will come the day when thou wilt lose thy mother. A thousand
times, Enrico, when thou wilt be a man, strong, and hardened by
all the struggles of life, thou wilt be oppressed by a great desire to

hear again for 07ie moment thy mother' s voice, to see again her
open arms ready to receive thee sobbing like a poor child without
protection and without comfort. Then thou wilt remember all
the bitterness thou hast caused her, and with what remo? se wilt
thou pay for all ^ thou imhappy creature! Do not hope for any
serenity in t!iy life, if tliou Jiast saddened tJiy viother. TJiou wilt
repent, tliou wilt ask her pardon, tliou wilt venerate her memory ^
all in vain, tJiy conscience willnot grant tlice peace. The S7veetand
good im,age will always have for thee an expression of sadness and

THE HEART OF A BOY 36

reproach which will tortiwe thy soul. Oh, Enrico^ beware I This
is the most sacred of human affectio7is; woe to hiin who tramples
upon it! The assassin who respects his mother has still something
honest and chivalrous in his heart. The viost famous of men
if he sadden and offend her is a vile wretch. Nevermore let a
harsh wofd proceed from thy mouth for the one who gave thee
life. And, if another such word should escape thee, let it not be
the fear of thy father but the iinpulse of thy soul which will throw
thee at her feet to supplicate het y that with a kiss of forgiveness
she may erase from thy forehead the stain of ingratitude. I love
theey viy S07i; thou art the dearest hope of my life; but I would
rather see thee dead than ungrateful to thy mother. Go, and for
a little time do not offer me any of thy caresses. I could not ex-
cha7ige t/iem vi my heart. Thy Father,

MY COMPAriON CORETTI

Sunday the 13th.

My father has forgiven me, but still I remain somewhat
sad. My mother sent me to take a walk through the Corso,
with the janitor's oldest son. Half way through, passing
near a truck standing before a shop, somebody called me. I
turned around; it was Coretti, my schoolmate, all in a perspira-
tion, with his chocolate colored knitted jacket and his catskin
cap, but merry, and carrying a load of wood on his shoulders.
A man standing on the truck Handed him an armful of wood
at a time, which he would take and carry into his father's
shop, where he would pile it up in a great hurry.

** What are you doing, Coretti ? " I asked.

"Don't you see?" he answered, holding out his arms to
take the wood. " I go over my lesson."

I laughed, but he was speaking in earnest, and, having
taken his armful of wood, began saying while running: *' The
conjugation of the verb consists in its variations, agreeing in num-
ber and person * '

36 THB HEART OF A BOY

And then throwing down the wood and piling it up: *'Ac-

cording to the time according to the time to which the action

refers ' '

It was our grammar lesson for the next day. **What
would you have me do ? " he said. "' I make the most of my
time. My father has gone away on account of his business.
My mother is ill. I have to unload the wood. In the mean-
while I go over my grammar; it is a difficult lesson to-day. I
do not succeed in hammering it into my head. My father will
be here at seven to give you the soldi, ' ' he then said to the
the truckman.

The truck moved away. ' ' Go into the shop for a mo-
ment, ' ' said Coretti. I entered. It was a large room full of
piles of wood and fagots, with a school desk on one side.

'* To-day is a day of rush, I assure you," said Coretti. ** I
have to do my work by fits and starts. I was writing about
the prepositions, and some one came to buy. I started to
write again, and the truck came. I have already taken two
trips to the wood market in the Piazza Venezia this morning.
I am so tired I can hardly stand on my feet and my hands are
all swollen; I would be in a fine fix, indeed, if I had to do my
drawing task." As he spoke he began sweeping up the
dry leaves and little sticks which had fallen on the brick pave-
ment.

**But where do you do your work?" I asked Coretti.
** Surely not here?"

* * Come and see, ' ' and he took me into a little room behind
the shop, which was used as a kitchen and dining room, with
a table in the corner where he had all his books and writing
material and the beginning of his lesson. ** By the way," he
said, * ' I have left out the second answer: ' With leather one
makes shoes ^ belts ^' now I have it ^valises.'' And tak-
ing his pen, he started to write in his beautiful hand-writing.

' ' Is any one here ? ' ' some one cried at that moment from
the shop. It was a woman who came to buy some fagots.

.. THS HEART OF A BOY 37

" Here I am," answered Coretti, and sprang from his place
to weigh the fagots. He took the soldi, ran into the corner to
register the sale in a copy-book, and returned to his work, say-
ing: " Let's see if I can finish this paragraph, " and he wrote:
*' Traveling bags and knapsacks for soldier s^ "Ah," he said,
** My poor coffee is boiling over," and he ran to the stove to
take the coffee-pot from the fire. * * It is the cofiee for mamma, "
said he. "I had to learn to make coffee. Wait a moment,
and w^e will take it to her, so that she may see you; it will

give her pleasure. She has been sick in bed for seven days

Confound it ! I always scald my fingers with that coffee pot.
What can I add after ' knapsacks fo7 soldiers?' I must add
something more, and I cannot think of it. Come to mamma."

He opened the door and we entered the room. There was
the mother of Coretti in a large bed, with a white handkerchief
tied around her head.

'* Here is the coffee, mamma," said Coretti, handing her
the cup. ** This is my schoolmate. "

*' Oh, what a fine signorino," said the woman, *' you have
come to see the sick, isn't it so ? "

In the meantime, Coretti had fixed the pillows behind his
mother's shoulders, and had put up the blankets of the bed, and
brightened the fire, and driven the cat away from the bureau
drawers.

" Is there anything more 3^ou wish, mamma? " he asked,
and took away the cup. ' ' Did you take the two spoonfuls ot
syrup? When it is gone, I will go to the apothecary for
more. The wood has been unloaded. At four o'clock I will
put the meat on the fire, as you have told me. When the but-
ter woman goes by, I will give her the eight soldi. Everything
will go well, do not fear. ' '

* * Thanks, my son, " answered the woman. ' * My poor son !
he thinks of everything. "

She asked me to take a piece of sugar, and then Corretti
showed me a little picture, a photograph of his father dressed

88 THE HEART OF A BOY

like a soldier with the medal of valor that he had won in the
battle of '66, in the army of Prince Humbert. His son looks
like him, with those lively eyes and that merry smile.

"I have found another," said Coretti, and he added in his
copy-book, " One can make harnesses.''^ " The balance I will
do this evening; I will sit up late. How happy you are to
have all your time to study ; and then you can go promenading
besides."

He is always jolly. Re-entering the shop, he began to chop
wood upon a horse and sawed it in halves, saying: " It is like
gymnastics, quite different from the ' Throw your arms for-
ward, ' I want my father to find all this wood sawed when he
returns and then he will be satisfied. The worst of it is that
after I have sawed the wood, I make some t's and I's which
look like serpents ' as the teacher sa5's;but what else can I do ?
I will tell him that I had to move my arms about. What I
most care for is that mamma may soon get well. Now she is
better, thank heaven! I shall study the grammar tomorrow
morning when the cock crows. Oh, here comes the wagon with
the logs. At work again! "

A wagon loaded wdth logs stopped in front of the shop.
Coretti ran out to speak to the man and then came back.
"Now, my comrade, I cannot keep you any longer; farewell
until tomorrow. You did well to come and see me. Pleasant
walk to you, you lucky fellow! "

He shook my hand and ran to take the first log and began
running between the wagon and the shop, with his face as fresh
as a rose under that cat-skin cap, and so bright that it was a
pleasure to look at him.

" Lucky fellow! " he said to me. Oh, good Coretti, no, it
is you who are fortunate; you, because you study and work
more than I do, because you are more useful to your fathei
and mother, because you are better than myself, a hundred
times better, and more brave than I am, my dear schoolmate.

THK HEART OF A BOY 89

THE PRINCIPAL OP THE SCHOOL

Friday the i8th.

Coretti was happy this morning because his master of the
second elementary came to assist with the work of the monthly
examination ; Coatti is his name, a big man with thick crisp
hair, a black beard, black eyes, and a voice that thunders. He
always threatens to take the boys by the neck to the police
station, and makes all sorts of frightful faces, but he never
punishes any one ; on the contrary, he always laughs in his
sleeve. With Coatti, there are eight more masters, including
a substitute, a little fellow who looks like a youth. There is a
master of the fourth class, who is n;uffled up in a large woolen
scarf, and is always complaining about his pains. He took this
illness when he was master in a country school where the walls
were very damp. Another master of the fourth class is an old
man with white hair and beard, who has been a teacher of the
blind. There is one who is always well dressed, with eye-
glasses and blonde mustache; he is called " The Little Lawyer,"
because while he was teaching he took a lawyer's diploma,
and also got up a book to teach how to read and write. The
one who teaches us gymnastics is like a soldier. He has been
with Garibaldi and has on his neck the scar of a sabre wound
that he got at the battle of Milazzo. Then comes the principal;
tall, bald headed, with a grey beard which comes down over
his chest. He has golden eye-glasses, and is all dressed in
black and buttoned up to the chin ; he is always so good to the
boys. When they enter his office trembling, having been sent
there for reproof, he does not scold them but takes them by the
hand and gives so many good reasons why they should not
have done what they did, why they must repent and promise
to be good, and he speaks in such a kind manner and with such
a sweet voice that they all leave him with red eyes; they are
more confused than if they had been punished. Poor principal,
he is always the first one at his place in the morning ; he waits

40 THK HEART OF A BOY

for the teachers and listens to the parents, and when the teachers
have started home, he keeps on the lookout to see that none of
the children fall under the carriages, and that they do not stop
in the street to play or to fill their satchels with sand and stones,
and every time he appears at the corner of a street, tall and
dark as he is, a crowd of boys scamper in all directions, stopping
suddenly the games with marbles and pens, and he threatens
with his index finger at a distance with a loving and sad air. * 'No
one has ever seen him laugh," says my mother, ''since his son
died. ' ' The son was a volunteer in the army, and the principal
always keeps his portrait before him upon the desk in his room.
He wanted to leave the school after his son's death, and he
wrote his resignation to the municipality and kept it constantly
on his desk, waiting from day to day to send it, because he was
sorry to leave the children. The other day, he seemed to be
decided, and my father, who was with him in the directors'
room, was saying to him : "What a pity that you go, signor
principal," when a man entered to have a boy enrolled, who
was coming from another school to ours because his parents had
moved. When he looked at that boy, the principal seemed
surprised. He looked at him for a moment and then at the
portrait which he keeps on his desk and then at the boy again,
and, drawing him between his knees, he made him raise his
face. That boy resembled perfectly his own lost son. The
principal said ' ' All right, ' ' wrote the name, and the father left.
He remained pensive. " What a pity that you should go,"
repeated my father. The principal took his resignation, tore it
to pieces, and said: * ' I shall remain ! "

THE SOLDIERS

Tuesday the 22a.
His son was a volunteer in the army when he died, and
this is the reason the principal always goes to the Corso to see
the soldiers pass. When we came out of school yesterday, an

THE HEART OF A BOY

41

infantry regiment was passing, and fifty boys began to jump
around the band, singing and keeping time with their rulers
on their satchels and portfolios. We stood in a group on the
sidewalk, looking; Garrone, squeezed in clothes too small for
him, and biting a large loaf of bread;
Votini, the well dressed one, who is
always picking the hair from his
clothes; Precossi, the son of the black-
smith, wearing his father's jacket; the
Calabrian boy; ''the Little Mason";
Crossi, with his red hair; Franti, with
his tough face, and Robetti, the son oi
an artillery captain, the one who saved
the boy from the omnibus and who
now walks on crutches. Franti
laughed in the face of a soldier who
was limping. Suddenly he felt a
man's hand on his shoulder. He
turned around; it was the principal.
" Look here*' said the principal; "to
jest at a soldier when he is in the
ranks and can neither revenge him-
self nor answer is like insulting a man
when he is bound up; it is a cowardly act."

Franti disappeared. The soldiers were passing four by
four, perspiring and covered with dust, and their guns were
gleaming in the sun. " You must always wish well to the
soldiers, boys," said the principal. " They are our defenders;
they would die for us, if to-morrow a foreign army should
threaten our country. They are also boys — a few years older
than you are, and they also go to school, and there are among
them poor and rich people, as among j^ourselves. They come
from all parts of Italy. Look at them; one can almost recog-
nize them from their faces: the Sicilians, the Sardinians, the
Neapolitans, the Lombards. This is an old regiment, one of

42 THE HEART OF A BOY

those which fought in 1848. The soldiers are no longer the
same, but the flag is. How many died for our country around
that flag twenty years before you were bom ! ' '

" Here it comes," said Garrone. And, in fact, one could
see at a little distance the flag which came first above the
heads of the soldiers. The principal said: '' Boys, make the
pupil's salute with the hand to the forehead when the tricolor
passes. ' '

The flag, carried by an officer, passed in front of us; it was
all torn and faded, but there were medals hanging on the
staff. We put our hands to our foreheads all together. The
officer looked at us, smiled, and returned the salute with his
hand.

*' Good, boys! " said a man behind us. We turned to look
and saw an old man who had in the buttonhole of his coat the
blue ribbon of the Crimean campaign; a pensioned officer.
" Bravo! " he said; "you have done a noble act,"

In the meanwhile, the band turned at the end of the Corso,
surrounded by a crowd of boj^s, and a hundred merry shouts
accompanied the blast of the trumpets like a war cry.
"Bravo!" repeated the old officer. "He who respects the
flag when he is small, will know how to defend it when he is
grown up. "

THE PROTECTOR OP NELLI

Wednesday the 23rd.

Poor Nelli was also looking at the soldiers yesterday — poor
little hunchback — with a look as though he were saying: " I
shall never be a soldier!" He is good and studious, but he is
thin and sickly looking and breathes with a good deal of diffi-
culty. He wears a long black shining linen apron. His mother
is a little blonde lady, dressed in black. She always calls for
him when the school is over; as, in the confusion, he would not
go out with the other boys, and she caresses him. The first

THE HEART OF A BOY 43

days of school, as he has the misfortune to be hunchbacked,
many of the boys laughed at him and beat him upon the back
with their satchels; but he never turned around, and said noth-
ing to his mother about it, because he did not wish to cause
her the pain of knowing that her son was the laughing
stock of his companions. When they derided him, he would
cry silently, leaning his forehead on the desk.

But this morning, Garrone sprang up and said: " If an}
one touches Nelli, I will give him such a blow that he will spin
three times around. "

Franti paid no attention, and he received a blow which made
him reel. Since that time no one has touched Nelli. The
teacher placed Garrone near him, upon the same bench, and
they have become fast friends. Nelli is very mucn devoted to
Garrone; as soon as he enters the school room, he looks where
Garrone sits, and he never goes away without saying: " Good
bye, Garrone," and Garrone does the same with him. When
Nelli drops his pen or book under the bench, Garrone at once
bends down and hands it to him. He also helps him to put
his things in the satchel and to put on his overcoat. Because
of this, Nelli likes him and looks at him constantly, and when
the master praises Garrone, Nelli is happy

Nelli must at last have told his mother everything about
the ridicule which he suffered those first days, and also about
the companion who took his part and of whom he has grown
fond. Here is what happened this morning. The teacher
sent me to take the programme of the lesson to the principal
half an hour before the time for school to close, and I was in
the office when a blonde lady, dressed in black, entered. It
was Nelli's mother, and she said: " Signor principal, is there
a boy in my son's class by the name of Garrone ? "

" There is," answered the principal.

' ' Will you have the kindness to send for him for a mo-
ment, as I wish to speak to him ? ' '

The principal called the beadle and sent him into the class;

44

THE HEART OE A BOY

and, after a minute, Garrone, with his thick, crisp hair, ap-
peared at the door, looking as though he were amazed. As
soon as she saw him, the lady went to meet him, threw her

hands on his shoulders and kissed him many times on the fore-
head, saying: " You are Garrone, the friend of my child, the
protector of my dear son; it is you, dear boy, it is you ! "
Then she searched hastily in her purse and in her pockets, and,
not finding anything, she detached a chain with a little cross,
from her neck, and said: ''Take it, wear it as a memento,
dear boy, in memory of Nelli's mother who thanks you and
embraces you."

THE FIRST OF THE CLASS

Garrone has won the affection of every one and Derossi the
admiration. Derossi has won the first medal and will always

THE HEART OF A BOY 45

be the first: This j^ear there is no one who is able to compete
with him. The boys all recognize his superiority in all the dif-
ferent branches. He is the first in arithmetic, in grammar, in
composition, and in drawing. He understands everything at
a glance; has a marvelous memory; succeeds in everything
without making any effort. It seems as though study were
mere play for him. The teacher told him yesterday: "God
has endowed you very generously; you must not waste what
has been bestowed upon you. ' ' Besides all this, he is the tallest
and handsomest boy of the class, with a large crown of blonde
curls. He is so nimble that he can jump over the bench by
laying one hand upon it, and he knows how to fence. He is
the son of a merchant, and always dresses in blue clothes with
gilt buttons on them. He is twelve years old, always jolly,
and he is polite to every one, and tries to help all the other
boys at the time of examination, and no one has ever dared to
play a trick upon him or call him a bad name. Only Nobis
and Franti look at him askance. Votini looks at him with
envy, but he does not even notice it. They all smile at him
and take him by the hand when he comes around in his grace-
ful way. He gives away illustrated newspapers and drawings
— everything which they give him at home. He has drawn
a geographical map of Calabria for the little Calabrian boy.
He is like a grand signor and shows no favoritism.

It is impossible not to envy him and not to feel beneath
him in everything. I envy him myself, like Votini. I expe-
rience a certain bitterness and spitefulness against him, some-
times when I am striving to do my work at home, and think
at that hour he has already done his correctly and without
fatigue. But then, when I return to school and see him so
handsome, smiling, and triumphant, and hear him answer all
the questions put to him, in a frank, assured way, and see how
polite he is to every one, and how all look at him, then all the
bitterness, all the spite goes out of my heart, and I feel
ashamed of having felt such emotions. I would like to be near

46

THE HEART OF A BOY

him always; I would like to go through all the classes with
him; his presence, his voice gives me courage, and I feel a
desire to work.

The teacher has given him the monthly story to copy,
which will be read to-morrow. It is " The Little Vidette of
Lombardy. ' ' When he was copying it this morning he seemed
moved by that heroic deed. His face was all aflame, his eyes
were full of tears, and his mouth trembled. I was watching
him; how handsome and noble he looked? With what pleas-
ure would I have told him frankly to his face: " Derossi, you
have worked more than I have. You are a man compared
to me, and I respect and admire you."

THE LITTLE VIDETTE OF LOMDARDY

(MONTHLY 8TORT)

Saturday the 26th.

In the year 1859, during the war
for the liberation of Lombardy — a
^ few days before the battle of Solfe-
rino and San Martino, won by the
French and the Italians, united
against the Austrians — on a beauti-
ful morning in the month of June a
little troop of cavalry of Saluzzo was moving slowly through a
solitary path, toward the enemy, reconnoitering the country as

THE HEART OF A BOY 47

they went. The troop was commanded by an ofificer and a
sergeant, and all spied into the distance before them with eager
eyes, silent, expecting every moment to see the white uniforms
of the advance post of the enemy shimmering through the trees.
They came to a hut surrounded by ash trees, in front of which
was a boy about twelve years old. standing alone, removing
the bark from a small branch with a knife. From the window
of the house floated a large tricolored flag, but no one was
inside. Having hoisted the flag, all had run away, fearing
the Austrians. As soon as the boy saw the cavalrymen, he
threw away his stick and took ofi" his hat. He was a fine-
looking lad with a brave face, large blue eyes, and long blonde
hair. He was in his shirt sleeves and his shirt was unfastened,
showing his bare chest.

" "What are 3'ou doing here? " asked the officer, stopping
his horse. * ' Why did you not run away with your family ? ' '

" I have no family," answered the boy. " I am a found-
ling. I work a little for every one, and I remained here to
see the war."

* ' Have you seen the Austrians pass ? ' '
" Not for the last three days."

The officer sat thinking a moment, then dismounted from
his horse; and, leaving the soldiers turned toward the foe, he

entered the house and \vent up on the roof The house was

low and from the roof only a little stretch of the country could
be seen. " It is necessary to climb the trees," said the officer,
and came down. Just in front of the yard there was a lofty,
slender ash tree, which w^as rocking its top in the sky. The
officer stood lost in thought for a moment, looking now at the
tree, now at the soldiers; then, all of a sudden, he asked the
boy:

" Have you good eyesight, you rag-a-muffin ? "

" I ? " answered the boy. ' ' I can see a sparrow a mile dis-
tant."

" Can you climb to the top of that tree ? ' '

48 TH^ HBART OF A BOY

" I can do that in a minute."
*' And could you tell me what you see down below from the
top, whether there are any Austrian soldiers, clouds of dust,
guns glimmering, or any horses on tbat side? "

'Surely, I could."

'' What do you want me to pay you for this service ? "

" What do I want ? " said the boy smiling; ** nothing, of

course If the Austrians asked me, I would not do it at all

but for our own people 1 am a Lombard ! ' '

"Well, then, climb up."

" Wait just a moment for me to take off my shoes."

He took off his shoes, tightened the strap around his trous-
ers, threw his hat on the grass, and clasped the trunk of the
ash tree.

* * But, look out ! ' ' exclaimed the officer, making a gesture
as if to hold him back, as though seized with a sudden fear.
The boy turned around to look at him with his fine blue eyes,
as if to question him.

" Never mind," said the ofiicer; " go up."

The boy went up like a cat. " Look in front of you! " cried
the officer to the soldiers.

In a few moments, the boy was at the top of the tree, with
his legs around the trunk among the leaves, but with his breast
uncovered, and the sun shining on his blonde head made it look
like gold. The officer could hardly see him, he looked so small
from the ground.

" Look straight in the distance," cried the officer.

The boy, in order to see better, took his right hand from the
tree and put it over his forehead.

' * What do you see ? ' ' asked the officer.

The boy bent his head toward him, and, making a speaking
tube of his hand, answered : ' * Two men on horseback on the
white road."

" What distance from here ? "

"Half a mile."

THE HEART OF A BOY 49

' * Do they move ? ' '

" They are standing still."

" What else do you see," after a moment's silence, " Look
lo your right. ' '

Then he said : " Among the trees near the cemetery, there
is something which glitters like bayonets. ' '

' ' Do 3^ou see any people ? ' '

" No, they must be hidden under the wheat."

At that moment, the sharp whiz of a bullet passed high
through the air and died away, far off, behind the house.

"Come down, boy," cried the officer, "They have seen
you. I do not want anything more, come down."

" I am not afraid," answered the boy.

" Come down," repeated the officer. " What else do you see
at your left ? ' '

"At the left?"

"Yes, at the left."

The boy pushed his head to the left, and another whiz,
sharper and lower than the first, cut through the air. The boy
shook all over, * * Confound them ! " he exclaimed. ' ' They
are aiming at me." The bullet had passed very near him.

' ' Down ! ' ' cried the officer in an imperious and irritated
way.

" I will come down directly. The tree, however, will pro-
tect me, do not fear. To the left, you wish to know what I
can see ? ' '

" To the left," answered the officer ; " but, come down."

"To the left," said the boy, turning his head that way,
" Where there is a chapel, it seems as though I can see

A third raging whiz was heard and almost at the same time,
the boy was seen coming down, holding for a moment to the
trunk and to the branches, and then falling down, head first,
with open arms.

" Curse them ! " cried the officer, running to him.

The boy struck the ground with his back and lay there

50 THE HEART OP A BOY

Stretched out with his arms open ; a stream of blood was flow-
ing from his left side. The sergeant and two soldiers jumped
from their horses ; the officer bent down and opened his shirt :
the bullet had entered his left lung. ' ' He is dead ! ' ' exclaimed
the officer. ''No, he lives," answered the sergeant. "Our
poor, brave boy," cried the officer. " Courage ! Courage ! "
But while he was saying this and pressing his handkerchief
over the wound, the boy rolled his eyes wearily, and let his
hand fall back. He was dead. The officer turned pale and
looked at him fixedly for a moment, then laid him with his
head on the grass ; and, for a while, he remained looking at
him. Also the sergeant and the two soldiers stood motionless
and gazed at him ; the others were turned toward the enemy.
' ' Poor boy, ' ' sadly repeated the officer, ' ' Poor and brave
boy."

Then he approached the house and took from the window
the tri-colored flag and stretched it out like a funeral pall
over his body, leaving the head uncovered. The sergeant
picked up the boy's shoes, cap, the little stick, and the
knife.

They stood in silence for a moment, then the officer turned
to the sergeant and said: ** We will send the ambulance for
him. He died like a soldier, and we will bury him like a sol-
dier." Having said this, he threw a kiss to the dead, and
cried, "To horse." They all jumped to their saddles, the
troop formed again and followed up its route; but a few hours
later the little dead boy did receive the honors of war.

Towards sunset all the lines of the Italian advance post were
marching toward the enemy over the same road which had
been taken in the morning by the troop of cavalry. The large
battalion of bersaglieri, which a few daj'^s before had valiantly
stained with blood the Hill of San Martino, proceeded in two
files. The news of the death of the boy had spread through
the army before the soldiers had left their encampment. A
stream ran along beside the path a few paces distant from the

The heart of a boy 51

house. When the first officers of the battalion saw the httle
corpse, stretched at the foot of the ash tree and covered with
the tri-colored flag, they saluted him with the sword, and one
of them bent over the edge of the stream, which was bordered
with flowers, plucked two flowers and threw them over him.
Then all the battalion, as they were passing, picked flowers
and threw them over the dead. In a few moments the boy was
covered with flowers, and officers and soldiers all gave him a
salute as they passed by. "Bravo, little Lombard!" "Good-
bye, boy!" "Honor to you, little blonde!" "Hurrah!"
"Glory!" "Goodbye!" Oneofficer threw a medal of valor on
him; another went to kiss his forehead ; the flowers continued
to shower upon his bare feet, upon his wounded chest, and upon
the blonde head. And he slept there in the grass, wrapped in
his flag, with a white but almost smiling face, poor boy, as if he
fek he honors paid him, as though he were content to have
given his life for his Lombardy.

THE POOR

Tuesday the 2yth

To give one' s life for his own country like the boy of Lom-
bardy is a great virtue, but do not forget the sjnaller virtues, my
child. When we returned from school this morning, while thou
wert walking in front of me, we passed a poor old woman who
held a frail atid sickly baby on her knees, and who asked alms of
thee. Thou didst look at her, but didst not give her anything,
although thou hadst some soldi in thy pocket. Listen, my child,
do not accustom thyself to pass indifferently in front of misery
which stretches out its hands to thee, and much the less before a
mother who asks a penny for her baby. Think that maybe the
baby was hungry; think of the heartache of that poor woman.
Can you imagine the despairing sobs of thy mother the day that she
might have to tell thee: ''Eiirico, today I can give thee 7io bread.' ^
When I give a soldo to a mendicant and he says to me: ' * May

52

TH^ HEART OF A BOY

the Lord preserve thee and all thy creatu^^es! " thou ca7istnot com-
prehend the gratitude that I feel toward that poor via7i» It seems
to me^ indeed, that that wish ought to presejve me in good health
for a long time, and I return ho?ne content and think: ^* Ah,

that poor man has paid me back
more tha7i I have given hi7n!''
Let 77iefeel that S077ieti77ies such
a good wish is provoked a7id 77ier-
ited by thee; take f7'07n ti77ie to

imfmm^VA ^P^\ ti77ie a soldo fro77t thy purse and

B « iB^ W \^ Ik ^^^ ^^ ^^^P ^^^^^ ^^^^ ha7id of an old

.1 > iWV^sljL."^^! 1 1 i tJ&^ 77ia7t without support. Give to

the 77iother without bread a7id to
the baby without a mother. The
poor love al77isfrom children be-
cause it does 7iot hu77iiliate the77i
to receive them, and because
children, needing everythi7ig ,
resemble them. Notice that there
a7'e always 7nany poor around
the schools. The al77is of a 771 a7i
is a deed of charity., but that of a
child is both a deed of charity a7id a caress. Dost thou tmderstand
mef It is as iffro77i his ha7id fell a soldo and a flower. Tlmik
that thou lackest 7iothing a7id that they lack everytlmig! that,
while thou a7^ wislmig to be happy, they are satisfied 7iot to die.
Think that it is horrible that i7i so 77ia7iy places 07i the streets,
where carriages and children dressed i7i velvet are passing , there
should be wo77ien who have not e7iough to eat! Not to have a7iy-
thing to eat, oh 77iy God! That boys like thee, i7itellige7it as thou
art, good as thoic art, in the 77iidst of a large city, like wild ani-
mals lost i7i the desert, should have notlmig to eat! No, never,
never77iore, Enrico, pass in front of a 7)iother who asks al77is
without putting a soldo i7i her hand.

Thy Mother,

THE HEART OF A BOY 53

DECEMBER

THE TRADING BOY

Thursday the ist.
My father wishes that on every vacation day I should either
invite one of my schoohnates to come to our house or call upon
one of them, in order to become little by little friendly with
all. On Sunday, I am going to walk with Votini, the well
dressed, one who is always brushing his clothes and is so envious
of Derossi. Today, Garofl& came to the house. He is the tall,
slender fellow with a nose like an owl's beak and shrewd eyes,
who always seems to scrutinize everything. He is the son of
a druggist, and quite an original character. He is always
counting the soldi in his pocket; he counts them on his fingers
quickly, and can make any multiplication without an arith-
metical table. He saves money even now, and has a book in
the School Savings Bank. He never spends a soldo; and, if he
drops a centesimo under the bench he is likely to look a week
for it. " He is like a night owl," says Derossi. He finds old
pens, old postage stamps, pins and old wax matches. Every-
thing he picks up he saves. He has been collecting postage
stamps for more than two years, and has hundreds from every
country, pasted in a large album, which he will sell to the sta-
tioner when it is full. In the meantime, the stationer gives
him books, because he takes so many boys into his shop. At
'School, he is always trafficking. He makes a sale of somekind
every day, gets up raffles, and trades, then he repents of hav-
ing traded and wants his goods back; he buys for two and sells
for four. He plays with pens and never loses; sells old news-
papers to the tobacco man; and he has a little note book, full of
sums in subtraction, in which he keeps a record of all his
business. He studies only arithmetic, and, if he wishes to
have a prize, it is only to have free entrance to a theatre of
marionettes. I like him and he amuses me. We have played

54 THE HEART OF A BOY

market together, using scales to weigh the different things.
He knows the right price of everything, understands
weights and measures, and can make beautiful paper bags like
the shopkeepers. He says that as soon as he finishes school,
he will open a store and sell some new article of commerce
which he has invented. He has always been pleased when I
have given him foreign postage stamps, and he has told me
exactly how much each one will sell for. Today, my father,
while feigning to read, stood listening to him, and was
amused. Garoffi always has his pockets full of small articles
of merchandise which he covers up with a long black cloak,
and he looks as though he were continually thinking like a
merchant. That which is the nearest to his heart is his col-
lection of postage stamps; that is his treasure; he always speaks
of it as though he expected to make a fortune out of it. His
companions call him avaricious and an usurer. I do not know;
I like him. He teaches me many things and he looks like a
man. Coretti, the son of the wood huckster, says that Garoffi
would not give away his postage stamps even to save his
mother's life. My father does not believe it. He says:
" Wait before you judge him; he has that passion,but he has

a heart."

«

VANITY

Monday the ^th.

Yesterday I went to take a walk through the viale Rivoli
with Votini and his father. Passing through the street Dora
Grosse, we saw Stardi, the one who kicks at those who trouble
him. He was standing in front of a book-seller's window,
looking closely at a geographical map, and there is no knowing
how long he had stood there, because he always studies when
in the street. He scarcely returned our salute, the rude fel-
low. Votini was well dressed — too well. He v^ore morocco
leather boots trimmed with red, an embroidered suit with silk

THB HEART OF A BOY

55

tassels, and a white castor hat. He carried a watch and
strutted; but his vanity served him ill this time. After having
walked for a long tims along the path, leaving his father
who walked slowly some distance behind, we sat down on a
stone bench next to a boy who was modestly dressed, who

looked tired and sad,

and who sat with his

head hanging down.

A man who seemed to be his father was

walking back and forth under the trees,

reading a newspaper. Votini sat down between the lad and

myself and he immediately remembered that he was well dressed

and wished to be admired and envied by his neighbor.

He raised his foot and said to me, * ' Have you seen my offi-
cer's boots?" He said that in order to have the other boy
look at them, but he paid no attention.

Then he lowered his foot and showed me his silk tassels
and said, glancing askance at the boy, that he did not like
those silk tassels; that he wanted to have them changed for
silver buttons; but the boy did not even look at the tassels.

Votini then began to turn his beautiful white castor hat
on the point of his finger; but the boy (it seemed that he did
it purposely) did not deign to even look at the hat.

56 THK HEART OF A BOY

Votini was beginning to get irritated. He pulled out his
watch, opened it and showed me the works, but the other boy
did not turn his head. *' Is it silver? " I asked him. '' No,"
he answered, "it is gold." " But it is not all gold," said I;
"there is probably some silver in it." " No, indeed," he re-
peated; and, in order to force the boy to look, he held the
watch before his face and said, " lyook and tell me, is it not all
gold?"

The boy answered drily, " I do not know,"

"Oh, oh i " exclaimed Votini, full of wrath. "What
pride ! ' '

As he said this Votini' s father came up and heard him. He
looked fixedly at the boy for a moment, and then said brusquely
to his son, "Be silent." And whispering into his ear, he
added: " He is blind."

Votini jumped to his feet with a shudder, and looked at
the boy's face. His eyes were glassy and he had no expres-
sion in them.

Votini stood dumbfounded, with downcast eyes ; at last, he
muttered: " I regret I did not know it."

But the blind boy, who had understood everything, said,
with a melancholy and sweet smile : " Oh, it does not matter."

Yes, Votini is vain, but he has not a bad heart. He did not
smile again all that day.

THE FIRST SNOW STORM

Saturday the loth.
Farewell, walks to Rivoli, here comes the children's beau-
tiful friend ! Here comes the first snow ! Since last evening,
it has fallen down in large flakes like jessamine flowers. It was
fun this morning at school to see it fall against the windows
and pile up on their sills. The teacher also looked at it and
rubbed his hands. We were all content, thinking of making
snowballs and of the ice which will come, and of the fire at

THE HEART OF A BOY 57

home. There was no one but Stardi who did not look at it ;
he was all absorbed in his lesson, with his hand on his temple.
How beautiful ! What a time we had coming out ! All danced
down the street, shouting and gesticulating, snatching up
handfuls of snow and dashing it about like poodles in the water.
The parents were waiting outside the school room with um-
brellas which were covered with snow, the policeman's helmet
was white, and all our satchels became white in a few moments.
The boys all seemed beside themselves with joy. Even Pre-
cossi, the son of the blacksmith, the little pallid lad who never
laughs; and Robetti, the one who saved the child from under
the omnibus, poor boy, was leaping on his crutches. The
Calabrian boy who had never seen snow, made a little ball of
it and began to eal it like a peach; Crossi, the son of the vege-
table woman, filled his satchel; and the Little Mason made us
nearly burst with laughter, when my father invited him to
come and visit me to-morrow; he had his mouth full of snow
and he did not dare to swallow it nor spit it out, and he stood
there choking and staring at us but could not answer. Even
the teachers were laughing as they ran out of the school. My
teacher of the first grade was among them, poor woman, run-
ning through the slush, protecting her face with her green veil,
and she was coughing. In the meanwhile, hundreds of girls from
the neighboring school were passing, screaming and dancing
upon that white carpet, and the teachers, janitor and police-
men were shouting: *' Go home ! Go home ! " Their mustaches
and whiskers were growing white with snow, but they also
laughed at the revelry of the pupils, who were enjoying the
winter.

Thoic art enjoying umiter but there are boys who have no

clothes, no shoes, no fire. There are those who come down to the
villages from lo7ig distances, carrying in thciy harids — bleeding
with chilblains — a piece of log to warm np the school-room.
There are hundreds of schools almost buried in snow, like caves,
where the children nearly suffocate from the s7noke and their teeth

68 THE HEART OF A BOY

chatter with the cold, looking with tey ror thro2igh the white snow-
flakes which fall without ceasing, which pile up constantly upon
their distant huts, threatened by the avalanche. You enjoy winter^
boys! Think of the thousarids of human beijigs to whom winter
brings misery and death! Thy Father.

THE LITTLE MASON

"The Little Mason " came to-day, dressed up in his hunt-
ing jacket and clothes cast off by his father, still white with
lime and chalk. My father wished him to come even more
than I did. How pleased we were to see him ! As soon as he
entered he took off the soft felt hat, which was all wet with
snow, and stuck it into his pocket; then he came forward with
that careless gait, like a tired workman, with his small face
round like an apple and his nose like a ball, turning his eyes
to look here and there; and when he came into the dining
room, he cast a glance around at the furniture, and then fixed
his eyes upon the portrait which represents Rigoletto, the
hunchbacked buffoon, and he made the hare face.

It is impossible to keep from laughing when you see him
make the hare face. We began to play with wood blocks.
He is skilled in building towers and bridges, which seem to
stand as though by magic, and he works at it seriously with
the energy of a man. Between the building of one tower and
another, he told me abouf" his family. They live in a garret.
His father goes to the evening school to learn to read and
write; his mother is from Biella. His parents must love him;
one can see it, because if he is dressed as a poor child, j^et he is
protected against the cold. His clothes are well mended, and
he wears a necktie which is tied by the hand ol his mother.
He told me that his father is a big fellow, a giant who can
hardly go through the doors, but he is kind, and he alwaj^s
calls his son " Hare Face." The son, however, is very small.

At four o'clock we had lunch together, seated on the sofa.

THE HEART OF A BOY 69

When we got up I could not understand why my father did
not want me to clean the back of the sofa, where the Little
Mason had made it white with his jacket, but he held back my
hand, and cleaned it himself on the sly. While we were playing,
the Little Mason lost a button from his hunting jacket, and my
mother sewed it on again for him; and he blushed and stood
looking at her so surprised and confused that he could scarcely
breathe. After that I gave him an album which contained il-
lustrations of different characters, to look at; and, unsconcious
of it, he made faces so much like them that even my father
laughed. He was so happy when he left that he forgot to put
on his hat, and to show me his gratitude, when we got to the
landing, he once more made the hare face. His name is An-
touio Rabucco. He is eight years and eight months old.

Dost thou know^ my soii^ why I did not wish thee to clean the
sofa f Because, by cleaiiing it when thy companion would see thee
was to reprove him for having soiled it; and that would not have been
right; first, because he had not done it purposely , and also because
he had do?ie it with the clothes of his father, which have been cov-
ered with plaster while at work, and what one rubs against at work
is not dirt; it is dust, or lime, or varnish, anything that thou wilt,
but not dirt. Work does not make 07ie filthy. Never say of a
workma7i who comes from his labor: * * He is filthy; ' ' thou must
say: * * He has on his clothes the traces of toil. ' ' Remember
this, and love the Little Mason because he is thy companion aiid
because he is the son of a workma7i. Thy Father.

A SNOWBALL

Friday the i6th.
And it keeps on snowing. An ugly accident happened this
morning because of the snow. As we came out of the school
room, a crowd of boys just entering the Corso began to throw
snowballs made of watery snow, which makes balls that are as
hard and heavy as stones. Many persons were passing on the

60 THE HEART OF A BOY

sidewalk, and a gentleman cried: "Stop, you rogues! *' Just
at that moment, a sharp cry was heard on the other side of the
street, and an old man, who had lost his hat, was seen stagger-
ing and covering his face with his hands. A boy next to him
cried: "Help! Help!"

Immediately people ran to him from every side; a snowball
had struck him in the eye. All the boys dispersed, running
like a flash. I stood in front of the bookseller's shop that
my father had entered, and saw several of my classmates who
were mingled with the others near me, rush in and pretend to
be looking at the show-cases. There was Garrone with a loaf
of bread in his pocket as usual, Coretti, the Little Mason, and
GarofiS, the one who collects postage stamps. In the mean-
time, a crowd had gathered around the old man, and the
policemen and others were running on all sides, threatening
and asking: ' ' Who was it ? " " Who did it ? " " Was it
you ? ' ' Tell me, who did it ? " and looking at the hands of the
boys that were wet with snow.

Garoffi was next to me and I noticed that he was trem-
bling like a leaf and his face was as white as that of a
corpse. " Who was it?'' "Who did it?" the people con-
tinned to cry.

Then I heard Garrone saying softly to Garofii: ** Come,
go and denounce thyself; it would be cowardly to allow some
one else to be arrested."

" But I did not do it on purpose," answered Garofi&, still
trembling.

" It matters not, do your duty," repeated Garrone.

"But I have not the courage."

" Take courage; I will accompany you."

And the others were crying still louder: " Who was it? "
" Who did it ? " " One of his glasses has entered into his eye!
They have blinded him, the brigands! "

I thought that Garoffi would fall on the ground. " Go,"
said Garrone resolutely; " I will defend you," and, taking him

THE HEART OF A BOY 61

by the arm, he pushed him forward, holding him up like a sick
person. The people saw and understood immediately, and
many made a dash at him with their arms lifted, but Garrone
put himself before him, crying:

*' You are ten against a child! "

Then they stopped, and a policeman took Garoffi by the
hand and, making his way through the crowd, he led him to
a baker's shop, where the wounded man had been carried.
When I saw him I recognized immediately the old employee
who lives on the fourth floor of our house with his little
nephew. He was leaning back on a chair with a handkerchief
over one eye. "I did not do it on purpose," said Garof&, half
dead with fear; *' I did not do it on purpose."

Two or three persons pushed him into the shop violently.
* ' Bow down thy head ! " * ' Ask forgiveness ! ' ' and they threw
him on the floor; but suddenly two vigorous arms put him upon
his feet, and a resolute voice said:

"No, gentlemen!" It was our principal, who had seen
everything. ' ' Since he has had the courage to give himself
up," he added, " no one has the right to abuse him." They
all held their peace. " Ask forgiveness," said the principal to
Garoffi. Garoffi burst into tears and embraced the knees of
the old man, who put his hand on his head and caressed his
hair, and then they all said:

" Go home, child, go home."

My father took me away from the crowd, and said on the
way home: '* Enrico, in a similar case, would you have had
the courage to do your duty and to go and confess your guilt ? ' '
I answered, "Yes, I would."

* ' Give me your word as a boy of heart and of honor that
you would do so."

" I give you my word, father ! "

THE HEART OF A BOY

THE SCHOOL MISTRESS

Saturday the lyth

Garoffi was very much frightened to-day because he ex-
pected a great scolding from the teacher, but the teacher did
not make his appearance, and, as the substitute was also ab-
sent, the signora Cromi, the oldest of the school mis-
tresses, came to teach us. She has two large boys, and
she has taught many of the ladies to read and write, who now
come to the school to accompany their own boys.

She was sad to-day because she has a sick child. As soon
as the boys saw her they began to make an uproar, but with
a sweet and tranquil voice she said softly, '' Respect my gray
hair; I am not only a teacher, but a mother as well." Then no
one dared to speak; not even Franti, who was satisfied with
jeering her on the sly.

Mistress Delcati, the teacher of my brother, was sent to
Cromi's class, and in Mistress Delcati's place they put the one
whom they call "The Little Nun," because she is always
dressed in black and has a small white face. She combs her
hair down smoothly; her eyes are very clear, and she has such
a low voice that it seems as though she were all the time
murmuring prayers. ** One cannot understand her," says my
mother, " she is so mild and timid, with such a tremor in her
voice that one can scarcely hear her; and she never cries, never
gets angry. ' ' Still she holds the boys down very quietly so that
they cannot be heard, and the most roguish of them will bow
his head if she only admonishes him with her finger. Her
school seems like a church; this is another reason why they
call her " The Little Nun."

There is another whom I also like — the little school mis-
tress of the upper number three, the young lady with the rosy
face and two dimples in her cheeks; she wears a large red
feather in her hat and a yellow cross on her neck. She is

THE HEART OF A BOY 6ti

always happy and keeps the class merry; she is always smiling,
and when she scolds with her silvery voice it seems as though
she were singing, striking her little rod on the table and clap-
ping her hands to impose silence. When they leave the room
she runs behind them like a child, first to one and then
another, to keep them in line. She pulls up the cap of one
and buttons the coat of another so that they will not catch
cold. She begs the parents not to chastise them at home.
She brings lozenges for those who cough, and lends her muff
to those who are cold, and she is constantly harassed by the
little fellows who torment her and ask her for kisses, pulling
at her veil and mantle. She lets them do it, and kisses every
one, laughing, and she returns home all out of breath but
happy. She is also the drawing teacher of the girls' schoo^
and supports a mother and a brother with her earnings.

IN THE HOME OF THE WOUNDED MAN

Sunday the iSth.

The little nephew of the old employe who was struck in
the eye with a snowball by Garoffi belongs to the cla ss of the
teacher with the red feather. We called on him to-day at the
home of his uncle, who keeps him like a son.

I had just finished writing the monthly story, "The Little
Florentine Writer," for next week, which the teacher gave me
to copy, w^hen my father said to me, " We will go upstairs to
the fourth story to see how that gentleman is getting along
with his eye. ' ' We entered a room almost dark where there
was an old man sitting up in bed with a great many pillows at
his back. By his bedside sat his wife, and in the corner the
little nephew was playing with toys. The old man had his
right eye bandaged. He was much pleased to see my father,
asking us to sit down, and told us that he was getting better,
that not only was his eye not lost, but that in two or three
days he would be entirely recovered. " It was an accident,"

64 THE HEART OF A BOY

he added, ' ' and I am sorry for the fright that the poor boy
must have had. ' '

Then he spoke of the physician who was to come at that
time to attend him.

Just at that moment, the bell rang. " It is the physician,"

said the lady. The door opens and whom do I see ?

Garofii, with his long cloak, standing on the threshold with his
head bent down as though he lacked the courage to enter.

'' Who is it ? " asked the sick man.

''It is the boy who threw the snowball," answered my
father, and the old man said: " Oh, my poor boy, walk in,
you come to inquire after the wounded man, isn't that so ? He
is better ; be easy; I am better, I am almost well. Come
here.'-

Garoffi, very much confused, approached the bed, making
an effort to keep from crying, and the old man caressed him,
but he could not speak.

*' Thanks," said the old man. " Go and tell your father
and mother that all is well; let them not worry on my
account, ' '

But Garoffi did not move, he looked as though he had some-
thing to say but dared not say it.

*' What have you to tell me ? What do you want ? "

** I, nothing."

"Then, farewell, boy. Go with your heart at peace."

Garoffi walked to the door, but there he stopped and turned
around toward the little nephew who was following him, and
looking at him, he suddenly pulled something from under his
cloak and put it in the hands of the boy, saying hastily, "This
is for you,"' and he dashed out.

The boy took the parcel to his uncle and they saw written
upon it: " I give you this as a present.'"

After looking inside, he uttered an exclamation of surprise;
it was the famous album, containing his collection of postage
stamps, that poor Garoffi had given him; the collection of which

THE HEART OF A BOY

65

he alwa3^s spoke and upon which he had founded so many hopes
and which had cost him so many efforts ; it was a treasure,
poor lad, it was half of his own blood that he had given the old
man in exchange for his pardon.

THE LITTI.E FLORENTINE WRITER

(MONTHLY STORY.)

He belonged to the fourth elementary class. He was a
pretty Florentine lad of twelve, with black hair and light com-
plexion, the eldest son of a railroad employee, who, hav-
ing a large family and a
small salary, lived in
straightened circumstances.
The little boy's father loved
him very much, and was
kind to him and indulgent,
except in what concerned
the school. In this one re-
spect he was exacting and
showed himself severe with
him because he must soon
be able to obtain employ-
ment in order to help the
family along, and to accom-
plish this he must learn much in a short time. And, although
the boy studied, the father still exhorted him to study harder.
His father was advanced in years, and severe work had
made him grow old before his time ; nevertheless, in order
to provide for the necessities of his family, besides the large
amount of work which his office brought him, he undertook
to do some extra work as copyist, and would spend a great
part of the night at his desk. Lately he had obtained work
from a publishing house '^hic.h published books and peri-
odicals, and he had to write on the wrappers the names and

66 THE HEART OF A BOY

addresses of all the subscribers. He received three lire foi
every five hundred paper wrappers which he addressed. But
this work tired him out, and he often complained to the family
at the dinner table.

" My eyesight is going," he would say, " this night work
is killing me." His son said one day: " Papa, let me work
in your stead, you know that I write just as you do." But
the father answered: " No, my child, you must study. Your
school is of more importance than my wrappers. It would
grieve me to steal an hour from you. I thank you, but I will
not allow you to do it; do not speak of it again."

The son knew it was useless to argue with his father in
such matters, and so he did not insist. But this is what he
did. He knew that at midnight his father would stop writ-
ing, leave his working room and go into his bedroom. At
times he heard, immediately after the stroke of twelve, the
noise of a chair moved and the slow step of his father. That
night he waited until his father had gone to bed, dressed him-
self very quietly, went softly into the writing room, lit the
kerosene lamp, and sat down on the desk where there was a
pile of white wrappers and the list of the addresses, and began
to write, imitating exactly his father's handwriting. He
wrote willingly and gladly, though a little frightened, and the
wrappers piled up. Once in a while he would stop to rub
his hands and then begin again with increased alacrity, listen-
ing intently and smiling. He wrote one hundred and sixty,
"One lire;" then he stopped, replaced the pen where he had
found it, and returned to bed on tiptoe.

The next day his father sat at the head of the table in good
humor. He had not noticed anything. He was doing his
work mechanically, measuring it by hours, and thinking of
other matters, and did not count the wrappers until the day
after they were written. That day he slapped his hand on
his son's shoulder, and said, " Well, GiuUo, your father is still
a good workman, no matter what you may think. In two

THE HEART OF A BOY 67

hours last night he did a good third more work than usual.
My hand is still quick and my eyes still do their duty.''
Giulio was content, and said to himself, " Poor papa; besides
his gain, I also give him the satisfaction of thinking himself
rejuvenated. Well, have courage ! "

Encouraged by his first success, the next night as soon as
the clock struck twelve he got up and went to work again, and
so he did for several nights, and his father did not notice any-
thing. One night at supper he remarked, "It is strange the
amount of kerosene that we use in this house of late." Giulio
felt a shock, but the conversation stopped there, and the night
work went on.

However, by losing his sleep every night in this way,
Giulio did not rest enough, and in the morning he would get
up feeling tired, and when he did his school work in the
evening he had difficulty in keeping his eyes open. One even-
ing, for the first time in his life, he fell asleep on his copy-
book.

" Courage, courage ! " cried his father, clapping his hands.
"To work!"

He shook himself and set to work again. But the next
evening and the following days it was the same thing, and
even worse. He dozed over his books, would get up later
than usual, study his lessons in a careless way, and seemed
disgusted with study. His father began to observe this, and
then to worr>^ about him, and at last to reprove him. He
should never have done so.

" Giulio," said he one morning, " you disappoint me; you
are no longer what you once were. This cannot go on. All
the hopes of the family rest upon you. I am dissatisfied, do
3"0U hear ? ' '

Hearing such a reproof, the first really severe one which he
had ever received, the boy was troubled. "Yes," said he to
himself, "I cannot continue in this way, it is true; the test
must come to an end. ' ' But that same evening, his father ex-

68 THE HEART OF A BOY

claimed with much satisfaction, "Do j^ou know that, this
month, I have earned thirty-two lire more by addressing wrap-
pers than I did last month ! ' ' And as he said this he pulled
from under the table a box of candy which he had bought in
order to celebrate with his children the extra profit, and which
they all received with delight.

Giulio then took courage, and said in his heart: ** No,
poor papa, I will not stop deceiving you; I will make a greater
effort to study during the day, but I shall keep on working at
night for 3^ou and for the others." And his father added:

** Thirty-two lire more, I am happy but that fellow there,"

and he pointed at Giulio, "he displeases me." And Giulio
accepted the reproof in silence, swallowing the tears which were
about to fall, and feeling at the same time, a great sweetness
in his heart.

He kept on working, but fatigue following fatigue, it be-
came harder and harder for him to resist it. He worked in
this way for two months. His father continued to reprove him
and to look at him with more and more of a frown. One day
he went to ask information of the teacher, and the latter
said:

" Yes, he goes on because he is intelligent, but he has no
longer the good will which he had at first; he dozes, 3^ awns,
and seems distracted. He writes shorter compositions, and his
penmanship is so bad that they must have been written in
haste. He could do much more. "

That evening his father took him aside and talked to him
more severely than he had ever done before: "Giulio, j^ou
see that I work, that I wear my life out for the family. You
do not second my efforts. You do not care for me, for your
brothers, for your mother ! ' '

"Oh! no, no, do not say so, father," cried the boy bursting
into tears and opening his mouth, about to confess everything.
But his father interrupted him, saying:

" You know the condition of the family; you know there is

THE HEART OF A BOY 69

need of good will and sacrifice on the part of all ; you see how
I double up my work. I was counting this month on a grati-
fication of a hundred lire at the railway office, and I learned
this morning that I will not get anything!" At this news,
Giulio repressed the confession which was about to escape from
his lips and repeated resolutely to himself:

" No, papa, I will tell you nothing; I will maintain secrecy
in order to be able to work for you; I will compensate you for
the pain that I cause you; at school I wuU always study enough
to be advanced; what is necessary ijow is to help you to earn
your living and to lessen the fatigues w^hich are killing you."
And the boy kept up this night work continually for two
months and suffered from lassitude during the day; there were
desperate efforts on the part of the son and bitter reproofs from
the father.

But the worst of it all was that the latter was gradually
growing colder toward his boy ; he spoke to him rarely, as though
he were a recreant son from whom there was no more to hope,
and always tried to avoid his glance. Giulio noticed this and
suffered from it, and when his father turned his back, he threw
him a furtive kiss, with a pitiful and sad tenderness on his face.

Owing to the sorrow and fatigue, the boy was growing thin-
ner, was losing his color and was forced to neglect his studies.
He understood too well that some day or other it would come
to an end, and every evening he would say: " Tonight I will
not get up;" but at the stroke of twelve, at the moment when
he must keep his resolution, he felt a remorse, and it seemed
to him that if he remained in bed he failed to do his duty — rob-
bing his father and his family of a lire; and he w^ould get up,
thinking that some night his father would wake up and vSur-
prise him, or that he would find out the deceit by chance in
counting over the wrappers twice, and then all would come to
an end without any action on his part, but he did not feel cour-
ageous enough to tell his father what he was doing; and ho
kept on with his work.

70 THE HEART OF A BOY

But one evening at dinner, his father said something which
decided him. His mother looked at him and it seemed to her
that he appeared more i'.l and weaker than usual; she said to
him: ** Giulio, you are ill I '' And then turning with anxiety
to her husband, "Giulio is ill. Look how pale he is! My
Giulio, what is the matter with you ? ' *

His father cast a glance at him and said: " It is his bad
conscience that causes him to be in poor health; he was not like
this when he was a studious pupil and a boy of heart.

** But he is looking ill," exclaimed the mother.

*' I don't care," answered the father.

These words were like a knife blade in the heart of the poor
boy. '■ Ha ! he did not care for him anj^ more ! " His own
father, who once trembled to hear him cough ! He did not
love him any more ! H2 was no longer in doubt; he was dead
in the heart of his father.

*'Ah, now, my father," said the boy to himself with his heart
oppressed with anxiety, *' this is the end, indeed; I cannot live
without your affection; I want to have it back, the whole of it;
I will tell you all; I will not deceive you any longer; I will
study as I did before, let what will happen, if you will only
love me onc2 more, my poor father. This time I am sure of
my resolution. ' '

Nevertheless, when midnight came, he got up again from
mere force of habit more than anything else, and when he was
up, he wished to go and sit for a few minutes, in the peaceful -
ness of the night, and for the last time, in that little room
where he had worked so hard, on the sly, with his heart full
of satisfaction and tenderness. And when he found himself at
the desk with the lamp lighted and those white paper wrap-
pers, upon which he would no longer write the names of per-
sons and towns which by this time he knew by heart, he was
overtaken by a great sadness, and with impetuosity he grasped
the pen again to begin the usual work. But in stretching out
his hand he pushed a book and it fell.

THB HEART OF A BOY 71

The blood rushed to his heart. What if his father should
waken ! He would certainly not surprise him in the act of
doing something bad. He had resolved to tell him every-
thing; still, to hear that step approaching in the

darkness — to be surprised at that hour of the night, in that sil-
lence! He must also have wakened his mother and she would
be frightened — And to think that for the first time his father
should experience humiliation in his presence, having discov-
ered ever>'thing. All this terrified him. He put his ear

to the lock with suspended breath he heard no noise. He

went to another door of the room, but heard nothing. The
whole house was asleep. His father had not heard him.

He felt tranquil and began to write again, and the wrappers
were piling up fast. H^ heard the regular step of the police-
man in the deserted street, thsn the noise of a carriage which
suddenly stopped ; then, after a while, the rattle of a file of
trucks which were slowly passing ; then a profound silence,
broken from time to time by the barking of a dog in the dis-
tance. And he k^pt on writing and writing. In the mean time
his father had come in and stood behind him.

Hearing the book fall, he had risen and had stood awaiting
the proper moment; the rattling of the trucks had drowned his
foot-steps and the creaking of the door. He stood there with
his white head over the small black head of Giulio ; he had
seen the pen run over the wrappers ; in a moment, he had
guessed everything, remembered all, understood all, and a sense
of despairing repentance and of immense tenderness had invaded
his soul and had kept him there, riveted and suffocated behind
his child.

Suddenly, Giulio uttered a piercing shriek and two convul-
sive arms had clasped his head. "Oh, papa, papa, forgive me !
forgive me ! " he cried, having become aware of his father's
presence by his weeping.

"You, forgive me," answered his father, sobbing, and cov-
ing his forehead with kisses. ' ' I understand all. I know all.

72 THE HEART OF A BOY

It is 1 1 It is I who ask forgiveness from you, blessed little
child of mine. Come, come with me," and he pushed him, or
rather carried him to his mother who was also awake, and
throwing him into her arms, said:

' * Kiss this angel of a child, who for the last three months
has not slept but has worked for me, while I was saddening his
heart, the heart of him who earned our bread."

The mother clasped him and held him to her breast without
being able to speak a word, and then said; "Go to sleep
immediately, my child, go to sleep and rest. Take him to
bed ! ' * The father took him in his arms and carried him to
his room and put him to bed, still breathing hard and caressing
him, fixed his pillows and his bed covers.

* ' Thanks, papa. ' ' The boy repeated his thanks and added:
* 'But now, you go to bed, I am satisfied; go to bed, papa. ' ' But
his father wanted to see him asleep and sat by the bedside,
took his hand and said: " Sleep ! Sleep ! my child ! " And
Giulio, tired out, at last fell asleep and slept many hours, en-
joying for the first time in several months a peaceful sleep,
enlivened by pleasant dreams; and when he opened his eyes the
sun was shining, and he saw close to his breast, leaning upon
the edge of the little bed, the white head of his father who had
passed the night thus, and who still slept with his brow lean-
ing against his son's heart.

There isStardi in my class who would have the strength to
do what the little Florentine boy has done. This morning, there
were two events at school : Garoffi was crazy with satisfaction
because they had returned his album with the addition of three
postage stamps of the Republic of Guatemala which he had
been trying to get for the last three months ; and Stardi won
the second medal. Stardi next in the class to Derossi ! It was
a surprise to all. Who would have thought it would be so in

THE HEART OP A BOY 73

October, when his father took him to school, bundled up in his
large green overcoat, and said to the master, in the presence of
all the pupils: " Have a great deal of patience, because it is
difficult for him to understand. " Every one called him a block-
head at the beginning. But he started to work with all his
might, in the day time, by night, at home, at school, or walk-
ing in the street, with his teeth shut and his fists clenched.
And, surely, by dint of trampling on every one, not caring for
the jeers of others, and kicking all those who disturbed him, he
passed ahead of every one, that blockhead, who did not under-
stand the first thing about arithmetic, filled his composition
with mistakes, and could not commit to memory a single para-
graph. Now, he solves problems, writes correctly, sings his
lesson like a song. One can guess at his iron will when one sees
how he is built, so thick-set with a square head and no neck,
with short hands and a coarse voice. He studies even in scrap
books, newspapers, and theatre advertisements, and every time
he gets ten soldi, he buys a book. He has already collected
quite a little library, and, in a moment of good humor, he has
promised to take me to his home to see it. He never speaks
to any one, never plays with any one, but is always there at
his desk with his fists on his temples, sitting like a rock, listen-
ing to the teacher. How he must have struggled, poor Stardi !
The master, although he was impatient and in a bad humor this
morning when he delivered the medals said: *' Bravo, Stardi,
he who endures conquers. ' ' But Stardi did not seem at all puffed
up with pride, he did not even smile, and as soon as he returned
to his bench with his medal, he put his two fists on his temples
and sat just as still and more attentive than before. But
the finest thing happened when he went out of school, where
his father was waiting for him. He is a thick-set fellow, big
and clumsy, with a large round face and a heavy voice. He
did not expect that medal, and could scarcely believe it was
true that Stardi had won it; the teacher was obliged to convince
him, and then he began to laugh heartily and tapped his son on

74 THE HEART OF A B07

the back of the neck, saying in a loud voice: " Well done !
Bravo, my little blockhead ! that is the way ! " and looked at
him as if amazed, but smiling. And all the boys around
smiled, with the exception of Stardi, who was already pondering
over the lesson for to-morrow morning.

GRATITUDE

Saturday the jist
Thy companion, Stardi, never complains about his master, I
am sure, " The teacher wxs in a bad humor and was impatient,^*
And thou sayst that, in a tone of resentment. Think a little, how
many times dost thou act impatiently thyself and with whom f
With thy father and thy mother, towards whom thy impatience is
a crime. Thy teacher is right to be impatient at times! Think
how many years he has toiled for the boys, and though he has had
many who were kind and devoted to him, there are always some
who are ungrateful and take advantage of his kindness, who do
not appreciate his efforts; and a^nong all of you, you cause him
more bitterness than satisfactio7i. Think that the most blessed
man on earth, if put in his place, would at times be conquered by
wrath. And then if thou knewest how many times he goes to
teach, not feeliiig well and yet not ill enough to remain away
from the school room. He is impatient because he suffers, and it
pains him to see that you do not notice it and that you take advan-
tage of it. Respect and love thy master, child. Love him be-
cause thy father loves and respects him^ because he consecrates his
life to the welfare of so many boys, who will forget him. Love
him because he opens ajid enlightejis thy intelligence and educates
thy soul; because some day when thou art a man, and when
neither he nor I shall be in this world, his image will often pre-
sent itself to thy mind alongside of mine, and then thou wilt notice
certain expressions of sorrow and of weariness in his good face
which thou dost not observe now, but that thou wilt remember and
that will cause thee sorrow even thirty years later; and thou wiU

THE HEART OF A BOY 75

be ashamed^ and wilt experience sad^iessfor not having loved him
ayidfor behaving badly toward him. Love thy teacher because he
belongs to the large family of fifty thousand elementary teachers
scattered all over Italy ^ who are like intellectual fathers to millions
of boys who grow up with thee; a worker scarcely recognized a7id
badly recompensed^ and who prepares for our comitry a people bet-
ter tha7i the present one. I am not coiitent with the affectio7i which
thou hast for vie ^ if thou hast not also aji affectio?i for all those
who do thee good^ and a7nong these thy master, who is the first
after thy parents. Love hi7n as thou wouldst a brother of mine.
Love him whe7i he caresses thee a7id when he reproves thee; when
he isjust^ and when it seems that he is unjust. Love him when
he is merry a7id affable, and love him also still more when he is
sad. Love hi)7i always, a7id always pronounce with reverence this
word, ^^ master,^ ^ which, next to the 7ia7ne of ^'father,'' is the
77iost 7ioble and the sweetest that a ma7i can call a7iy i7ian.

Thy Father.

JANUARY

THE SUBSTITUTE

Wednesday the ^.th.

My father was right; the teacher was in a bad humor because
he ivas not feeling well. For the last three days, a substitute
nas taken his place, a little fellow without whiskers and who
looks like a j^outh. A shameful thing happened this morn-
ing. The boys had been making an uproar at school for the
past two days, because the substitute has a great deal of
patience and says nothing except: " Be quiet, be silent, I beg
you! "

But this morning they passed all bounds. A great noise
arose and his words could no longer be heard; he would ad-
monish and beg, but it was all lost. The principal peeped

76 THS HEART OF A BOY

through the door twice, but as soon as he was gone, the noise
would increase, as it does in a market place. Garrone and
Derossi in vain turned around and made some signs to their
companions to keep quiet, as it was a shame. No one paid
any heed. Stardi kept quiet. He sat with his elbows on the
desk and his fists on his temples, probably dreaming of his
famous library. Garofl&, the boy with the hooked nose and the
collector of postage stamps, kept busy, drawing up a list of
subscribers at two ' ' centesimi ' ' each for the lottery of a big
inkstand. The rest of the boys chattered and laughed, played
with pen points stuck on the benches, and threw pellets of
paper at each other with the elastics from their garters. The
substitute would grab by the arm, now one boy and now an-
other, and shake him, but it was time and trouble wasted. The
substitute no longer knew what to do, and was entreating:
' ' Why do you act this way ? Do you want me to punish you
by force ? ' ' Then he would pound his fists upon the desk and
cry, in a voice mingled with wrath and tears: "Silence!
Silence! Silence! " It was painful to hear him.

But the noise grew every moment. Franti threw a paper
arrow at him, others uttered cat-calls, some thumped each
other on the head; it was a pandemonium almost beyond de-
scription, when all of a sudden the janitor entered:

"Signor Maestro, the principal calls you."

The teacher arose and left hurriedly, making a gesture of
despair. Then the noise recommenced stronger than ever.
But suddenly Garrone sprang up with a convulsed face
and his fist closed, and shouted with a voice thick with
wrath:

" Stop this, you brutes! you take advantage of him because
he is good; if he were to bruise your skin you would keep as
abject as dogs. You are a lot of cowards! The first one who
mocks him again, I will lay for him outside and break his
teeth; I swear it, even though it be under the eyes of his father!''
They were all silent.

THE HEART OF A BOY 77

Ah! how beautiful it was to see Garrone with those eyes
that were emitting flames! He appeared like a furious little
lion. He looked at the boldest boys, one by one, and they
bent their heads. When the substitute, with red eyes, re-
entered the room not a breath was heard. He stood in amaze-
ment. But, after seeing Garrone, still all aflame and
trembling, he understood and said, with an accent of great
affection, as if he were speaking to a brother; " I thank you,
Garrone."

STARDl'S I<IBRARY

Stardi lives opposite the school and I have been in his home.
I felt envious, indeed, when I saw his library. He is not
rich; he cannot buy many books; but he keeps with care his
school books and those which his parents give him, and saves
all the soldi which he gets, and puts them aside and spends
them at the book-seller's; in this way he has already got a lit-
tle library. And when his father discovered that he had this
passion, he bought him a nice walnut bookcase with a green
curtain and had many volumes bound in the colors he liked the
best. When he pulls a little string the curtain runs back and
one can see three rows of books of every color, all placed in
good order, shining, with the titles in gold on the back. Books
of stories, of travels, of poetry, and some of them are illus-
trated. He knows how to harmonize the colors and puts the
white volumes next to the red, the yellow ones next to the
black, and the blue ones next to the white in a way that they
may be seen at a distance and make a nice show, and he
amuses himself by changing the combinations. He has made
himself a catalogue. He is like a librarian, always around his
books, dusting them, turning over the leaves, and examining
the bindings; you ought to see with what care he opens them
with those short, thick fingers, blowing through the pages, and
they all seem new. I have worn mine all out! Every new

78 THE HEART OP A BOY

book he buj's is a feast for him; he polishes it and puts it in
place, taking it and looking at it in every way, and brooding
over it like a treasure. He showed me nothing else in an
hour's time. He has sore eyes from reading too much. While
I was there his father passed through the room. He is big
and clumsy and has a large head like Stardi's. He gave him
two or three thumpings on the back of his head, saying with
that big voice of his:

**What do you think, eh, of this thick head of bronze?
It is a thick head which I assure you will succeed in doing
something ! * '

And Stardi half closed his eyes under that rough caress,
like a large hunting dog. I did not dare to jest with him. I
could hardly believe that he is only one year older than I, and
when he said "Goodbye" at the door, with that face which
always looks ridiculous, I came very near saying to him :
"Good afternoon, sir," as I would to a man. I told my
father about it afterward, when I was at home: ' * I do not under-
stand it; Stardi has no talent, he lacks good manners, he has a
ridiculous looking face, still he imposes respect upon me."
And my father answered: " It is because he has character."
And I added: "In the hour that I have been with him, he
has not said fifty words; he has not shown me any toy; he has
not laughed once; yet, I was glad to be there." And my father
answered: ** It is because you esteem him."

THE SON OF THE BLACKSMITH

Yes, and I esteem Precossi also; and it is not enough to say
that I esteem him. Precossi, that little thin fellow, who has
languid but good eyes and a frightened look, is the son of a
blacksmith. He is so timid that he says to every one, * ' Excuse
m.e," but he studies almost too much. His father returns
home drunk and beats him without any reason whatever; throws
his books and copy-books around with a blow of the hand; and

THE HEART OF A BOY 79

sometimes Precossi comes to school with black and blue marks
on his face, and his eyes red from crying. But one can never
make him tell that his father has beaten him. His companions
say to him:

" It is your father who has beaten you," And he answers
immediately: " No, that is not true ! " in order not to disgrace
his father.

* ' It was not you who burned this sheet of paper, ' ' the
master said, showing him his lesson half burned.

" Yes," he answered " I let it fall in the fire."

Still, we well knew that his father, being drunk, had upset
the lamp on the table with a kick while Precossi was writing
his lesson. *

He lives in the garret of our house on the other side of the
stairway. The janitor's wife tells my mother everything. One
day my sister Silvia heard him from the balcony crying in ter-
ror ; his father had sent him headlong down the stairs because
he had asked him for money to bu}^ a grammar. His father
drinks and does not work, and his family are starving all the
time.

How often does Precossi come to school with an empty
stomach and nibbles in secret the small loaf which Gar-
rone has given him, or an apple which the little teacher with
the red feather has presented to him ; she was his teacher in
the first lower class. But he never says: ** I am hungry, my
father does not give me enough to eat. ' '

His father calls for him sometimes when he passes the
school. He has a fierce face, with his hair over his ej^es and a
cap worn on the back of his head, and he is often unsteady on
his legs ; the poor boy trembles when he sees him coming, but
nevertheless he runs to meet him, smiling, and his father acts as
though he did not see him but was thinking of something else.

Poor Precossi ! He mends his torn copy-books, borrows
books to study the lesson, patches up the fragments of his shirt
wii"h nins. It is pitiful to see him in the gymnastic class, wearing

80 THE HEART OF A BOY

shoes that are so large that he can dance inside them, and witli
those long trousers which drag on the ground when he walks,
with a jacket too long for him, and those huge sleeves turned
back to the elbow. He studies and does his best and would be
one of the first in the class if he could quietly work at home.

This morning he came to school with the mark of a finger
nail on his cheek, and all the boys said to him: " It is your
father, you cannot deny it this time; it is your father who did
that. Tell the principal and he will have him called before the
police magistrate. " But he arose and with a voice trembling
with indignation, said: " No, it is not true ! It is not true !
My father never strikes me ! "

During the lesson, the tears fell on his book, but if any
one looked at him, he made an effort to smile that he might not
show his feelings. Poor Precossi ! To-morrow, Derossi, Co-
retti, and Nelli are coming to my house, to have lunch with me.
I want to ask Precossi to come also. I would like to give him
some books and to turn the house upside down to amuse him ;
and I would fill his pocket with fruit, so that I might see him
happy for once. Poor Precossi, who is so kind and good, and
who has so much courage !

A NICE VISIT

Thursday the 12th.
This was one of the finest Thursdays in the year. At two
o'clock sharp, Derossi, Coretti, and Nelli, the little hunchback,
came to my house; Precossi's father would not allow him to
come. Derossi and Coretti were still laughing because they
had met Crossi, — the boy with the withered arm and red hair, —
the son of the green vegetable woman, in the street ; he was
carrying a big cabbage in order to sell it so that with the soldo
he received he might buy a pen-holder, and he was so happy
because his father has written from America that they may
expect him back any day. Oh, how happy were the two

THE HEART OF A BOY 81

hours which we passed together ! Derossi and Coretti are the
two jolliest boys in school, and my father fell in love with them.
Coretti wore his chocolate-colored knit jacket and his cat-skin
cap. He is a lively fellow, he always wants to be doing some-
thing, stirring up something, putting something in motion.
He had already carried half a wagon load of wood early in the
morning; still he galloped all over the house, observing every-
thing and talking all the time, nimble and quick like a squir-
rel; and going to the kitchen, he asked the cook how much we
paid for our wood by the ' * myriagramme, ' ' and said that his
father sold it at forty-five centesimi. He always speaks of his
father who was a soldier in the 49th regiment at the battle of
Custozza, where he fought in the army of Prince Humbert.
Coretti is so gentle in his manner — It does not matter that he
was born and brought up surrounded by wood, he has a kind
heart, as my father says. Derossi amused us very much ; he
knows his geography like a teacher, and he would close his
eyes and say:

" Behold, I see all Italy ; the Appennines which extend to
the Ionian Sea, the rivers which flow here and there, the white
cities, the gulfs, the blue bays and the green hills." And, he
told rapidly and in order the correct names, as if he were read-
ing them from a paper. We all stood in admiration, looking
at him with that head, covered with blonde curls, held high,
and his eyes closed. So straight and handsome and dressed in
black with gilt buttons, he looked like a statue. In an hour,
he had learned by heart almost three pages which he must
recite the day after to-morrow at the anniversary of the funeral
of King Vittorio. Even Nelli looked at him with admiration
and affection as he wrapped the folds of his black rain-coat
around him, and smiled with those clear and mournful eyes.
That visit gave me much pleasure and left me something Hke
two bright spots in mind and heart. I was also pleased, when
they left, to see poor Nelli between the other two, large and
strone:. who carried him in their arms, making him laugh as I

82 THE HEART OF A BOY

never saw him laugh before. Returning to the dining-room, 1
noticed that the picture of Rigoletto, the hunchbacked buffoon,
was no longer there; my father had taken it away so that Nelli
should not see it.

THE FUNERAI, OP VITTORIO EMANUEI^E

Tuesday the lyth.

To-day at two o'clock, as soon as I entered the school, the
teacher called Derossi, who went to the teacher's desk facing
us and began to speak in a vibrating tone of voice, raising it
by degrees and flushing in the face:

"Four years ago, on this very day, at this very hour, there
arrived in front of the Pantheon in Rome the funeral car which
carried the body of Vittorio Emanuele, the first king of Italy,
who died after having reigned twenty-nine years, during which
time the great Italian country, divided into seven different
states and oppressed by strangers and tyrants, had been incor-
porated into one single state, independent and free — a reign
which he had made illustrious with valor, with loyalty, with
boldness in danger, with wisdom in triumph, and with con-
stancy in misfortune.

" The funeral car arrived, laden with wreaths after having
gone through Rome under a shower of flowers, in the silence
of an immense and sorrowing multitude, which had come from
all parts of Italy; preceded by a legion of generals, ministers,
and others; followed by a retinue of crippled veterans, a forest
of flags and the representatives of three hundred cities; by every-
thing which embodied the power and the glory of the people; it
arrived in front of that august temple where his tomb was await-
ing him. In that moment, while the cuirassiers lifted the bier
from the car, in that moment, Italy was giving her last fare-
well to her dead king ; to her old king who had loved her so
much; the last farewell to her soldier, to her father; the last

THE HEART OF A BOY 83

farewell to the most prosperous twenty-nine years of her
history.

' * It was a great and solemn moment. The eyes, the souls of
all were quivering between the bier and the flags of the eighty
regiments of the Italian army, which were draped with crepe
and carried by eighty officers, drawn up in a line to form a
passage, representing all Italy; eighty emblems which reminded
them of the dead, of torrents of blood, of our most holy sacrifices,
of our most tremendous grief. The bier, borne by the cuiras-
siers, passed them and they all were lowered together in an act
of salute; the flags of the new regiments and the old and torn
flags of Goito, Pastreiigo, Santa Lucia, Novara, Crimea, Pales-
tro, San Martino, and Castelfidardo; eighty black crepes fell
and hundreds of medals shook over the coffin, and that sono-
rous but confused uproar stirred the blood of all those present,
like the sound of a thousand human voices which were saying
together: ' Farewell, good king, loyal king ! You will live
in the hearts of your people as long as the sun shines over
Italy ! ' After this, the flags were raised towards the sky,
and Vittorio entered into the immortal glory of the tomb."

FRANTI EXPELI^ED FROM SCHOOL

Saturday the 21st.
There was only one boy who could laugh while Derossi spoke
of the funeral of the king, and this one was Franti. I detest
him. He is a coward. When the father of a boy comes to the
school to reprove his son, he rejoices over it; when one cries,
he laughs. He trembles in the presence of Garrone, and beats
the Little Mason because he is small; he torments Grossi be-
cause he has a withered ann; he jeers at Precossi, whom every
one else respects; he even sneers at Robetti, the boy of the sec-
ond-class who walks on crutches from having saved a child-
He provokes all those who are weaker than himself, and
when he fights he grows ferocious and tr'es to harm his op-

84 THE HEART OF A BOY

ponent. Tucie is something repulsive in that low forehead, in
those turbid eyes, that he keeps almost hidden under the front
of his cap of wax cloth. He fears nothing; laughs in the face
of the teacher; steals when he gets a chance; denies everything
with a straight face, and is always quarreling with somebody.
He takes pins to school to prick his neighbors; tears the but-
tons off his jacket and off the other boys' jackets and then
gambles them away. His satchel and copy-books are soiled
and torn, his ruler is battered, and his pen-holder is half
chewed up. His nails are bitten and his clothes are covered
with grease spots and with rents that he got while fighting.
He hates school, hates his school-mates, and hates the teacher.
At times, the teacher feigns not to notice his rascalities, and
then he does even worse. When the teacher treats him kindly,
the boy makes fun of him for it. Once the master said terrible
words to the boy, then the latter covered his face with his hands
and pretended to be crying, but he was laughing. He was sus-
pended from school for three days, but he returned more insolent
and wicked than he was before. Derossi said to him one day:
* ' Do stop that ! do you not see how that the teacher suffers ? ' '
And he threatened to stick a nail into Derossi 's stom-
ach. But this morning he was expelled from school like
a dog. While the teacher was giving Garrone the rough copy
of the Sardinian Drummer-Boy, the monthly story for Janu-
ary, to transcribe, Franti threw on the floor a petard which ex-
ploded, making the school-room resound as from a discharge
of guns. The whole class was startled. The teacher rose to
his feet and cried:

'* Franti! leave the school! "

He answered: " No, it was not I! " But he laughed, and
the teacher repeated:

''I,eave!"

" I will not leave," he answered.

Then the teacher lost his temper and, grasping him by the
arms, he tore him from his bench. He tried to resist, grinding

THE HEART OF A BOY 85

his teeth, and was carried out by force. The teacher carried
him to the principal and then returned to the class and sat at
his desk, and held his head in his hands, all out of breath, with
such a worn and grieved expression in his face that it was
painful to look at him.

" After thirty years that I have been teaching!" he ex-
claimed sadly, shaking his head. No one breathed. His hands
were trembling with wrath, and the straight wrinkle in the
middle of his forehead was so deep that it looked like a scar.
Poor teacher! They all felt sorry for him. Derossi rose and
said:

" Signor master, do not be so sorrowful, we love you." And
then he looked a little more serene and said:

*%et us proceed with our lesson, boys."

THE SARDINIAN DRUMMER-BOY
(monthly story)

During the first day of the battle of Custozza, on the twenty-
fourth of July, 1848, about sixty soldiers of an infantry regi-
ment of our army w^ent to the top of a hill to occupy a solitary
house. They w^ere suddenly assailed by two companies of
Austrian soldiers, who showered on them bullets from every
side. Our soldiers were hard pressed to find refuge in the
house and had time only to hastily barricade the doors, after
having left some dead and wounded on the outside. Having
barred the doors, our men hastened to the windows on the
ground floor and commenced a brisk discharge at the enemy,
who approached little by little, having arranged themselves in
a semi-circle, and returning the fire vigorously. The sixty
Italian soldiers were commanded by two subaltern officers and
a captain, an old man, tall and austere, with white hair and
mustache. They had with them a little Sardinian drummer-
boy, a lad a little over fourteen 3'ears old, who looked to be
s,carcely twelve. He had a small olive brown face, with two

86

THE HEART OF A BOY

deep little eyes which glittered with animation. The cap-
tain from va room on the first floor commanded the defence,
giving his orders like pistol shots, and no sign of emotion could
be seen in that passive face. The little drummer-boy, rather
pale but steady on his legs, having jumped upon a chair, leaned
against the side wall and stretched his neck to look outside the

window.

He saw through

the smoke the white uniforms of

Miit"

the Austrians as they slowly advanced. The house was situ-
ated on the summit of a steep incline and had but one little
high window in the roof on the side of the slope. The Aus-
trians did not threaten the house from that side; the slope was
unencumbered and the fusilade only beat the front and two
sides of the house.

But it was a terrible fusilade. A shower of bullets fell out-
side, and inside cracked the ceilings, the furniture, the shut-
ters and the door frames, filling the air with pieces of wood,

THE HEART OF A BOY 87

plaster, broken glass, whizzing, rebounding, breaking every-
thing, and making an uproar enough to burst one's skull.
From time to time, one of the soldiers who were firing from the
windows would fall, crashing back upon the floor, and be taken
aside. Some staggered from room to room, pressing their hands
over their wounds. In the kitchen there was a dead man with
his forehead cut open. The semi-circle of the enemy was draw-
ing nearer and nearer together.

At a certain point, the captain, who had been impassive
until then, began to grow uneasy and was seen rushing out of
the room, followed by a sergeant. After three or four minutes
the sergeant came running back and asked for the drummer-
boy, making him a sign to follow him. The boy rushed up
the wooden ladder and entered with the sergeant into a bare
attic, where he saw the captain, who was writing with a pencil
upon a piece of paper, leaning upon the little window. At his
feet upon the floor there was a rope which had been used to draw
water from the well. The captain folded up the sheet of paper
and said brusquely, looking sharply at the boy with his cold
grey eyes, before which all soldiers trembled: "Drummer-
boy! "

The drummer-boy put his hand to his visor.

The captain said: * ' Have you any courage ? "

The eyes of the boy flashed.

" Yes, captain," he replied.

" Look down there," said the captain, pushing him to the
lictle window, " down the plain, near the houses of Villafranca,
where there is a glimmer of bayonets T!.ero are our men,
motionless. Take this note, grasp the rope, descend from the
little window, rush down the slope, through the fields, and
when you reach our men, give this note to the first officer
whom you meet. Throw off your strap and your knap-
sack."

The drummer-boy threw off" the strap and the knapsack,
put the note in his breast pocket; the sergeant flung out tl e

88 THE HEART OF A BOY

rope, holding one end of it fast in his hands; the captain helped
the boy to get through the little window, with his back turned
to the open country.

"Lookout," he said, "the salvation of this detachment
rests upon your courage and upon your legs! "

" Trust in me, captain," replied the boy, as he let himself
down.

" Lean down on the slope side," the captain said, again
clutching at the rope together with the sergeant.

"Do not falter."

"God help you."

In a few moments the drummer-boy w^as on the ground, the
sergeant pulled up the rope and disappeared, the captain
stepped impetuously to the window and saw the boy flying
down the incline.

He thought he had succeeded in running without being ob-
served, when five or six little clouds which rose from the
ground in front and from behind him, warned the captain that
the boy had been seen by the Austrians, who were shooting at
him from the top of the hill. Those little clouds were dust
cast up by the bullets. But the little drummer-boy continued
to run swiftly; all of a sudden he dropped. " He is killed! "
roared the captain, biting his fist. He had barely uttered
these words, when he saw the boy get up again. "Ha! it is
only a fall ! " he mumbled to himself and breathed again. The
little drummer-boy had begun to run with all his might, but
he limped. " He must have turned his ankle," thought the
captain. Another little cloud arose here and there around the
boy, but each time at a further distance from him. " He is
safe! " the captain exclaimed in triumph, but he kept on fol-
lowing him with his eyes, trembling; because if he did not
reach the soldiers very soon with the note, asking succor, all
his soldiers would be killed, or he would be obliged to surren-
der and give himself up as a prisoner with the others.

The boy ran (quickly for a little time, then slackened his

THE HEART OF A BOY 89

pace" and limped, then he would start to run again, each time
more fatigued, and every once in awhile he would stumble and
pause.

" Perhaps a bullet has grazed him," thought the captain,
who was observing all his movements. Quivering and excited,
he spoke to him as though he might hear him. He measured
in a restless way, with a burning eye, the distance intervening
betw^een the running boy and the gleaming of the weapons,
which he saw down below in the plain in the middle of the
corn-fields, gilded by the sun. In the meanwhile, he heard
the uproar of the bullets in the room below; the imperious and
encouraging cries of the officers and of the sergeant; the lament-
ations of the wounded; the breaking of the furniture and the
plaster. "Go on! Courage!" he cried, following with his
eyes the little drummer-boy at a distance.

" Go ahead ! Run! Oh, he stops, that cursed boy ! Ah!
he begins to run again."

An officer came to tell him, panting, that the enemy with-
out interrupting the fusilade, were hoisting a white cloth to
intimate surrender. * ' Let it not be answered ! " he cried,
without taking his eyes off the drummer boy, who was already
in the plain but not running any longer, and seeming to drag
himself along with difficulty. ' ' Go ahead ! Run ! " said the cap-
tain, clinching his teeth. *' Run, if you have to die, you rascal,
but run ! " and he uttered a terrible oath. '* Ah ! infamous
child! he has seated himself, that poltroon!" The boy,
whose head up to this time he had seen above the corn-
field, had disappeared as if he had fallen. After a moment
his head came up again, but he was soon lost behind the
hedges and the captain saw him no more.

Then the captain came down impetuously; the bullets were
showering, the rooms were crowded wath the wounded,
some of whom were whirling around like drunken men, clutch-
ing pieces of furniture; the walls and the floor were stained
with blood, and bodies were lying across the doors; the lieu-

00 THE HEART OF A BOY

tenant had his right arm broken by a bullet; the smoke and the
dust filled everything.

*• Courage !" cried the captain. "Stand to your place!
Succor is coming ! Keep up your courage ! "

The Austrians had come nearer and nearer the house; one
could see through the smoke their contorted faces, and could
hear among the crashing of the firing their wild cries, which
were insulting, suggesting surrender, threatening the soldiers.
Some of the frightened soldiers would leave the windows, and
the sergeant would push them forward again, but the firing
from the defense was growing weaker. Discouragement was
visiMe on all faces; it was no longer possible to keep up a
resistance.

Suddenly, the firing of the Austrians slackened, and a thun-
dering voice cried, first in German and then Italian ! ' ' Sur-
render ! " — '* No ! " howled the captain from the window, and
the fusilade re-commenced more thickly and furiously from
both sides. Other soldiers fell. Already, more than one win-
dow was without defenders; the fatal moment was imminent !
The captain cried in a despairing voice:

* ' They are not coming ! They are not coming ! ' ' and ran
around furiously, bending his sword with his convulsive hand,
ready to die; suddenly the sergeant, rushing down from the
garret, uttered a loud cry of joy, shouting to the captain:

** They are coming ! They are coming ! "

" They are coming ! " repeated the captain joyfully.

At that cry, all those who were unhurt, as well as the
wounded, the sergeant and officers rushed to the windows, and
the resistance became more furious than before. In a few
moments, a certain hesitation was noticed and a beginning
disorder among the foe. Quickly, the captain assembled a
little troop in the room on the ground floor to make an exit
with the bayonet. Then he ran up to the little window again.
Hardly had he reached it, when they heard a hasty tramping
of feet accompanied with a formidable hurrah, and from the

THE HEART OF A BOY 91

windows, Ihey saw coming through the smoke the double-
pointed hats of the Italian carabineers, a squadron rushing
forward at great speed, and the lightning flash of blades whirl-
ing in the air and falling on heads, on shoulders, on backs.
Then the captain darted out from the door with lowered bayo-
nets. The enemy wavered and were thrown into confusion and
disorder. They hastily retreated, and the ground was left un-
encumbered, the house was free, and two battalions of Italian
infantr}^ and two cannons occupied the hill.

The captain, with the soldiers that remained, rejoined his
regiment, fought again and was slightly wounded in his left
hand by a ricochet bullet during the last assault with the
bayonet. The day ended with a victory for our men.

But the day after, having recommenced the fight, the
Italians were overpowered, in spite of a valorous resistance, by
the overwhelming numbers of the Austrians; and, on the
morning of the 26th, they had to retreat sadly toward the
Mincio river.

The captain, although wounded, made his way on foot with
the soldiers, tired and silent, and arriving toward sunset at
Goito, on the Mincio, looked immediately for his lieutenant,
who had been taken up with his broken arm b}^ our ambulance
and who had arrived there before him. Some one had shown
him the church where a field hospital had been improvised.
He went there. The church was filled with wounded, lying
in two rows on beds and mattresses stretched on the floor. Two
physicians and several nurses were coming and going, busily
occupied, and one could hear suppressed groans and cries. As
soon as he entered, the captain halted and looked around for
his ofiicer.

At that moment he heard himself called by a faint voice
very near him: *' Captain! "

He turned around; it was the little drummer-boy.

He was stretched on a cot bed, covered up to the breast with
a rough window curtain in red and white squares, and with his

92 THE HEART OF A BOY

arms out; pale aud thin, but with his eyes still sparkling like
two black gems.

" Is it you?" asked the captain rather sharply, although
amazed. ** Bravo, you did your duty."

** I did all that was possible," answered the boy.

" Are you wounded? " asked the captain, looking for his
officer in the beds near by.

** What could I do ? " said the boy, who gained courage by
speaking, while feeling the satisfaction of having been wounded
for the first time; under other circumstances he would hardly
have dared to open his mouth in the presence of that captain.
*' I did my best to run bending down; they saw me at once. I
would have arrived twenty minutes sooner if they had not hit
me. Fortunately I soon found a captain of the staff and
gave him your note. But it was a very hard matter to run
after that caress. I was dying with thirst; I was afraid that I
would never arrive, and was crying with rage, thinking that
every minute delayed was sending another soul to the other
world. But that is enough; I have done what I could; I am
satisfied. But, with your permission, look at yourself, captain,
you are losing blood."

And truly, from the badly bandaged hand of the captain
some drops of blood trickled down through his fingers.

" Do you wish me to tie up your bandage, captain? Hold
out your hand a minute."

The captain held out his left hand and stretched the right
one to assist the boy in untying the knot and tying it again;
but the boy, raising himself from his pillow with difficulty,
grew pale and had to lean his head back again.

" Enough, enough," the captain said, looking at him and
drawing the bandaged hand away that the boy wanted to hold.
*' Attend to your own affairs instead of those of others; things
that are not severe may become serious. "

The drummer-boy shook his head.

" But you," said the captain, looking at him attentively,

THE HEART OF A Bu\ 93

** You must have lost a great deal of blood to be as weak as
you are."

* ' Lost much blood ? ' * replied the lad with a smile. * ' I have
lost more than blood. Look ! ' '

And he pulled down the cover that was over him.

The captain started back and stopped, horrified. The lad
had but one leg left, the left one had been amputated above
his knee and the stump was bandaged with bloody cloths.

At that moment the military surgeon, a little fleshy fellow
in short sleeves, passed by. " Ah! captain," said he quickly,
pointing to the drummer-boy, " a most unfortuate case. A leg
that might have been easily saved if he had not forced it in
that foolish way; a cursed inflammation; it had to be cut off
away up here. Oh! but he is a brave lad, I assure you; he
has not shed a tear; he has not uttered a cry. I was proud
that it was an Italian boy while I w^as performing the
operation; upon my honor, he belongs to a good race, by
heavens!" And he w^ent away.

The captain frowned and looked fixedly at the boy, putting
the cover back over him; then slowly, as though unconsciously,
raised his hand to his head and took off his cap.

** Captain! " exclaimed the astonished boy, ** what are you
doing, captain, and that for me ? "

And then that rough soldier, who had never said a mild
word to one of his subalterns, answered, with an indescribably
affectionate and sweet voice: "I am nothing but a captain,
you are a hero I ' '

Then he threw himself with open arms on the drummer-boy
and pressed him three times upon his heart.

THE LOVE OF OUR COUNTRY

Tuesday the 24th.
As the story of the little drummer-boy has shaken thy heart,
it ought to have been easy for thee this vio^ning to write a good

94

THE HEART OF A BOY

co7nposition for the examiyiation: * * Why Do You Love Italy f*'
IVhy do I love Italy f Did not a hundred answers present them-
selves to theef I love Italy because fny mother is Italia^i^ because
the blood which runs in my veins is Italia?i^ because the dead,
whom my mother mourns and whom my father venerates^ art
iruried in this soil^ because the city where I was borri, the language

that I speak^ the
books which edticate
me, because my
brother, my sister,
and all my compan-
ions, and the great
people among whom

I live, the beautiful country which surrounds me, and all that J
see, that I love, that I admire, is Italian. Thou cajist not yet en-
tirely feel this affectio7i. But thou willfully do so when thou art a
man: when, returning home from a long trip abroad, after a long
absence, leaning over the bulwarks of the ship, thou wilt see 07t the
horizon the blue mountains of thy country; thou wilt feel it then^

THE HEART OF A BOY 96

in the impetuous flood of tenderness which will fill thine eyes with
tears, arid which will wring from thine heart a cry. Thou wilt
feel it in some distant city, iji the impulse of thy soul which will
push thee in aii unknozvn crowd toward an imhiown workman
from whom thou hast heard, in passiiig, a word in thy native
tongue. Thou wilt feel it in that proud afid painful momeyit
when, with indignatioyi which brings the blood to thy forehead,
thou wilt hear thy country insulted by a strajiger. Thou wilt feel
it more strongly and valiantly the day on which hostile people shall
raise a tempest of fire upon thy country. Then thou wilt behold
arms 07i every side, and the young men running by legions, and
the fathers kissing their sons and sayi?ig: ' * Courage ! ' ' and the
mothers saying good-bye to the youths, crying: ''■Conquer ! ''
Thou wilt feel it as a divine joy, if thou shouldst ever have the
fortune to see entering thy city the lessened regiment, raggedy terri-
ble, with the spleyidor of victory in their eyes, and their banners
torn by bullets, followed by a crowd of brave fellows, with their
bandaged heads and theif stumps of mutilated limbs ^ in the midst
of a throng which will cover them with flowers, with blessings, with
kisses. Thou wilt then understayid what is love for thy country.
Thou wilt feel it then, Enrico. It is such a great and sacred
thing that, if one day I should see thee 7eturni7ig home safely
fr om battle fought for thy country ; thee, safe! thou, who art my flesh
and soul! if I should know that thou hadst preserved thy life, that
thou hadst fled fro I u death, I, thy father^ who receive thee with a
cry of joy when tko:i retur?iest from school, I woidd receive thee
with a cry of anguish, ajid could no longer love thee, and I would

die with that poignard in my heart.

Thy Father.

ENVY

Wednesday the 25th.
It was Derossi who wrote the best composition on "The
Love of Our Country. ' ' And Votini thought he was sure of

96 THE HEART OF A BOY

getting the first medal ! I like Votini very much, although he
is too vain and poses too much, but he displeases me, since sit-
ting near his desk, I notice how envious he is of Derossi. He
would like to compete with him, but he cannot do it, for Derossi
is ten times as clever in every way, and Votini bites his fingers
with rage. Carlo Nobis also envies him; but he is so proud
that he will not show it. Votini, on the other hand, embitters
himself. He complains of the difficulties at home, and says
that the teacher is unjust; and when Derossi replies to questions
so promptly and well, as he always does, Votini 's face clouds
over, he bends his head, pretends not to hear him, and makes
an effort to laugh; but it is a bitter laugh. All the boys know
how he feels, and when the teacher praises Derossi, they all
turn around and look at Votini, who swallows his venom, and
the lyittle Mason makes the hare face at him. This morning,
for instance, things went wrong with him ; the teacher entered
the school room and announced the result of the examination :
' * Derossi, ten-tenths and first medal. ' ' Votini gave a loud
sneeze. The teacher looked at him; it was easy to understand
the matter.

"Votini," he said, **do not let the serpent of envy enter
into your heart. It is a serpent which gnaws the brain and
mars the soul. ' '

All looked at him except Derossi; Votini tried to answer but
could not.

He sat there as though paralyzed, with his white face bent
down.

Then, after the teacher began giving the lesson, he com-
menced to write in large letters upon a small piece of paper :
I am not envious of those who gain thejirst 7nedal through deceit
and favoritism. It was a note that he wished to send to Derossi.
In the meanwhile, I saw that Derossi' s neighbors were plotting
among themselves, whispering to each other, and one of them
cut with his penknife a large paper medal upon which a black
serpent had been drawn. Votini also noticed this.

THE HEART OF A BOY 97

The teacher left the room for a few minutes ; suddenly, all
the boys near Derossi got up and left their desks to go and
present the medal to Votini in a solemn way. The whole class
was prepared for a scene.

Votini trembled like a leaf.

Derossi exclaimed: ** Give it to me ! "

" So much the better," they replied, " it is you who ought
to give it to him."

Derossi took the medal and tore it into many pieces. At
that moment, the teacher returned and the class resumed the
lesson. I kept my eyes on Votini, he had become as red as a
burning coal ; he took the little note and slowly, as if absent
minded, rolled it into a ball, put it into his mouth, chewed it
for a while, then spit it out under the desk.

Coming out of school and passing in front of Derossi, Vo-
tini, who was a little confused, dropped his blotting paper.
Derossi kindly picked it up, put it in Votini's satchel, and
helped him to fasten his strap. Votini did not dare to raise
his head.

FRANTl'S MOTHER

Saturday the 28th.

However, Votini is not yet changed. Yesterday, during
the lesson in religion, in the presence of the principal, the
teacher asked Derossi if he knew by heart the two verses in
the Reader, beginning with

** Where'er I turn my gaze,
' Tis Thee, great Lord, I see."

Derossi answered * ' No, ' ' and Votini quickly said: * ' I know
them," with a smile as though to taunt Derossi.

But he was balked, as he was not able to recite the chapter;
for suddenly Franti's mother, followed by the principal, en-
tered the room, with her grey hair disheveled, all out of
breath, and all wet with snow. She was pushing forward her

98 THB HEART OP A BOY

son who had been suspended from school for eight days. What
a sad scene we had to witness! The poor woman threw her-
self almost on her knees in front of the principal, clasping her
hands in a supplicating manner:

**Oh, signor principal, grant me this favor, allow my boy
to be readmitted to the school ! I have kept him hidden at
home for three days; the Lord knows what may happen if his
father discovers everything. He may kill him. Have mercy,
as I know not what to do! I beg you with mj^ whole soul! "

The principal tried to take her out, but she resisted, all the
time begging and crying:

"Oh! if you knew the grief and care that this son has
caused me, you would be moved to pity! I hope he may
change. I have not long to live, signor principal. Death is
near me; yet I should love to see him improve before I die, be-
cause " — and she burst into tears — "it is my child; I love
him; I would die in despair; take him back once more, signor
principal, in order that such misfortune may not come to the
family. Do it for charity to a poor woman! " and she covered
her face with her hands and sobbed.

Franti, impassive, stood with bowed head. The principal
looked at him, remained in thought for a moment and then he
said:

" Franti, go to your place.'*

The woman was consoled. She took her hands from her
face and began vSay in g: "Thanks, thanks," without giving
the principal a chance to talk, and started toward the door,
wiping her eyes, and saying hastily: " My child, I warn you.
May all have patience. Thanks, signor principal; you have
done an act of charity. Good bye, my child. Good day, boys.
Thanks, until I see you again, signor teacher, and do forgive a
poor woman."

Casting, from the door, another supplicating glance at her
son, she left, pulling up her shawl which was trailing after
her, pale, bent down, her head trembling, and we could hear

THE HEART OF A BOY 99

her cough as she was going down the stairs. During the silence
of the class, the principal looked fixedly at Franti, and then
said in an accent which made one shiver:

" Franti, you are killing your mother! "

All turned around to look at Franti, and that detestable boy
was smiling.

HOPE

Sunday the 2^ih.
'^ It was very beautiful, Enrico, the impetuosity with which
thou hast thrown thyself upon the heart of thy mother, upon your
return from the religious school. The teacher has told thee many
great and consoling things. God has thrown us into the arms of
each other; therefore, he will not separate us; when I die, when
thy father dies, we will not say to each other those terrible,
despairing words: mamma, papa, Enrico, I will see thee no7nore!
We will see each other again in another life, where he who has
suffered in this life will be recompensed, where he who has loved
much up 071 earth will fiyid again the beloved souls in a world
without faults, without tears, and without death; but we must
render ourselves worthy of that other life. Listen, my child, every
one of thy good actions, every one of thy loving thoughts for
those who love thee, every courteous act toward thy companioiis,
every kind deed, is a step toward that world; so is every sorrow arid
every grief, for every grief is an atoneinent for a fault, every*
tear erases a stain. Resolve to be better each day and 7nore lov-
ing thaii the day before. Say every moi^mig to thyself: ** To-
day I will do something that my conscience will approve of, and
with which my father will be satisfied; so7nething which will 7nake
me beloved by my compa7iions, by my teacher, by my brother, and
by others.'' And ask that God may give thee strength to carry
out thy resolutio7is: ' * Lord, I wish to be good and noble, cour-
ageous, kind, and sincere; do help me to improve every opportim-
ity^ so that when my mother gives me her last kiss at night, I

100

THE HEART OF A BOY

may be able to tell her: ' Thou kissest this evening a child more
worthy and more honest than the one you kissed yesterday. ' '
Have always iyi thy mind the other Emico, immortal and
blessed^ so that you may live after this life, and do pray. Thou
canst not imagine the sweetness that I experience, how ^tnuch
better thy mother feels when she sees her child with hands clasped

in prayer. When I see thee praying, it seems impossible that no
one can look or listen to thee. I believe theii more firmly that
there is a Supreme kindness and an Infinite pity; I love more, I
work with more ardor, I suffer with more courage, I forgive with
all my soul, aiid think serenely of death. Oh! God is great aiid
kind. To hear once more the voice of thy mother, to meet again.

THE HEART OF A BOY 101

my children, to see again my Enrico^ my blessed and irnmortal
Enrico, to clasp him in an embrace which shall never be ended,
never, never, through all eternity! Oh, do pray, let us pyay, let
lis pray, let us love each other, let us be good, let us endure with
heavenly hope in our souls, my adored child.

Thy Mother.

FEBRUARY

A WELL AWARDED MEDAL

Saturday the 4th.

This morning the superintendent of schools came to de-
liver the medals. He is a gentleman with a white beard,
dressed in black. He entered with the principal a few moments
before the class was over, and sat next to the teacher. He
questioned many, then he gave the first medal to Derossi; but,
before bestowing the second medal, he paused a few moments
to listen to the teacher and the principal, who were speaking to
him in a low voice. All the boys were asking each other:

' ' To whom will he give the second medal ? ' '

The superintendent then said aloud: " The second medal,
this morning, is earned by the pupil Pietro Precossi, who has
deserved it because of his work at home; because of his lessons;
because of his penmanship, and owing to his behavior in
general."

They all turned to look at Precossi, and it was evident that
they were pleased. Precossi arose, so confused that he did not
seem to know where he was.

"Come here," said the superintendent. Precossi left his
bench and went to the teacher's desk. The superintendent
looked attentively at that little wax-colored face and that lit-
tle body, clothed in those ill-fitting garments, at those sad eyes,
which avoided his gaze but which told their story of suffering.

102 THE HEART OF A BOY

Then he said to him, in a voice full of afifection, while attach-
ing the medal to his breast.

" Precossi, I give you this medal. There is no one more
worthy of wearing it than you. I award it not only to your
intelligence and good will, I award it to your heart, to your
courage, to your character, to a brave and good child. Is it
not so?" he added, turning toward the class, "that he has
merited it on this account ? ' '

*' Yes, yes," they all answered in one voice.

Precossi made a movement as though swallowing some-
thing, and turned his eyes toward the benches, expressing
great gratitude.

" Good, dear boy," the superintendent said to him, '* may
God protect you ! ' '

It was the hour to go out; our class left before the others.
As soon as we were outside the door, whom did we see there in
the large hall at the entrance ? The father of Precossi — the
blacksmith — pale, badly clad, with an ugly look, with his
hair over his eyes, his cap awry, and unsteady on his legs.

The teacher saw him at once and whispered something to
the superintendent; the latter looked in haste for Precossi, and,
taking him by the hand, moved toward his father. The boy
trembled. The boy and the principal approached the father
and many of the pupils gathered around the group.

"You are the father of this boy, are you not ? " asked the
superintendent of the blacksmith, with a cheerful air, as if they
were friends; and, without waiting for an answer: "I con-
gratulate you. Look, he has won the second medal among
fifty-four schoolmates. He has merited it in composition, in
arithmetic, in everything. He is a child full of intelligence
and good will, a brave lad who has gained the esteem and affec-
tion of all. You may be proud of him, I assure you."

The blacksmith, who had been listening with his mouth
wide open, looked straight at the superintendent and at the
principal, then looked at his son, who stood before him trem-

THE HEART OF A BOY 103

bling and with his eyes cast down. The father looked a? if he
remembered alid understood then — for the first time — all he
had caused the little fellow to suffer, and all the kindness, all
the heroic constancy with which he had borne it. A certain
stupid admiration shone in his face, then a saddened remorse,
and finally a sorrowful and impetuous tenderness, and with a
rough gesture, he clasped the child in his arms and pressed him
against his breast.

We passed before Precossi and invited him to come with
Garrone and Crossi to visit us on Thursday; the others saluted
him, some bestowed a caress upon him, others touched his
medal, and all spoke a kind word to him. And the father
looked at us stupefied, all the time holding the head of his son
on his breast, while the boy softly sobbed.

GOOD RESOLUTIONS

Sunday the ^th.

The medal bestowed upon Precossi has caused me a remorse.
I have not yet earned one! Because sometimes I do not study,
and I am dissatisfied with myself and the teacher; my father
and mother are also dissatisfied. I no longer experience the
pleasure I once felt in amusing myself, when I work unwill-
ingly and then dart from my desk and run to play, as if I
had not played for a month. I do not even sit at the table
with my friends with the same content that I once felt. I al-
ways hear that internal voice, like a shadow in my soul,
which constantly tells me: "That is not right, that is not
right.''

I see, in the evening, going through the square, so many
boys who are coming back from work, in the midst of groups of
workmen, tired but merry, and who hasten their steps, impa-
tient to get home to supper. They speak lightly, laughing
and clapping their dark hands, soiled with coal or white with
plaster, slapping one another on the shoulder. I think that

104 THE HKART OF A BOY

they have worked from sunrise up to that hour. I see many
others like them, who have worked all day on the top of roofs,
or in front of furnaces, or among machines, or in the water, or
even under the ground, eating nothing but a little bread, and
I feel almost ashamed, I, who during that time have been
doing nothing but scribbling unwillingly four little pages. Ah,
I am discontented, indeed ! I well know that my father is
displeased with me, and he would like to tell me so, but he
feels sorry and waits a little longer — that dear father of mine
who works so hard. Everything is yours, everything I see
around the house, all that I touch, all that I wear, and all
that I eat, all that teaches and amuses me; all this is the fruit
of your work, and I do not work. All these have cost you
many thoughts, privations and fatigues, and I do not toil.
Ah, no; it is too unjust, and makes me feel ashamed. I want
CO begin from to-day; I want to put myself to study like
Stardi, with his fists clasped on his temples and with closed
teeth, to set myself to work with all the strength of my will and
my heart. I want to conquer my drowsiness in the evening,
get up early in the morning, exercise my brain without rest,
pitilessly cast off laziness. I will toil, I will suffer, till I
am ill, if need be. From now on I will put a stop to this lazy
and worthless life which lowers me and saddens the others.
Up, to work ! To work, with all my soul and with all my power!
To work, that it may render my rest sweet, my recreations
more pleasant, my meals more merry. To work again! and that
will restore to me the pleasant smile of my teacher and the
blessed kiss of my father.

THE LITTLE RAILWAY TRAIN

Friday the loth
Precossi and Garrone came to visit me yesterday. I think
if they had been two sons of princes, they would not have been
received with more delight. Garrone came for the first tinie.

THE HEART OF A BOY 105

He is rather shy, and besides he feels awkward to be seen, as
he is so tall and still belongs to the third class. We all
went to open the door when the bell rang. Crossi did not
come, because his father has at last arrived from America,
after an absence of six years. My mother kissed Precossi.
My father introduced him, saying, "Behold, this is not only
a good boy, but he is also a man of honor and a gentleman."
And the boy bowed his large, shaggy head, smiling in a con-
soling w^ay to me. Precossi wore his medal, and was so
happy because his father had gone back to w^ork. It is five
days since his father has taken any liquor. He wants
to have Precossi all the time in his workshop to keep him
company, and acts altogether like another man.

We began to play; I brought out all my toys. Precossi
stood in amazement before a railway train with an engine
which runs by winding it up. He had never seen one before,
and he devoured with his eyes those little yellow and red cars.
I wound them up for him to play with, and he kneeled down
to play, and did not raise his head any more. I have never
seen him so interested and pleased.

He said, " Excuse me, excuse me," to everything, motion-
ing to us with his hands not to stop the engine, and he lifted
and put down the cars with great care, as if they were made
of glass. He was afraid of tarnishing them with his breath,
and he polished them up again, examining them top and bot-
tom, and smiling to himself. We all stood and looked at him.
We were looking at that slender neck and those poor little ears,
that I had seen bleeding one day, and that large jacket, which
he w^ore wuth the sleeves turned over, and those two little
sickly arms, which had been raised so many times to save his
face from a beating. Oh, at that moment I w^ould have thrown
at his feet all my toys and all my books; I would have taken
the last piece of bread from my mouth and given it to him; I
would have undressed myself to clothe him; I would have
fallen upon my knees to kiss him.

106 THE HEART OF A BOY

* * I will at least give him my little railroad train, ' ' I thought;
but it was necessary to ask my father's permission. At that
moment I felt a bit of paper thrust into my hand. I looked
at it. It was written in pencil by my father, and read. ''Pre-
cossi has no toys. Does anything suggest itself to thy heart f "

Instantly I seized the engine and the cars with both hands,
and placed them in the arms of Precossi, saying:

" Take it; it is yours." He looked at it, but did not un-
derstand.

" It is yours," I said. " I make you a present of it."

Then he looked at my father and my mother, still more
amazed, and asked, ** But why so ? "

My father said, ' ' Enrico gives it to you because he is your
friend, because he likes you, and in order to celebrate youi
medal. ' '

Precossi timidly asked, " May I take it home with me? "

" Certainly," we all answered.

He was already near the door, but still did not dare to go.
He was so happy ! He was begging our pardon with trem-
bling lips that smiled and laughed. Garrone helped him to
wrap up the train in his handkerchief, and bending down, he
made the things which he had in his pocket rattle.

"Some day," said Precossi to me, " you will come to the
workshop to see my father at work. I will give you some
nails."

My mother put a little posy in the buttonhole of Garrone' s
jacket for him to take to his mother in her name. Garrone
told her, with his big voice, ** Thanks," without lifting his
chin from his breast. But his noble and good soul shone from
his eyes.

PRIDE

Saturday the nth.
Carlo Nobis cleans the sleeve of his coat affectedly when
Precossi touches him when passing by ! He is vanity incarnate,

THE HEART OF A BOY 107

because his father is rich, but the father of Derossi is also rich !
He would like to have a desk all by himself, he is afraid that
every one who comes near will soil him, he looks down upon
everybody, and always has a contemptuous smile upon his lips.
Woe to him who stumbles over his feet when we go marching
out two by two ! For a mere trifle he flings an insulting word
in your face, he threatens to send for his father to come to the
school, and yet we know that his father gave him a severe
lesson when he called the son of the charcoal man a ragged
wretch ! I have never seen so much pride. No one speaks to
him, nO one saj-.s good bye when he goes out. There is no
one who will prompt him when he does not know his lesson.
He likes nobody and feigns to despise Derossi above all because
he is the brightest boy, and Garrone because he is the most
beloved. But Derossi pays no attention to him, no more than
if he were not there, and when the boys tell him that Nobis
has abused him, he answers:

* * He is so full of such stupid pride that he does not even
deserve my blows. ' '

One day, when he was smiling disdainfully at Coretti's cat-
skin cap, the latter remarked:

* * Go to Derossi and learn how to be a gentleman ! ' '
Yesterday, he complained to the teacher because the Cala-

brian boy touched his leg wnth his foot. The teacher asked
the Calabrian boy if he had done this purposely.

" No, sir," he answered frankl}^ and the teacher said:

" You are too fastidious, Nobis." And Nobis replied with
that vain air of his:

"Ishall tell my father."

Then the teacher grew angry: *' Your f^her will tell you
that you are wrong, as he has at other times, and that there is
no one but the teacher who can judge and punish in the school. *'
Then he added, pleasantly, ** Come, Nobis, change your ways;
be good and courteous toward your companions. You see the
are sons of workmen and of gentlemen; sons of the rich and <<:

108 THE HEART OF A BOY

the poor. They are all fond of one another and treat one
another like brothers, as they are. Why don't you act as the
others do ? It would cost you very little to be esteemed by all,
and you would be so much better satisfied with yourself.

''Well, have you nothing to answer?" Nobis, who had
been listening with that disdainful smile, answered coldly:

"No, sir."

' ' Sit down ; ' ' said the teacher, ' ' I pity you. You are a boy
without heart."

Everything seemed ended, when the " Little Mason," who
sits on the first bench, turned his round face towards Nobis, who
sits on the last bench, and made a hare face, so fine and funny,
that the whole class burst into a shout of laughter. The
teacher reprimanded him, but he was forced to put his hand
over his mouth to conceal a smile, and Nobis also smiled but
not pleasantly .-

THE WOUNDS OF WORK

Monday the ijth.

Nobis can be matched with Franti. Neither of them were
moved by the terrible sight which passed under our eyes this
morning. Coming out of school with my father, I was looking
at some big boys of the second class who had thrown themselves
on their knees to wipe off the ice with their cloaks and caps in
order to slide swiftly, when we saw coming down the street a
crowd of people, walking rapidly, all looking serious and fright-
ened, and speaking in low voices. Among them were three po-
licemen, and following these, two men were carrjing a litter.
The boys approached from every side. The crowd advanced
toward us. Upon the litter was stretched a man as white as a
corpse, with his head hanging over upon one shoulder and his
hair stained with blood; and blood was also flowing from his
mouth and ears. Alongside the litter walked a woman with

THE HEART OF A BOY 109

a babe in her arms, who acted like a lunatic and cried from
time to time :

"He is dead! He is dead! He is dead! "

Behind the woman came a boy who had a satchel under his
arm and was sobbing.

* ' What has happened ? ' ' asked my father.

A man near him answered: " It is a mason who has fallen
from the fourth story while he was at work."

The men who carried the litter stopped a moment. Many
turned their faces away in horror. I saw the little school
mistress with the red feather supporting the mistress of the
upper first who had almost fainted. In the meantime, some-
body pushed me with his elbow, it was the *' Little Mason,"
pale and trembling like a leaf. He was surely thinking of his
father. I also thought of that. When I am in school my
mind is at ease; I know that my father is at home, sitting
at his desk, far from danger; yet, how many of my com-
panions are thinking that their fathers are working on a
very high scaffold or near the wheels of a machine; and
that a motion, a false step may cause their death! They
are like so many soldiers' children, whose fathers are in daily
peril.

The " Ivitcle Mason " looked steadfastly and trembled more
and more violently.

My father noticed it and said:

" Go home, boy, go and see your father, and you will find
him well and happy; go! "

The ' ' Little Mason ' ' went, turning his head at every step.
In the meantime, the crowd began to move again and the
woman was screaming in a heart-rending way: " He is dead!
He is dead! He is dead! "

" No, no, he is not dead," they were telling her on every
side. But she paid no attention and tore her hair in despair.
I heard an indignant voice saying: " You laugh! " and saw
a whiskered man looking in the face of Franti, who was indeed

110 THE HEART OF A BOY

smiling. Then the man knocked the boy's cap ofiF, saying:
" Uncover your head, you wicked boy, when a man who has
been hurt through labor passes!" The crowd had already
vanished and there was a long streak of blood in the middle of
the street.

THE PRISONER

Friday the lyth.

Ah ! this is indeed the strangest case of the whole year.
Yesterday my father took me to the Moncalieri suburbs to
examine a villa to let for the coming summer (because this
year we will not go to Chieri), and we found that the man who
had the keys is a teacher as well as the secretary of the land-
lord. He showed us the house and then he took us to his
room, where he offered us something to drink. Upon the lit-
tle table, between the glasses, was a wooden inkstand, conical
in shape and carved in a peculiar way.

Observing that my father was looking at it, the teacher
said: "That inkstand is very precious to me. Would
you like to know the history of it, sir?" and he told it
to us.

Years ago he was a teacher in Turin, and went every day
during the winter to teach the prisoners in the district jail.
He taught in the chapel of the jail, which is a round building.
All around the high and bare walls are many little square win-
dows with cross-bars of iron, each belonging to a little cell
inside.

He was teaching the lesson, walking up and down in the
cold dark chapel, and his pupils were peeping through those
holes with their copy-books against the iron bars, their faces
only showing in the shadow — frightful, frowning countenances,
with grey and rough beards and staring eyes, the faces of
thieves and murderers.

THB HEART OF A BOY 111

There was one among them, in cell No, 78, who was more
Attentive than the others and studied diligently. He looked at
the teacher with eyes full of respect and gratitude. He was a
young man with a black beard, and more unfortunate than
wicked; a cabinet-maker, who, in a fit of rage at his master
(who had wronged him many times) had thrown a plane at
his master's head, mortally wounding him, and on that account
had been condemned to several years of seclusion. In three
months he had learned to read and write, and he read con-
tinually. The more he learned, it seemed, the better he be-
came, and the more he repented of his crime.

One day, at the end of his lesson, he made the teacher a
sign to come to the little window, announcing that the next
morning he would leave Turin to go and expiate his crime in
the prisons of Venice; while saying good-bye he begged him
with a humble and moved voice to allow him to touch his hand.
The teacher oflfered him his hand, which he kissed and said
** Thanks! Thanks!" and disappeared. The teacher drew
back his hand, it was wet with tears. Since that time he had
never seen him.

Six years passed. *' I was thinking of anything else rather
than that unfortunate fellow," said the teacher, **when, the
day before yesterday, an unknown man came to the house.
He had a long black beard and was poorly clad. He asked
me: 'Are you the signor master so and so?* Who are
you ? I asked of him. * I am the prisoner of No. 78, ' he
answered. ' You taught me to read and write six years ago,
do you remember ? At the last lesson, you shook hands with
me. Now, I have expiated my crime, and I am here begging
you to kindly accept a remembrance of me, a little thing which
I have worked at in prison; will you take it in memory of me,
signor master ? '

' ' I stood speechless. He thought that I would not accept it,
and looked at me as if saying: * Six years of suffering, are
they not enough to cleanse my hands ? * and he looked at me

112 THK HEART OF A BOY

with an expression of such deep sorrow that I instantly stretched
out my hand and took the object. Here it is."

We looked attentively at the ink-stand. It seemed as
though it had been carved with the point of a nail by dint of
assiduous patience. There was carved upon it a pen across a
writing book, and written around it, *' To my teacher. — Re-
membrance of number 78. — Six years!" And below this

writing, ''Study and hope." ^The teacher said nothing.

more, and we left.

All the way home, from Moncalieri to Turin, I could not
chase from my mind that prisoner, leaning on the little window,
that farewell to the master, and that poor ink-stand carved in
jail, which told such a tale. I dreamed of it all night, and was
still thinking of it this morning. But I was far from guess-
ing the surprise which awaited me at school ! Hardly had I
gone to my new bench next to Derossi, and. had written the
problem in arithmetic for the monthly examination, when I
told my companion all the history of the prisoner and about
the ink-stand and how it was made with the pen across the
copy-book and that inscription around it: ''Six years!"
Derossi sprang up at those words and began to look first at me
and then at Crossi, the son of the vegetable woman, who sat in
the front bench with his back turned toward us, all absorbed
in his problem.

'*Hush !" he said, then, softly taking me by the arm,
*' Don't you know it ? Crossi told me the day before yester-
day of his having caught a glimpse of such a wooden ink-stand
in the hands of his father, who had returned from America.
Instead, he was in prison. Crossi was so small at the time of the
crime that he does not remember, and his mother deceived
him. He knows nothing of it. Let not a syllable of this
escape you ! "

I stood there speechless, with my ej^es staring at Crossi.
Then Derossi solved his problem and passed it under the bench
to Crossi and gave him a piece of paper, taking from his hand

THE HEART OF A BOY 113

the monthly story, Papa' s Nurse, which the teacher had given
him to copy, in order to do the work for CrOvSsi. He gave him
some pens, patted his shoulder, and had me promise upon my
honor that I would not say anything to anybody else, and
when he left school he told me hurriedly :

* ' Yesterday his father came to take him home, he may be
there to-day ; do as I do."

We came to the street ; Crossi's father was there, standing
a little aside, a man with a black beard which was sprinkled
with white, badly clad, with a pensive and discolored face.
Derossi shook Crossi's hand in a way that all could see him,
and said in a loud voice : ''Till we meet again, Crossi," and
passed his hand under his chin ; I did the same, but in doing
it we both crimsoned, and the father of Crossi looked at us
attentively with a benevolent look, but through it there shone
an expression of uneasiness and suspicion which caused our
hearts to grow cold.

papa's nurse

(monthly story)

In the morning of a rainy day in March, a boy, dressed as
a peasant all saturated with rain and mud, with a bundle
under his arm, presented himself to the gate-keeper of the Pel-
legrini hospital in Naples, and handing him a letter of
introduction, asked for his father. He had a beautiful oval
face, dark and pallid, two pensive eyes, and two full lips,
half open, showing his beautiful white teeth. He came from
a village in the vicinity of Naples. His father, having left
home the previous year to go and seek work in France,
had returned to Naples, landing there a few days before this ;
when, having suddenly been taken ill, he had hardly had
time to write a line to his familj^ telling them that he would
enter the hospital. His wife, in despair on account of the
news, and not being able to leave the house because of her sick

114 THE HEART OF A BOY

baby, had sent her oldest child, a lad, to Naples, with a few
soldi to assist his babbo, as they say there. The boy had
walked ten miles to reach th*? hospital.

The gate-keeper glanced at the letter, callea a nurse, and
told him to take the boy to his father.

' ' Whose father ? ' ' asked the nurse.

The boy, trembling for fear of sad news, gave his name.

The nurse could not remember any such name.

' ' An old workman coming from abroad ? " he asked.

** Yes," said the boy, growing more anxious, ** not so very
old. Yes, yes, he came from abroad."

' * And when did he enter the hospital ? ' ' asked the nurse.

The boy looked at the letter and said : * * About five days
ago, I think. ' '

The nurse stood for a moment in thought ; then suddenly
remembering: "Ah," said he, "in the fourth ward, in the
farthest bed."

*' Is he very sick ? How is he ? " anxiously asked the lad.

The nurse looked at him for a moment without answering,
then he said : "Come with me."

They ascended two stairways, walked to the end of the
large corridor and came to the open door of a large ward with
a row of beds on each side. ' * Come, ' ' repeated the nurse,
entering. The boy took courage and followed him, glancing
right and left with a frightened look over the white and ema-
ciated faces of the sick, some of whom had their eyes closed
and looked as though they were dead, while others seemed to
be staring into the air as though frightened. A great
many were moaning like children. The ward was dark
and the air impregnated with the sharp odor of medicines.
Two sisters of charity were walking around with phials in
their hands.

Having arrived at the end of the ward, the nurse stopped
at the head of the bed, drew the cturtains aside and exclaimed :
*' Here is yoiu: father."

THE HEART OF A BOY 1 1 T.

The boy burst into tears, and letting his bundle drop on the
floor, put his head upon the shoulder of the sick man, grasping
with his hand the arm which lay stretched outside the cover ;
but the sick man did not stir. The boy arose and looked at
his father, and burst into tears again. Then the sick man
turned his eyes upon him for a few moments and seemed to
recognize him. But his lips did not move. * * Poor babbo, how
he has changed ! " The child would not have recognized him.
His hair had grown white, his beard was much longer, his face
swollen and of a dark red color, his skin was stretched and
shining, the eyes had grown smaller, the lips were swollen ; he
had not one familiar feature except the forehead and the arch
of the eyebrows. He was breathing with difficulty.

* ' Babbo ! Oh my babbo I ' ' said the boy. * ' It is I. Do you
not recognize me ? I am Cicillo, your Cicillo, who came from
home, sent by mamma. Look at me ; do you not recognize
me ? Speak j ust one word. ' '

But the sick man, after having looked at him attentively,
closed his eyes.

''Babbo! Babbo! What is the matter ? I am your son,
your Cicillo ! "

The sick man did not move and continued to breathe with
difficulty.

Then the boy, weeping, took a chair and sat down, and
remained waiting, without raising his eyes from his father's
face. * ' The physician will soon pass on his visit, ' ' he thought.
* ' He will tell me what is the matter. ' ' And he became buried
in sad thoughts, recalling so many nice things about his good
father : the day of his departure, when he had given his last
farewell to the ship, the hopes which the family had founded
on that trip, the desolation of his mother, and the arrival of
that letter ; and he thought of death ; he saw his father dead,
his mother dressed in black and the family in want. He
remained some time over these thoughts. A light hand was
laid on his shoulder. He started, it was a nun.

116 THE HEART OF A BOY

"What is the matter with my father? " he asked imme-
diately.

" Is he your father?" asked the sister in a sweet and gentle
voice.

"Yes, it is my fafher and I have come here to s.^e him.
What is the matter with him ?

"Courage, my boy," replied the sister, "the physician
will soon be here," and she left him without saying another
word.

Half an hour later he heard the stroke of a bell and saw
the physician entering at the further end of the ward, accom-
panied by an assistant, followed by a sister and a nurse. They
began the visits, stopping at every bed. The time of w^aiting
seemed an eternity to the lad. Every time the physician
stopped, his anxiety grew stronger. At last they arrived at the
neighboring bed. The ph3'sician was an old man, tall and
round-shouldered, with a grave face. Before he left the nearest
bed the lad arose, and when he approached him the boy began
to weep.

The physician looked at him.

" It is the son of the sick man," said the sister, "he arrived
this morning from his village. ' '

The physician laid his hand upon the boy's shoulder, and
then bent over the sick man, felt his pulse, touched his fore-
head and asked some questions of the sister, who answered :
" Nothing new. " He stood a moment in deep thought, then
he said : * ' Continue the treatment as before. ' '

The lad taking courage, asked in a sobbing voice : * ' What
is the matter with my father ? ' '

" Have courage, my child," answered the physician, replac-
ing his hand on his shoulder. ' ' He has erysipelas on his face.
It is a very grave case, but there is still hope. Assist him.
Your presence may do him much good. ' '

" But he does not recognize me ! " exclaimed the boy in a
desolate tone.

THE HEART OF A BOY 117

•' He may recognize you to-morrow, perhaps. Let us hope
for the best and have courage. ' '

The boy would have been glad to ask him more, but he
dared not. The physician passed along to another patient.
And then the lad began the work of nurse. Not being able to
do anything else, he would fix the cover of the sick man, would
touch his hand from time to time, would chase the flies which
came near, would lean over him at every moan, and when the
nun brought the father some beverage, the boy would take
the glass and spoon from her hand and give it to him in her
stead. At times the sick man looked at him but gave no sign
of recognition. However, his gaze rested longer upon him
than anything else, especially when he laid the handkerchief
over his father's eyes. Thus the first day passed. During the
night the boy slept upon two chairs in a corner of the ward,
and in the morning he again took up his work of mercy. That
day it seemed as if the eyes of the sick man revealed a faint
trace of consciousness. At the caressing voice of the lad, it
seemed as though a vague expression of gratitude shone for a
moment in their depths, and once he moved his lips as though
he wished to speak. After a short nap he reopened his eyes
and seemed to be looking for his little nurse. The doctor, pass-
ing twice, thought he noticed a little improvement. Towards
evening, reaching the glass to his father's lips, the boy thought
he saw a very faint smile glide over his face. He began to take
comfort and to hope. With the hope of being understood, at
least confusedly, he talked to him for a long time, of mamma,
of his two little sisters, of the return home, and exhorted him
with warm and loving words, to take courage. Although
doubting if he were understood, still he talked on, because it
seemed to him that even if his father did not comprehend
him, he would hear his voice with a certain pleasure, a
tone of affection and sweetness being unusual in such a
place. In this way the second da}' was passed. Then the third
and the fourth, with alternating improvement and changes for

118 THE HEART OF A BOY

the worse, and the lad was so absorbed in his cares that he
scarcely ate even a bit of the bread and cheese which the sister
brought him twice a da3\ He took little notice of what was
happening around him ; the nuns coming or going during
the night, or the outbursts of despair, and he scarcely saw the
sick and dying near him. He lived with his hope among all
those scenes of hospital life, which on any other occasion would
have amazed and grieved him. The hours, the days passed
by, and he was all the time there with his babbo, anxious,
agitated, watching his every breath and glance ; without any
rest to relieve his mind of a fear that froze his heart.

Suddenly, on the fifth day, the sick man began to grow
worse.

The physician, upon being questioned, shook his head, as
if he meant to say, "that is the end," and the lad flung him-
self on the chair and burst out sobbing. One thing, however,
consoled him. In spite of the fact that the father grew worse,
it seemed to him that the sick man was slowly regaining a
slight consciousness. He looked at the boy more and more
intelligently, and with a growing expression of sweetness; he did
not want to take any portion of his medicine except from his
hand, and renewed oftener his strenuous efforts to pronounce a
word, and sometimes he did it so plainly that the child would
grasp his arm firmly, as though inspired by a sudden hope.
" Courage, courage, babbo, you will recover, and then we will
go home to mamma; have a little more courage!"

It was four o'clock in the afternoon, and at that moment,
the boy had abandoned himself to one of those outbursts of
tenderness and hope, when, through the nearest door of the
ward, a sound of steps was heard, and then a strong voice
spoke two words only : ''Farewell, sister," which made him
jump to his feet with a repressed cry bursting from his
throat !

In the meantime, a man entered the ward, with a large
bundle in his hand, followed by a sister.

TH« HEART OF A BOY

119

The boy uttered a sharp cry and stood there as if nailed to
the floor.

The man turned around and looked at him a moment, then
cried: " Ciccillo!" and darted towards him.

The lad fell into the arms of his father without being able
to utter a word.

The sisters, the nurses, and the assistant physician, all ran
toward them filled with astonishment.

The boy could not recover his voice.

** Oh, my Ciccillo!" exclaimed the father, after having cast
an attentive look at the sick man, kissing the boy again and
again. " Ciccillo, my child, how does it happen that you are
here ? Have they taken you to the bed of another man, while
I was all the time in despair because I did not see you, for your
mother wrote me that she had sent you to me. Poor Ciccillo!
How many days have you been here, and how did this happen ?

120 ;fHE HEART OF A BOY

I have come out easily; I am well now ! How is mamma ? Con-
cettella, and the baby, how are they ? I am leaving the hos-
pital, come with me. Oh, great God ! who would have thought
of this!"

The child tried hard to speak a few words, to give the
family news. " I am so glad!" he murmured, " so glad. And
what days I have passed here!" He did not stop kissing his
father.

But still the boy did not move.

* ' Come along, ' ' said the father, * ' we can get home to-night,
lyct us go." And he drew the boy towards him.

The boy turned to look at the sick man.

" But — why don't you come?" asked the father, amazed.

The lad cast another glance at the sick man, who, at that
moment, opened his eyes and stared at him; then from his soul
poured out a flood of words. " No, dabdo, wait be-
hold, I cannot. There is that old man. I have been

here five days. He looks at me all the time. I thought it was
you. I loved him. He looks at me incessantly. I give him
to drink and he wishes me to be near him. Now he is very
low; have some patience. I have not the courage, I don't know
why it is, but I cannot leave him; it would be too painful for
me. I v/ill return home to-morrow. Let me stay here a little
longer; it is not right that I should leave him; look at the way
he gazes at me. I do not know who he may be, but he wants
me ; he would die if left alone. Allow me to stay, dear daddo ! ' '

" Good little fellow! " cried the assistant physician.

The father stood there in perplexity, looking first at the
boy and then at the sick man. * ' Who is he ? " he asked.

"A peasant, like yourself," answered the assistant, "who
came from abroad and entered the hospital the same day you
did. They brought him here in an unconscious state and he
has not been able to say anything since. Perhaps he has a
family, and sons far away. He may think that your boy is
one of his sons.'*

THE HEART OF A BOY 121

The sick man was still staring at the boy.

The father said to Ciccillo, "Stay! "

"He will not have to stay much longer," whispered the
assistant.

" Stay! " repeated the father; " you have a heart. I will
go directly home to relieve mamma of her suspense and anx-
iety. Here is a scudo for your expenses. Good-bye, noble
child of mine, till we meet again."

He embraced him, looked at him intently, kissed him again
on the forehead and went away.

The lad returned to the bed of the patient, who seemed con-
soled. Ciccillo again commenced to act as nurse, no longer
crying, but with the same eagerness and the same patience a?
before. He again gave the sick man something to drink, fixed
his bed clothes, stroked his hand, and spoke to him sweetly, as
if to give him courage. He attended him all day, all the next
night and stood close to the bed the following day, but the sick
man grew worse and worse continually. His face began to
get blue, his breath was heavier, and his suffering became more
intense. Some inarticulate cries escaped his lips; the inflam-
mation was steadily increasing. In the evening, when the
physician came to make his visit, he said that he would not
live through the night. Then Ciccillo redoubled his vigilance,
and did not take his eyes off from him for a moment. The
sick man looked at him and moved his lips from time to time
with a great effort as if to speak. An extraordinary expression
would now and then gleam from his eyes, which were gradually
growing smaller and dimmer. That night the lad%atched him
until he saw through the windows the first dawn of day, when
a sister appeared. She approached the two, cast a glance at
the sick man, and left with hurried steps. A few moments
after, she returned with the assistant physician and a nurse,
who carried a light.

*' It is the last moment, ' ' said the physician.

122 THE HEART OF A BOY

Th^ lad grasped the hand of the sick man. The latter
opened his eyes, looked at him, and closed them forever.

In that last minute, it seemed to the boy as though he felt
a pressure of his hand. "He has pressed my hand!'* he
exclaimed.

The physician stood for a moment bending over the sick
man and then he rose to his feet. The sister took the crucifix
from the wall. *' He is dead," cried the boy.

'* Good child," said the physician. '* Your blessed work is
over. Go. May fortune smile upon you as you deserve. God
will protect you. Farewell ! ' *

The sister, who had gone away for a moment, returned with
a bouquet of violets taken from a glass on the window sill, and
handed them to the boy, saying : " I have nothing else to give
you. Take this in remembrance of the hospital."

*' Thanks," said the boy, taking the bouquet with one hand
and wiping his eyes with the other, ' ' but I have so far to walk

I would spoil it." And, unloosening the bouquet, he

scattered the violets upon the bed, saying: "I leave them here
in remembrance of the poor dead one. Thanks, sister. Thanks,

signor doctor," then, turning to the dead: "Good-bye," ,

while he was trying to think of a name to call him, there came
from his heart to his lips that sweet name by which he had
called him for five days. "Good-bye, poor babbo''

Having said this, he put the little bundle of clothes under
his arm and with slow and weary steps he went away. The
day was just breaking.

THE WORKSHOP

Saturday the i8th,

Precossi called last evening to remind me that I was to go

and see his workshop, which is farther down the street. When

I went out v/ith my father this morning, I asked to be taken

there for a moment. As we approached the shop, Garoffi

THE HEART OF A BOY 128

came running out with a package in his hand, and the cloak
under which he conceals his merchandise was flying in the
wind. Ah, now I know where he goes to get the iron filings
which he trades for old newspapers, that trafficking Garoffi.
Peeping in at the door of the shop, we saw Precossi seated on
a pile of bricks, studying his lesson on his knees. He got up
quickly and bade us enter. It was a large room filled with
coal dust. The walls were covered w^ith hammers, pincers,
iron bars, and old pieces of iron of every shape. In a corner
there was a fire burning in a fire-place, and a boy was blowing
it with a pair of bellows. Precossi' s father stood near the
anvil, and another lad was holding an iron bar in the fire.

"Oh, here he is," said the blacksmith, taking off his cap.
' * Here is the boy who gives away railroad trains. You have
come to see us work a little, have you not ? You will be satis-
fied." As he said this he smiled. He no longer had that
contorted face and those bleared eyes which he once had. The
lad handed him a long red hot iron bar, which the blacksmith
laid upon the anvil. He was making some curved pieces for
railings of balconies. He lifted the heavy hammer and began
to strike, pushing the red hot end one way and another, from
the end of the anvil to the middle, turning it around in differ-
ent ways. It was wonderful to see how the iron would bend
and twist under those rapid and precise blows of the hammer,
until by degrees he shaped it into the form of a beautiful leaf
or flower, curled as if it might have been some dough which
he moulded with his hand. In the meantime his son was look-
ing at us with an air of pride, as if he wished to say, *' Do you
see how my father can work ? ' '

"Have you seen how that is done, signori?" asked the
blacksmith when he had finished, putting in front of us the iron
piece which looked like a bishop's crozier. Then he took us
to one side and stuck another iron into the fire.

" That is well done, indeed," said my father. " You are at
work again now ! The good will has come back. "

124 THB HEART OP A BOY

"Yes, it hascotne back," answered the blacksmith, wiping
the perspiration from his brow and blushing a little, ' * and do
you know who caused it to return ? ' ' My father feigned not
to understand.

"That brave boy," said the blacksmith, pointing at his son
with his finger. * ' That brave boy there. He studied and was
honoring his father, while his father was dissipating and treated
him like a beast. When I saw that medal — ah ! that little
fellow of mine, who is scarcely as tall as a penny's worth of
cheese ! Come here, that I may look you straight in the face ! "

The boy ran immediately to him. The smith took him and
placed him on the anvil, holding him by the hand, saying: ' ' Do
clean the face of this beast of a father."

Precossi covered his father's black face with kisses until his
own was also all black.

* ' That is the way, " said the blacksmith, placing him back
on the floor.

"That is the way, indeed, Precossi ! " exclaimed my father
joyfully, and saying good-bye to the blacksmith and his son,
he took me away.

When I was going out, Precossi said to me: " Excuse me,"
and thrust a little package of nails into my pocket. I invited
him to come to my house to see the carnival.

When we reached the street, my father said: "You have
given him your railway train, but had it been made of gold
and filled with pearls, it would have been a small present for
that child, who has reformed the heart of his father. ' '

THE LITTLE CLOWN

Monday the 20th.
The whole city is in an uproar over the carnival season
which is about to come to an end. They are putting up booths
and mountebank tents in every square. There is a circus tent
under our windows, where a small Venetian company gives

THE HEART OF A BOY

125

performances with five horses. The circus is in the middle of
the square and in the corner there are three large wagons, in
which the mountebanks sleep and where they disguise them-
selves. Three small houses on wheels, with little windows and
a chimney, always smoking, in each one. Some baby clothes
are hanging between the small
windows. There is a woman
who nurses a baby, cooks, and
dances on the rope. Poor peo-
ple! One speaks the word of
mountebank as though it were
an insulting one; yet, they earn
their bread honestly, amusing
every bod}', and how they work !
They run all day between the
circus and the wagons in this
cold weather, dressed in tights.
They eat two or three mouth-
fuls of bread and run here
and there betw^een the perform-
ances. Sometimes, when the
circus is crowded, a wind rises
which tears the canvas, puts
out the lights, and the perform-
ance must close. Then they
are obliged to return the mon-
ey and work the whole evening
putting the tent in shape again.
They have two boys who per-
form tricks, and my father recognized the smallest one as he
was crossing the square. He is the son of a circus master, the
same one whom we saw play tricks on horseback last year in the
piazza Vittorio Emanuele, but he has grown since then. He
is barely eight years old, a fine looking lad with the pretty
round face of a gamin, with black curls which come out from

126

THE HEART OF A BOY

under his conical shaped hat. He is dressed like a clown,
wears a large bag-shaped suit with sleeves of white, embroi-
dered with black, and linen shoes. He nevtr keeps still.
Everybody likes him. He does all sorts of tricks. In the
morning, we see him wrapped up in a shawl, carrying milk to
their wagon; then he goes to the stable in Bertola street and
brings the horses. He holds a little baby in his arms, carries
hoops, wooden horses, wooden bars, and ropes. He cleans the
wagons, lights the fire, and when he rests he is always near his
mother. My father watches him all the time from the window,
and talks with him about his own people, who seem to be very
good and to love their children.

One evening, we went to the circus. It was cold and there
were but few persons in the audience, but the little clown did
all he could to keep the small crowd merry. He would turn
somersaults, grasp the tails of the horses, stand on his head,
and sing, always smiling, with his pretty brown face. His
father was dressed in a red coat, white trousers with top boots
and a whip in his hand. It was really sad to see him watch
his son. My father felt sorry for them and spoke about it the
next day to the artist Delis, who came to visit us. * * Those
poor people kill themselves working so hard and still do so little
business!" He liked the little boy so much, what could be
done in their behalf ! The artist had an idea:

** Write a beautiful article in the 'Gazette,' " he said, " you
who write so well, you will tell of the wonderful performances of
the little clown and I will draw his portrait for you. Every-
body reads the * Gazette,' and for once, at least, the people will
rush to the circus." — So it was done. My father wrote a fine
article, full of witticisms, telling all that we see from the win-
dow— enough to make the people eager to know and favor the
little clown, and the artist sketched a little portrait, a very pretty
and good likeness, which appeared in the Saturday evening
'Gazette.' And, behold, at the Sunday performance, a large
crowd rushed to the circus. It had been announced ' * Benefit

THE HEART OF A BOY 127

performance for the Little Clown'' — "The Little Clown/' as
the 'Gazette' had called him. My father took me there into one
of the first reserved seats. They had posted the 'Gazette' beside
the entrance. The circus was crowded. Many of the spec-
tators held the 'Gazette' in their hands and showed it to the little
clown, who laughed and ran from one place to another, looking
very happy. The master was also delighted. It is easy to
imagine that no paper had ever paid him so much honor before,
and the cash box was full. My father sat next to me. Among
the spectators we saw some acquaintances of ours. Near the
entrance where the horses came in, stood the teacher of gym-
nastics, the one who has been with Garibaldi. In the second
row in front of us, the " Little Mason," with his small round
face, was seated next to his father. As soon as he saw me
he made the hare face. A little further ahead, I saw Garoffi,
counting the spectators and figuring upon the point of his fin-
gers how much the company had taken in. Poor Robetti, the
one who saved the child from the omnibus, also sat in a reserved
seat not very far from us. He was holding his crutches between
his knees. At his side sat his father, the artillery captain,
who laid a hand on his shoulder. The performance com-
menced.— The little clown performed some marvelous feats on
horseback, on the trapeze, and on the rope, and every time
that he jumped down, all clapped their hands, and many
patted his curly locks. Then others of the company displayed
their skill in various exercises on the rope. There were jug-
glers and bare-back riders dressed in clothes glittering with
silver. But when the lad was not there, it seemed as though
the people were bored. During the performance, I saw the
teacher of gymnastics whisper in the ear of the circus master,
who immediately cast a glance around the audience as though
looking for some one; his eyes rested upon us. My father
noticed it, understood all, and, in order not to be thanked,
went away, saying to me:

"Stay, Enrico, I will wait for you outside."

128 the; heart of a boy

The little clown, after having exchanged a few words with
his father, gave one more performance, standing on the horse
while he was galloping. He changed his clothes four times,
appearing as a pilgrim, as a sailor, as a soldier and as an acro-
bat; and every time he passed near me, he looked at me. When
he came down he began to make the tour of the circus with
his clown hat in his hand, and all threw soldi and candies
to him. I had two soldi ready, but w^hen he was in front of
me, instead of reaching out his hat, he pulled it back, looked
at me, and passed on. I was mortified. Why should he have
behaved like that ?

The performance came to a close. The circus master
thanked the people and every one got up and crowded toward
the exit. I thought myself lost in the crowd, and was
about to go out when some one touched my hand. I turned
around, it w^as the little clown, with his beautiful round face
and his black locks. He smiled at me, standing there with his
hands filled with candies. Then I understood all.

*' Will you accept these candies from the ' little clown' ? "
he asked. I took three or four of them, then he added:

* ' Take also a kiss. ' '

''Give me tw^o," I answered, and put out my face to him.
He cleaned his powdered face with his sleeve, put his arms
around my neck and pressed two kisses on my cheek, saying:
** Take these, one for you and one for your father! "

THE LAST DAY OF CARNIVAL

Tuesday the 21st.
We witnessed a very sad scene to-day in the Corso, during
the procession of the masks. Fortunately, it ended well; but
a great misfortune might have happened. In the piazza San
Carlo, which was all decorated with yellow, red and white
festoons, a multitude of people were thronging, masks of ever}'
description were passing, gilded and decorated floats in the

THE HEART OF A BOY 129

shape of pavilions, small theatres and boats, filled with harle-
quins, warriors, cooks, sailors and shepherds. There was such
a confuvsion that one did not know where to look, and such a
loud clash of trumpets, cymbals and hurrahs, that it was deaf-
ening. The people in masks on the floats were shouting and
singing and addressing the people who were in the street and
at the w^indows, and who answered at the top of their voices,
and threw out oranges and confections. Above the carriages
and above the throng, as far as the eye could reach, one could
see little flags floating, helmets gleaming, plumes waving, and
all those pasteboard hats moving; gigantic caps, enormously
high hats, extravagant weapons, tambourines, castanets, and
all sorts of bottles; it seemed as though the people had all gone
crazy. When our carriage entered the piazza, a magnificent
float was just in front of us. It was drawn by four horses
covered with embroidered trappings, and upon the car, wreathed
with artificial flowers, there stood fourteen or fifteen gentlemen,
all masked as noblemen of the court of France, all shimmer-
ing in silk, wearing huge white wigs and plumed hats; each
carried a little sword, and wore a tuft of ribbon and lace
upon his breast, which made him look very handsome. They
w^ere all singing a French song and throwing sweets to the
people, who clapped their hands shouting. Suddenly, upon
our left, we saw a man lifting a little girl above the heads of
the crowd. She was only five or six years old. The poor
thing was crying desperately and moving her arms as if taken
with convulsions. The man made his way toward the car of
the signori; one of the gentlemen bent down, and the man said
aloud:,

"Take this child, she has lost her mother in the crowd.
Hold her in your arms, her mother cannot be far away and she
will see her; I do not see any better way."

The gentleman took the child in his arms; they all stopped
singing; the child screamed and struggled; the gentleman took
off his mask; the car moved slowly. In the meanwhile, as we

130 THS HEART OF A BOY

were told later, at the other end of the square, a poor woman,
almost crazed, was breaking her way through the throng with
her elbows and shouting:

*' Maria! Maria! Maria! I have lost my daughter! She
has been stolen from me! They have suffocated my child! "
She raved in this way for a quarter of an hour, going here and
there, crushed by the crowd which prevented her from quick-
ening her step. In the meantime, the gentleman on the car
held the child pressed against the ribbons and lace on his
breast, looking over the piazza and trying to quiet the poor
creature, who, not knowing where she was, sobbed as though
her heart would break. The gentleman was affected; it was
evident that those cries reached his soul. All the others
offered the child oranges and candies, but she refused every-
thing, all the time becoming more and more frightened and
convulsive.

* ' Look for the mother ! ' ' cried the gentleman to the crowd.
' ' Try to find the mother ! ' *

People turned to the right and left, but the mother was not
to be found.

Finally, a few steps from the place where the via Roma
enters the piazza, a woman was seen rushing towards the car.
Ah I — I will never forget that sight ! — She scarcely looked like
a woman, her hair was disheveled, her face distorted, her gar-
ments torn; she rushed along with a rattle in her throat, and
one could not tell whether it was of joy or of anguish, or even
of rage, and she threw out her hands like two clasps to grasp
her child. The car stopped:

' * Here she is, * ' said the gentleman, and having kissed her,
he put her into the arms of her mother, who kissed her impet-
uously, but one of those little hands remained for a second
between the hands of the gentleman, who pulled a gold ring
with a large diamond setting from his finger, and with a rapid
movement slipped it on the finger of the little girl:

'*Take it," he said, "this will be your marriage dowry."

THE HEART OF A BOY 131

The mother stood there as if enchanted. The crowd loudly
applauded. The gentleman put on his mask again, his com-
panions began to sing, and the car started off slowly in the
midst of a tumult of hand-clappings and hurrahs.

THE BLIND BOYS

Thursday the 24th.

Our teacher is very ill, and in his stead the principal sent
the master of the fourth class, who was once a teacher in an
institution for the blind. He is the oldest of all the teachers,
and his hair is so white that it looks as though he wore a cotton
wig. He talks in a peculiar manner, as if singing a melancholy
song, but he is good and very intelligent. As soon as he en-
tered the school, he noticed a boy who had one eye bandaged;
he approached his bench and asked him what was the matter.

"Take good care of your eye, boy," he said, and then
Derossi asked him:

' * Is it true, signor master, that you have been a teacher of
the blind? "

"Yes, for many years," he answered, and Derossi said
softly:

* ' Please tell us something about it. ' '

The teacher went to his desk and sat down.

Coretti said aloud:

' * The institution for the blind is in the Via Nizza."

"You say blind, — blind," said the master, " as you would
say sick or poor people, or I know not what. But do you
thoroughly understand the meaning of that word ? Think of
it a moment. Blind! Never to see, never ! Never to distinguish
the day from the night, never to see the sky, nor the sun, nor
even your own parents, nothing of all that surrounds us, nothing
that we touch; to be sunk into perpetual darkness, like
being buried in the bowels of the earth. Try to close your eyes
for a few moments and think what it is to be obliged to remain

132 THK HKART OF A BOY

thus forever. You will immediately be overwhelmed with
agony and terror. It would seem to you impossible for one to
endure it: that you would grieve, that you w^ould go crazy,

that you would die. Still poor boys ; when one enters an

institute for the blind during the recreation hours for the first
time, one w^ould not think that they are so unfortunate as they
really are; one w^ill hear them playing the violin and flute, talk-
ing in a loud voice, laughing, going up and down the stairs
with quick steps, and moving freely through the corridors and
dormitories. One must observe them well. There are youths
of sixteen and eighteen, robust and merry, who bear their
blindness w4th a certain ease; but one understands, from a cer-
tain proud and' resentful expression of the countenance, how
much they must have suffered, before they became resigned to
their misfortune. There are others with sweet and pallid faces,
in which one can perceive so much resignation, but so sad that
it is evident that they still mourn at times. — Ah ! my children.
Think that some of them have lost their eyesight in a few days,
others have lost it after years of martyrdom, during which they
endured many terrible surgical operations, and many are born
into a night that never had any dawn for them; they entered
the world as they would enter an immense tomb, and do not
know how a human face looks. Imagine how much they must
have suffered and how much they must still suffer when they
think confusedly of the tremendous difference between them-
selves and those who can see, and they ask themselves, — 'Why
such a difference if we are not to blame ? '

" I spent many years among them, and when I remember
that class of unfortunates, all those eyes sealed forever, all
those pupils without expression and without light, and then
look at you bo3^s — it seems impossible that you are not all
happy. Think of it! There are about twenty-six thousand
blind persons in Italy! Twenty-six thousand persons who
do not see the light! Do you understand ? An army so large
that it would take hours for it to pass under our windows. "

THE HEART OF A BOY 133

The teacher was silent. Not a breath was heard in the
school. Derossi finally asked if it were true that the blind
have a finer sense of feeling than we.

The teacher replied: '* It is true. All the other senses are
more acute in them; because having to replace the sense of
sight by the use of the other faculties, they are better exercised
in the blind than in those who can see. In the dormitories in
the morning, one asks of the others: * Is the sun out ? ' And
the one who can dress the quickest runs into the court and
waves his hands in the air to see if he can feel any perceptible
warmth of the sun and then runs back to carry the news:
* Yes, the sun is out! ' From the sound of the voice of a per-
son they form an idea of his stature. We judge the soul of a
man by the eye, the}^ by the voice; they remember the intona-
tions and accents of a voice for years. They can tell whether
there are one or more persons in a room, even if only one talks
and the others remain perfectly quiet. By their touch, whether
a spoon is clean or not. The girls can distinguish whether the
woolens are dyed or natural color. They go two by two
through the streets. They can tell the different shops by the
smell, even those from which we perceive no odor. They spin
the top, and, by listening to its humming, they go straight to
it and pick it up without any hesitation. They trundle the
hoop, they play nine-pins, jump the rope, build small houses
with stones, and pick violets as though able to see; they make
mats and baskets, weaving together the straws of different
colors quickly and correctly, — to such a degree is their sense
of touch trained. The sense of feeling is their eye-sight. To
guess the shape of things by feeling them is one of their
greatest pleasures. It is affecting to see them when they are
taken to the Industrial Museum, where they are allowed to
touch anything they wish. They seize with eagerness upon
the geometrical bodies, the models of houses, and the instru-
ments. With what joy they rub, and feel, and turn over all

134 THE HEART OF A BOY

those things in their hands, to see how they are made. They
call that seeing. ' *

Garofii interrupted the teacher to ask him if it were true
that the blind bo3S learn to reckon faster than others.

The teacher replied: "It is true. They learn to figure
and to read. They have books made on purpose for them with
raised characters. They pass their fingers over them, recog-
nize the letters, and speak the word, and read rapidly. You
ought to see how the poor fellows blush when they make a
mistake. They also write without ink. They write upon a
thick, hard paper with a metal point which makes a great
many little hollows, grouped according to a special alphabet.
These little punctures stand out in relief on the other side of
the paper, so that by turning the sheet over and drawing their
fingers across it, they are able to read what they have WTitten
as well as what other persons write, and thus they prepare
compositions and write letters to one another. They write
numbers in the same way and make calculations. They calcu-
late mentally with incredible facility, not being diverted by
the sight of things around them as we are. You ought to see
how passionately fond they are of hearing some one read, how
attentive they are, how well they remember everything, how
they discuss subjects, the little ones as well, talking about his-
tory and language. Four or five of them sit together on the
same bench, and, without turning around, the first converses
with the third and the second with the fourth, aloud and all at
the same time, without losing a single word, so acute and ac-
curate is the ear! They attach a great deal more importance
to the examinations than you, I assure you, and they love their
teacher more than you do. They recognize the teacher by his
odor as well as by his step. They can tell whether he is in
good or bad humor; if he is well or not; simply by the sound
of a single word. They want the teacher to touch them when
he encourages and praises them, and they feel his hands and
arms to express their gratitude. They like each other and are

THE HEART OF A BOY 13.)

good companions. In times of recreation, they always separate
into certain cliques. In the girls' school, for instance, they
form groups according to the instrument which they play; the
violinists, the pianists, and the flute pla3^ers, and they will never
separate. They seldom lose their affection for persons after
having once become attached to them. They find great com-
fort in friendship. They judge correctly among themselves.
They have a clear and profound conception of good and evil.
No one becomes so enthusiastic as they when hearing of a
generous deed or of a grand act."

Votini asked if they played well.

"They are passionately fond of music," answered the
teacher. ' * The love of music is the joy of their life. Some blind
children, when they first enter the institute, are apt to stand
for three hours perfectly motionless, listening to the music.
They learn music readily and play with a great deal of expres-
sion. When the teacher tells one of them that he has no talent
for music, he is very sorrowful and begins to study desperately.
Ah ! If you could but hear the music there ! If you could only
see them when they play, with their heads thrown back, a smile
on their lips, their faces aglow and quivering with emotion,
listening in ecstasy to that harmony which pervades the ob-
scurity that envelops them, you would then feel what a divine
consolation there is in music ! When the teacher tells one of
them: You will become an artist, his face brightens and he is
overjoyed. The one who is first in music, who succeeds better
than the rest at the violin or the piano, is like a king among
them; they love him; they venerate him. If there is a quarrel
between two of them, they go to him. If two friends become
estranged, he reconciles them. The little ones whom he
teaches to play, regard him as a father. Before going to sleep
they all go and bid him good night. They talk of music con-
tinually during the day and at night when they are in bed,
almost all of them tired out with study and work and half
asleep, still they discuss, in a low voice, operas, composers,

136 THE HEART OF A BOY

instruments, and orchestras. Being deprived of the reading of
the music lesson is a great punishment for them. They suffer
so much from it, that we hardly ever had the courage to punish
them in that way. What light is to our eyes, music is to
their hearts."

Derossi asked if one could go and see them.

" Yes, any one can go," replied the master, " but you boys
must not go there yet. You may go later when you are in a
condition to understand the extent of their misfortune and are
able to feel all the compassion which it merits. It is a sad
sight, my boys ! Sometimes, you see a boy there sitting against
an open window, enjoying the fresh air with an immovable
countenance, who seems to look at the green plain and the

beautiful azure mountains which you see and to think

that he sees nothing, that he will never see any of that grand
beauty ! At that moment, your soul is oppressed as though
you had become blind. — There are those who are born blind,
who, having never seen the world, do not regret anything
because they have the image of nothing and these are less
to be pitied. But there are boys who have been blind only a
few months, who recall everything which they have lost, and,
in addition to this, they suffer the grief of feeling their minds
obscured, the loving image growing fainter and fainter until the
image of the persons to whom they were attached the most dies
out from their memory. One of these boys told me one day, with
inexpressible sadness : * I would like to recover my eye-sight
again just for a moment, that I might see again my mother's
face. I do not remember it any longer ! ' And when their
mothers come to see them, they put their hands upon their
faces, they touch them upon the foreheads and ears, to feel how
they are made, and they can hardly persuade themselves that
they cannot see them. They call them by name time after time,
as if to beg of them to give them the power to see their mothers
just for once. How many people leave that place crying, even
hard-hearted men! When one goes there, it seems as though it

THE HEART OF A BOY 137

were an exception that you are able to see, a privilege scarcely
deserved, to see the people, the houses, the sky ! There is not
one of you, I am certain, who, coming out from that place,
would not be disposed to deprive himself of a little of his own
eye-sight, if by so doing he might bestow a gleam to those poor
children, for whom the sun has no longer light nor the mother
a face!"

THE SICK MASTER

Saturday the 2^th.

When I came from school last night, I went to visit my
master. He made himself sick by working too hard. Five
hours of lessons during the day, then an hour of gymnastics,
then two more hours of evening school; which means to sleep
little, to eat by snatches, and to work breathlessly from morn-
ing till night. In this way he has ruined his health, so my
mother says. My mother waited for me below at the big door
and I went up alone. On the stairs I met Coatti, the teacher
with the bushy black beard, who always frightens the boys but
never punishes them. He looked at me with his large eyes,
and spoke with a voice like a lion's, just for fun, but he did
not laugh. I was still laughing when I rang the bell at m)^
teacher's door on the fourth floor, but stopped instantly when
the servant bade me enter a poor room, dimly lighted, where
my teacher was lying. He lay upon a little iron bedstead.
His beard was long. He placed his hand on his brow in order
to see me better, and said in an affectionate voice:

"Oh! Enrico."

I approached the bed and he laid his hand on my shoulder
and said:

" Good boy, you have done well to come and see your poor
master. I am reduced to a bad state, as 3^ou see, my dear En-
rico. And how is school getting on ? What are your school-
mates doing? Ever^'thing goes well, does it not? And even

138 THE HEART OF A BOY

without me? You can do without me very well; isn't that so?
Without your old teacher ? "

I was trying to say no, but he interrupted me.

*' Come, come, I know that you do not dislike me," and he
heaved a sigh.

I looked at some photographs that were hanging on the
wall. *' Do you see," he said, ''those are boys, who through
the last twenty years have given me their photographs. They
were good boys. Those are my souvenirs. When I die, my
last glance will be given to them; my last thought will be of
those boys among whom I have passed my life. Will you not
also give me your picture when you are through the element-
ary course ? ' ' Then he took an orange from his stand and put
it into my hand.

" I have nothing else to give you," he said, '* it is the pres-
ent of a sick man."

I looked at him, and my whole heart felt sad.

* * You must take care, ' ' continued the teacher, * * I expect

to get out of this, but if I never should ^ try to become

stronger in arithmetic; it is your weak point; make an effort;
as sometimes it is not the lack of aptitude but merely the ab-
sence of a fixed purpose, of stability, as one might call it."

While he was saying this, he breathed with difficulty, and
I saw that he suffered. " I have an ugly fever," he sighed,
" I am about gone. I beseech you then, apply yourself to the
arithmetical problems. If one does not succeed the first time,
he must rest awhile and then try it again; and then, if he does
not succeed, after a little rest, he must try once more. Go
ahead quietly, without tiring yourself, and without getting
excited. Go. Give my regards to your mother, and do not
mount these stairs again, we will meet in the school room
soon. If we should not meet, think sometimes of your teacher
of the third class, who has loved you so much."

I felt like crying when I heard those words.

*' Bend your head down to me," he said.

THE HEART OF A BOY 130

I bent my head over his pillow and he kissed me on my hair.
Then he said ** Go," and turned his face to the wall.

I flew down stairs in a hurry, as I was anxious to embrace
my mother.

THE STREET

Saturday the 2^th,
I was watching thee from the window this evening when thou
wert returning home from thy visit to thy teacher^ and I saw thee
push a woman. Pay a little more attention and see how thou
dost walk in the street; there are duties to be fulfilled even there.
If thou measurest thy steps and gestures in a private house ^ why
shouldst thou not do the same in the street which is the abode of
every one. Remember, Enrico^ if thou shouldst at any time meet
a feeble old woman, a poor woman with a babe in her arms, a
cripple with his crutches, a man bending beneath a load, a family
dressed in mourniyig, make way for them respectfully. We must
respect old age, misery, maternal love, infirmity, fatigue, and
death. Wlienever thou seest a person about to be run over by a
carriage; if a child, pull him away; if it is a man, make him
aware of his da7iger. Always ask what is the matter with the
child who is alo7ie and weeping. Pick up the cane of an old man
who accidentally drops it. If two boys fight, separate them; if it
is two men, move away; do not look at a performance of brutal
violence which offends and hardens the hea^'t. When thou seest
a man hand-cuffed betwee?i two policemen, do not add thy curiosity
to the cruel o?ie of the crowd; he may be innocent. When thou
meetest a hospital litter, stop smiling and talking to thy compan-
ion; perhaps it may be carrying a dying vian; perhaps it may be
a funeral procession , 07ie as rnight come out from thine own house
on the morrow. Look with respect at all those boys who come from
the differcjit asylums, walking two by two; to the deaf and dumb,
to those afflicted with the rickets, to the orphans, to the foundlings.
Think thai it is a human misfortune and an object of pity passiyi^ .

140 Tim HEART OF A BOY

Always prete7id not to see a person who has a strange or repulsive
deformity. Extinguish the lighted match that thou wilt find at
thy feety which anight cause some 07ie to lose his life. Always
answer with kindness the stranger who asks thee to point out the
way. Never laugh in any one" sface^ never run without necessity^
a7id do not shout. Respect the street. Th e degree of education of a
pe} son is judged more by the way he behaves in the street than by
a7iy thing else. A perso7i who will offe7id i7i the street will offend i7i
the home. Study the stj^eets. Study the city where thou livest;
a7id^ if to-morrow thou wert ca7'ried far away^ thou wouldst be
glad to have it prese7it i7i thy 7}ie77iory^ to be able to rehearse it i7i
thy thoughts; thy city; thy little home^ that which has bee7i for so
ma7iy years thy little world, whe7'e thou hast taken thy first steps
beside thy 77iother, experie7iced thy first emotions, ope7ied thy mi7id
to the first ideas, a7id whe7e thou hast found thy first friends. It
has been a Tnother to thee. It has educated thee. It has inspired
thee with noble sentiments, and protected thee. Study its streets^
its inhabita7its , a7id love it; a7id, if thou shouldst hear it insulted,
defend it.

Thy Father.

MARCH

ThB evening SCHOOI.S

Thursday the 2nd.

Last night my father took me to visit the evening school in
our Baretti school-house, which was all lighted up, and the
workingmen were entering when we arrived. We found the
principal and the teachers very angry because a short time be-
fore, a pane of glass had been broken out of a window with a
stone. The janitor, rushing out, had caught a boy who was
passing, but Stardi, who lives opposite the school, had appeared
and said:

THE HEA.RT OF A BOY 141

*' It is not he. I saw who did it with my own eyes; it was
Franti who threw the stone; and he said to me: ' be careful
not to tell on me! ' but I am not afraid."

The principal said that Franti would be expelled forever.
In the meantime, I was watching the workmen who were en-
tering two or three together. More than two hundred had
already entered. I had never seen how beautiful the evening
school is. There were boys from twelve years old up, and
whiskered men who came back from work carrying books;
there were carpenters, firemen with black faces, masons with
their hands white with lime, bakers with their hair all pow-
dered, you could smell varnish, hides, beeswax, oil, and odors
from all kinds of trades. A squad of artillerymen entered,
in their uniforms and led by a corporal. They went quietly
to their benches, removed the board underneath upon which
we put our feet, bent their heads and commenced work
immediately.

Some of them went to the teacher and asked explanations
concerning the lesson. I saw the young, well-dressed teacher,
" The Little lyawyer," surrounded by three or four workmen
at the desk, making some corrections with his pen. I saw a
lame boy who lives with a dyer. He had a book all stained
with red and blue dyes. My teacher has recovered and he
was there, too. Tomorrow, he will return to school. The
doors of the class rooms were all open. When they commenced
the lessons, I was surprised to see how attentive they all were,
with their eyes fixed on their books. The principal said that
the greater number, in order not to be late, had not even
stopped at home to eat a mouthful of supper and were hungry.
After a half hour of school, some of the j-ounger ones could
scarcely keep awake ; some of them would fall asleep with their
heads on the desk, and the teacher would waken them by
tickling their ears with a pen holder. The older ones kept
awake and sat with their mouths wide open, listening to the
lessons without even winking. It seemed strange to see all

142 THE HEART OF A BOY

those bearded men in our benches. We went to the upper
floor, and I ran to the door of my class room and saw at my
place a man with a large mustache who had his hand bandaged;
perhaps he had hurt himself in working around some machin-
ery, and still he tried to write,

What pleased me most was to see in the place of the Little
Mason, right on the same bench and in the very same corner,
his father as big as a giant, who sat there all curled up in such
a narrow space, with his chin on his fist and his eyes on the
book, so intent upon his lesson that he hardly breathed, and
he was not there by chance. The first night he came to school
he said to the principal:

* ' Signor principal, do me the favor of putting me in the
same place that my * hare face ' has. ' ' He always speaks of his
son in that way.

My father kept me there until the close, and when we came
out, we saw on the street many women with babes in their
arras waiting for their husbands, and they would take the
books from the men and the men carried the children, and all
went home in that way. For a moment the street was filled
with people and noise, then all was silent, and we saw only the
tall and weary figure of the principal who was going home.

THE FIGHT

Sunday the ^th.

It was what might have been expected. Franti, having
been expelled from the school by the principal, wanted to
avenge himself, and he waited for Stardi at the corner of the
street after school was over. When he was going by with his
sister — for whom he calls every day at an institute in via Dora
Grossa — Franti challenged him. My sister vSilvia, coming from
her school, saw it all, and came home thoroughly frightened.
This was what happened: Franti, with his cap of wax-cloth

THE HEART OF A BOY \4H

drawn over his ears, ran on tip-toe behind Starcli and pulled
his sister's braid of hair, giving it such a strong pull that he
almost threw her on the ground. The little girl uttered a cry
and Stardi turned around. Franti, who is very much taller and
stronger than Stardi, thought:

" He will not utter a word; or, if he does, I will break his
bones. "

But Stardi did not stop to reflect, and, small and thick-set
as he is, he jumped upon that big fellow and began to beat him
with his fists. However, he could not hold his own and was
receiving more than he gave. There was no one but girls in
the street, and the}' could not separate them. Franti threw
him on the ground, but he got up instantly, and then down he
went again on his back, and Franti pounded away as though
he were striking a door; in a moment he tore off half of his
ear, bruised one eye and made his nose bleed. But Stardi was
tenacious and roared:

" You may kill me, but I will make you pay dear for it! "
And Franti was down again, kicking and cuffing, and Stardi
from under was butting him with his head and striking him
with his heels. A woman cried from the window: "Bravo,
little fellow!" Others were saying: "It is a brother who
defends his sister. " " Courage ! ' ' " Beat him hard ! ' ' And
they all shouted to Franti: "You coward; you overbearing
brute! " But Franti was growing more and more ferocious,
and holding out his leg he caused Stardi to fall and was on top
of him again.

"Surrender!" "No!" "Surrender!" "No!" In a
flash Stardi was on his feet; he grabbed Franti by the vest and
with a furious blow hurled him upon the pavement and fell
with his knee upon his chest. * * Ah ! the infamous fellow ! he has
a knife! " cried a man, running to disarm Franti. But Stardi
was beside himself with rage and grasped Franti's arm\iit):
both hands, biting his fist so hard that Franti dropped the
knife. His hand was bleeding. Several more people had come

144 THE HEART OF A BOY

Up by this time, who separated them and put them on their
feet again. Franti ran away in a sorry plight, and Stardi stood
there with his face all scratched, with a black eye, but the
victor.

His sister was still crying and some of the girls were pick-
ing up the books and copy-books which were scattered in the
street. They were saying all around: "Bravo! little fellow,
' ' who has defended his sister. " But Stardi was thinking more
of his satchel than of his victory, and immediately began to
examine the books one by one to see if there was anything
missing or spoiled. He cleaned the books with his sleeve,
looked at the pen, put everything back in its place, and then
as quiet and serious as ever, said to his sister: *' I^et us
go, as I have a composition to write and four problems to
solve. * '

THK BOYS' RELATIVES

Monday the 6th,
This morning Stardi' s father, a big, tall fellow, was wait-
ing for his son, fearing that he might meet Franti again; but
they say Franti will not trouble us any more, as they are going
to put him in the reform school. Many of the parents were
there this morning. Among them was the wood-huckster, the
father of Coretti, whose son is a perfect image of Lim — quick,
joll}^, with a tiny mustache brought to a point, and two colors
of ribbon in the buttonhole of his jacket. I know the relatives
of nearly all the boys from seeing them when they call for
them. There is a grandmother, bowed down, who wears a
white cap, and no matter if it rains or snows, she calls four
times a day to take to and from school her little grandson who
belongs to the upper primary. She takes off his coat, fixes his
necktie, brushes him, polishes him up, and looks at his copy-
books; one can see that she has no other thought, that she sees
nothing in this world that is nicer than he. The. artillery

THK HEART OF A BOY 145

captain comes often, the father of Robetti, the boy who walks
on crutches and who saved the child from under the omnibus,
and as all the companions of his son as they pass salute him,
he returns the compliment to every one, and never forgets any
one. He bends down over each boy, and no matter if they are
poor and badly dressed, he only seems the more pleased and is
always ready to thank them.

At times we see some very sad things. One gentleman
did not come for a whole month, as his son had died, and he
sent a maid-serv^ant for the other. Returning yesterday and
seeing the classmates of his little dead son, he went into a
corner and broke down sobbing, putting his hands over his
face. The principal took him by the arm and led him into his
ofi&ce.

There are fathers and mothers who know by name all the
companions of their children. There are some girls of the
neighboring schools, and some High School pupils who
call for their younger brothers. There is an old gentleman,
who was a colonel, who, when he sees a boy drop a pen or a
book in the middle of the street, picks it up for him. One can
also see nicely dressed ladies who talk about school matters
with other w^omen who wear handkerchiefs on their heads and
carry baskets on their arms and who say:

**It was a very difficult problem this time!" "That
grammar lesson will never come to an end this morning ! "

If any of the boys in the class are sick, they all know it;
when he gets better, they all rejoice. This morning, there
were eight or ten gentlemen, ladies, and working women
around Crossi's mother, the vegetable vender, to inquire about
the poor boy of my brother's class who lives in her court, and
who is very low. It seems that a school makes everybody
friends and equals.

146 ' THS HEART OF A BOY

NUMBER 78.

Wednesday the 8th.

Last evening, I witnessed a very touching scene. For
some time, whenever the vegetable woman passed by Derossi
she would look at him with an expression of great afifection;
as Derossi, after having found out about the ink-stand and the
prisoner of number 78, has fallen very much in love with her
son Crossi, the little fellow with the red hair and the withered
arm, and helps him to do his work at school, prompts his
answers, gives him paper, pens, and pencils; in short, treats
him like a brother, as though to compensate him for his
father's misfortune, which he understands perfectly well.

The vegetable vender had been gazing at Derossi for several
days and seemed loth to take her eyes' from him. She is a
good woman and lives only for her boy, and Derossi, who
assists him to recite his lessons well, Derossi, who is a little
gentleman and the first of the school, seems to her like a king
or a saint. For several days she has gazed at him all the time
and acted as though she wished to tell him something but felt
ashamed. • Yesterday morning, she at last took courage and
stopped him in front of the big door, saying:

' ' Please excuse me, little master, j^ou who are so good and
who like my son so well, do me the kindness to accept this
little souvenir from a poor woman," and she pulled from her
vegetable basket a white and gold pasteboard box.

Derossi blushed to the roots of his hair and refused it, say-
ing resolutely: "Give it to your son, I will not accept any-
thing."

The woman looked mortified and begged his pardon, stam-
mering: " I did not mean to offend you. They are nothing
but caramels."

But Derossi said " No" again, shaking his head.

Then the woman drew from her basket a little bunch of

THE HEART OF A BOY

147

radishes and said timidly; " At least accept these, they are
fresh; you raay take them to your mother."

Derossi smiled and said: " No, thanks, I do not wish any-
thing. I shall always do all I can for Crossi. I cannot accept
anything, but I thank you just the same."

' ' But you are not offended ? ' ' anxiously asked the woman.

Derossi said no twice, smiling, and left her; while she ex-
claimed with delight:

" Oh, what a good boy ! I have never before seen such a
nice boy as he is ! "
That appeared to
be the end of it;
but, behold, at four
o'clock in the fore-
noon, instead of the
mother of Crossi,
his father appears,
with. his white and
melancholy face.
He stopped Derossi
and from the way
he looked at hi:n, I
immediately s u r -
mised that he sus-
pected Derossi
knew his secret.

He looked him straight in the eye and said, in a sad and touch-
ing voice:

* ' You like my son. Why do you like him so well ? ' '

Derossi' s face grew as red as fire. He would have liked ta
answer: " I love him because he has been so afflicted, also
because you, his father, have been more unfortunate than
guilty, and have nobly expiated your crime, and are a man of
heart."

But he lacked the courage to say it; because, at the bottom

148 THK HEART OF A BOY

of his heart he still felt fear and almost loathing in the presence
of this man who had spilled the blood of another and who had
spent six years in a prison.

The man guessed everything, and, lowering his voice, he
said in Derossi's ear, while trembling:

" If you love my child, you do not dislike me. — You do not
despise the father, do you ? "

*'No! no! on the contrary," exclaimed Derossi with a soul-
ful impulse.

Then the man made an impetuous movement as though he
wished to put his arm around Derossi's neck, but he dared not,
and instead he took one of his golden curls and smoothed it
between two of his fingers. Releasing it, he placed his hand
upon his mouth and kissed the palm of it, looking at Derossi
with wet eyes as if to make him understand that the kiss was
meant for him. He then took his son by the hand and went
away with hurried steps.

THE LITTLE DEAD BOY

Monday the ijtk.
The classmate of my brother, who belongs to the upper
first, and who lives in the court-yard of the vegetable vender,
is dead. Mistress Delcati, all sorrowful, came, Saturday after-
noon, to inform the master of his death; Garrone and Coretti
immediately offered their services to carry the coffin. The
dead child was a nice little boy. He earned the medal last
week. He loved my brother and had given him a broken
money box. My mother always patted him when she met him.
He wore a cap with two bands of red ribbon on it. His father
is porter at a railway station.

Last evening, which was Sunday, we called at the house to
go with the body from there to the church. We remained on
the ground floor. The court-yard was filled with boys of
the upper-first, with their mothers, and they were holding can-

THE HEART OF A BOY . ] 49

dies. Five or six teachers and some of the neighbors were
also there. The teacher who wears the red feather and Mis-
tress Delcati had gone into the house, and we could see through
a window that they were crying, and w^e could hear the mother
of the child sobbing very loud. Two ladies, both mothers of
two schoolmates of the dead boy, had brought two wreaths of
flowers.

We started out at five o'clock sharp. A boy carrying a
cross w^as at the head of the procession, then a priest; after
the priest, the coffin — a very small one, poor child — covered
with black cloth upon which were laid the two wreaths of flow-
ers presented by the ladies. The medal and the honorary
mention, w^hich the boy had earned during the year, were
fastened to the black cloth on the side of the coffin. Garrone
and Coretti with two other boys of the court were carrying the
bier. Behind the coffin, first of all, came Mistress Delcati, who
wept as though the little boy had been her own child; behind
her, the other teachers; and behind the teachers the boys, some
of the smallest of whom were carrying bouquets of violets in
one hand, looking at the bier as if stupefied, their other hand
clinging to their mothers, who carried the candles for them.
I heard one of them ask : ' ' And will he never go to school
again?"

When the coffin was carried out of the court, a heart-rend-
ing cry was heard from the window. It was the mother of the
child, but they soon persuaded her to go back to her rooms.
When w^e reached the street, we met the pupils of a boarding
school, passing in a double row, and, seeing the bier with the
medal and the school mistresses, they all took ofi" their caps.
Poor fellow ! He went to sleep forever with his m^edal. We
shall never again see him with his red cap. He was in his usual
health, and yet in a few da3's he died. The last day, he made an
effort to sit up and work at his lesson in word- lists, and
wished to have his medal on the bed, fearing some one might
take it from him. No one will ever take it from you, poor

150 THE HEART OF A BOY

child. Farewell ! Farewell ! We shall always remember you at
the Baretti school. Sleep in peace, little boy.

THE DAY BEFORE THE 14TH OP MARCH

This day has been a merrier one than yesterday.' It is the
thirteenth of March ! The eve of the distribution of the prizes
to take place at the theatre Vittorio Emanuele, the grand and
beautiful feast of every year. This time, the boys who have
to go on the stand and distribute the prizes as they are pre-
sented, are not picked up at haphazard. The principal came
into the school room this morning, after the class was over, and
said:

"I have good news for j^ou, boys." Then he called
* ' Coraci ! ' ' the Calabrian boy.

The Calabrian boy stood up. " Will you be one of those
who carry the prize certificates to the authorities in the theatre
to-morrow ? ' '

* * Yes, ' ' the Calabrian boy replied.

"Very well," said the principal, '' then there will also be a
representative of Calabria, and it will be a fine thing. The
municipality has wished this year that the ten or twelve boys
who hand the prizes should be boys from all parts of Italy, chos-
en from the different public schools. We have twenty public
schools and five annexes, seven thousand pupils in all. Among
such a large number, it was not difficult to find boys belonging
to the different regions of Italy. Two representatives of the
Islands, a Sardinian and a Sicilian, were found in the Torquato
Tasso school house. The Boncompagni school furnishes a
little Florentine, the son of a wood carver. There is a Roman
born in Rome from the Tommaseo school. There are Vene-
tians, Lombards, natives of Romagna, a Neapolitan from the
Monviso school, the son of an army officer. Our school furnishes
a Calabrian, you, Coraci, and a Genoese, and including the

THK HKART OP A BOY 161

Piedmontese, that will make twelve. It will be very nice,
don't j'ou think so ? Your brothers from all parts of Italy will
be there. When the twelve appear together on the stage, you
must receive them with a roar of applause. They are only
boys, but they represent the country as if they Vv^ere men.
A small tri-colored flag is as much an emblem of Italy as a large
banner, is it not true? Applaud them very warmly; show that
your little hearts are all aglow and that the soul of a ten year
old boy grows enthusiastic in the presence of the holy image
of your country." Having said that, he left.

The teacher, smiling, said: "Well, Coraci, you are the
deputy of Calabria," and we all clapped our hands and
laughed.

When we reached the street, they surrounded Coraci; some
of them took him by his legs, lifted him up, and carried him
in triumph, shouting: " Hurrah for the deputy of Calabria ! "
in order to make a noise, of course, not to make fun of him,
but rather to honor him with all our hearts, as he is a boy
whom everybody likes; and he smiled. They carried him thus
to the corner of the street, where they ran across a gentleman
with a black beard, who began to laugh. The Calabrian boy
said: " That is my father." And then the boys placed his
son in his arms and scampered away in all directions.

THE DISTRIBUTION OF PRIZES

March the i^th.

At two o'clock in the afternoon, the theatre was crowded,
jammed full, with thousands of boys, ladies, teachers, work-
men, women of the people, and little children. There was a
flutter of feathers, a moving of hats, ribbons, and curls. A loud
and merry murmur was heard from every side. The theatre
was decorated with festoons of red, white, and green cloth.
They had built two little staircases from the stage down to the

152 THEJ HEART OF A BOY

parquet: one on the right, for those who ascended upon it; the
other one to the left, by which they were to come down after
they had received the prizes. A row of red arm chairs were
placed on the front of the platform, and on the back of one of
the chairs hung a laurel wreath. At the back of the platform
was a trophy of flags, and on one side a green table, upon which
lay all the prize certificates, tied up in tri-colored ribbons. The
band stood in the parquet under the stage. The teachers and
the mistresses filled one-half of the first gallery, which had
been reserved for them. The seats and aisles of the pit, were
crammed with boys who were to sing, and they were holding
their music in their hands. In the background and all around,
one could see teachers and mistresses placing in due order
those who were to receive prizes; and their parents were giving
a last touch to their hair and a last pull to their neckties.

As soon as I entered a side box with my parents, I noticed
in the box in front of us the teacher who wears a red feather,
who laughed, showing the beautiful dimples in her cheeks,
and in her company was my brother's teacher, and also the
"Little Nun," all dressed in black; also with them was my
good teacher of the first upper, who looked so pale, poor
woman, coughing so hard that she could be heard from one
side of the theatre to the other. In the pit, I immediately saw
that dear big face of Garrone and the little blonde head of
Nelli, who was clinging close to his shoulder. A little further
ahead, I saw Garoffi, with his nose like an owl's beak, who was
making a great effort to collect the printed lists of those who
had won the prizes; he had already gathered a large pile
which he put to some use in bartering — as we will find out
to-morrow. Next to the door was the wood huckster with his
wife, both in their Sunday clothes, with their boy who was to
receive the third prfze of the second class. I was astonished
to see him without the cat-skin cap and the chocolate colored
jacket; this time he was dressed like a little gentleman. I saw
for a moment, in one of the galleries, Votini with a large lace

THK HEART OF A BOY 153

collar, and then he disappeared. In a proscenium-box, jammed
with people, there was the artillery captain, the father of
Robetti, the boy who walks on crutches and who saved the
child from under the omnibus.

At the stroke of two, the band began to play and at that
moment the mayor, the prefect, the judge, the state -attorney,
and many other gentlemen, all dressed in black, ascended the
stairway on the left and seated themselves in large arm-chairs
on the front of the platform. The band stopped playing, the
director of the singing school came to the front with a baton in
his hand. At a signal from him all the boys in the pit arose,
and, obeying another signal, they commenced to sing. There
were seven hundred who sang a most beautiful song! Seven
hundred voices of boys who sang together — how beautiful it
was! The people were all silent, listening to that sweet song,
a limpid and gentle melody like a church chant. V/hen the
song was ended, they all applauded, and then the organ was
silent again. The distribution of prizes was about to com-
mence. The little teacher of the second class, with his red head
and bright eyes, had already come to the front of the stage, as
he had to read the names of those who were to receive prices.
He awaited the entrance of the twelve boys who were to hand
over the certificates. The newspapers had already announced
that there would be boys from all the provinces of Italy. They
all knew it, and expected them, looking eagerly toward the
side from which they would enter. The mayor, the other gen-
tlemen on the stage, the whole theatre was silent. Suddenly,
the twelve came running upon the stage and stood in line,
smiling. The whole audience — three thousand persons —
sprang to their feet at once, breaking into an uproar which
seemed like a roar of thunder. The boys were for a moment
dumfounded.

" Behold Italy! " said a voice from a box. I recognized
Coraci, the Calabrian boy, dressed in black as he usually is.
A gentleman of the municipality was with us who knew them

154 THE HEART OF A BOY

all and was pointing them out to my mother: *' The little
blonde is a representative of Venice. The Roman boy is that
tall lad with the curly hair. ' ' There were two or three dressed
like the sons of well-to-do people; the others were sons of work-
men; but all were of good appearance and clean. The Floren-
tine boy, who was the smallest of all, had a blue sash around
his waist. They all filed in line in front of the mayor, who
kissed them on the forehead one after another, while the
gentleman nearest to him was telling him the names of the
cities which each one represented: " Florence, Naples, Bo-
logna, Palermo '* And as every one passed, the audi-
ence would clap their hands. They all moved toward the
green table to take up the certificates, and the teacher began to
read the list, calling out the different schools, the classes and
names, and those who received the prizes began to go up,
passing in line.

Hardl}^ had the first one ascended, when from behind the
scenes a very soft music of violins was heard, which continued
during all the time they were passing; a gentle air, which re-
sembled the murmur of many soft voices; the voices of all the
mothers, of all the teachers and mistresses, as if they were
giving advice, begging, or administering loving reproofs all to-
gether. In the meantime, those who received the prizes were
passing one after another in front of those gentlemen sitting
there, who handed them the certificates, whispering to each
one a sweet word or bestowing a kind caress. The boys from
the pit and from the galleries applauded every time that a ver)'
small lad passed, or one dressed like a poor boy, or those who
had an abundance of blonde curls and who wore red and white
garments. Some of the boys from the upper first would get
confused in passing and did not know which way to turn, and
the whole house laughed. One passed by, who was not more
than two spans high, with a large bow of red silk ribbon on
his back; he could hardly walk and stumbled upon the carpet
and fell; the prefect put him on his feet again, and they all

THE HEART OF A BOY 155

laughed and clapped their hands. Another lad stumbled in
going down the stairway into the pit. Some people shouted,
but he was not hurt. All sorts of boys passed; some with
roguish faces, some with faces as red as cherries, some very
small and cunning ones, who laughed in the face of everybody
and as soon as they came down into the pit, were taken
away by their fathers and mothers. When it came the turn of
our school, I was very much amused. Many passed by that I
^knew; Coretti, newly dressed from head to foot, with that
beautiful merry smile of his showing all his white teeth. Who
knows how many myriagrams of wood he had carried that
morning? When the mayor handed him his certificate, he
asked him the meaning of the red mark which he had on his
forehead, and in doing so laid one hand on his shoulder. I
looked around in the pit and noticed his father and mother.
They were laughing, covering their mouths with their hands.
Then Derossi passed by, all dressed in blue with shining but-
tons, with his golden curls, holding his head high, so hand-
some, so sympathetic, that I wished to throw him a kiss, while
all those gentlemen wanted to speak and shake hands with him.
The teacher cried out: "Giulio Robetti!" And the son of
the artillery captain was seen coming on his crutches. Hun-
dreds of boys knew of the occurrence and the news was scat-
tered around in a moment; a tempest of applause broke out
which made the theatre tremble; the men rose to their feet, the
ladles began to wave their handkerchiefs, and the poor boy
halted in the middle of the stage, astounded and trembling.
The mayor drew him to his side, gave him the prize and kissed
him, and taking the laurel wreath from the large chair, he
placed it on the bar of one of his crutches. Then he escorted
him as far as the proscenium-box, where his father was seated,
and the latter lifted him bodily and placed him inside, in the
midst of an indescribable shouting of "Bravo! Hurrah!"
During all this time, the soft, gentle music of the violins con-
tinned to fill the ear, and the boys were still passing; those of

156 THE HEART OE A BOY

the Consolata, almost all sons of workmen; those of the Bon-
compagni, of whom many were farmers' boys; those of the
Rayneri school, who were the last of all to pass.

As soon as it was over, the seven hundred boys in the pit
sang another most beautiful song. Then the mayor spoke, and
after him the judge, who terminated his speech by saying to
the boys:

' ' But do not leave this place without giving a salute to
those who toil hard for you and who have consecrated to you
all their power, all their intelligence, all their heart, who live
and die for you. There they are ! ' ' and he pointed to the gal-
lery where the teachers were; and from the galleries, from the
boxes, from the pit, all the boys arose and extended their arms
toward the teachers and mistresses, who answered by waving
their hands, hats and handkerchiefs, all standing, with a feel-
ing of deepest emotion in their hearts. After this, the band
played again and the audience sent a last noisy salute to the
twelve boys from all the provinces of Italy, who presented them-
selves at the proscenium in line with their hands interlaced and
under a shower of bouquets !

A QUARREI,

Monday the 20th,
It was not on account of envy because he had won the first
prize and not myself, that I quarreled with Coretti this morn-
ing. No, it was not on account of envy; still I was in the
wrong. The teacher had placed him next tome; I was writing
upon my copy-book and he pushed me with his elbow and
caused me to make a blot and spoil the monthly story, *' Blood
of Romagna,"' which I had to copy for the ** Little Mason"
who is sick. I got angry and said a rude word to him.
He smilingly answered: " I did not do it purposely."
I ought to have believed him, for I know him; but he vexed
me because he smiled, and I thought: *' Oh, now that he has

THE HEART OF A BOY 157

had the first prize, he has grown proud." And, soon after,
to avenge myself, I gave him a push which spoiled a whole
page.

He reddened with anger and said to me: " You did that
purposely," and lifted up his hand.

The teacher saw him and he put it down again, but he added:
* ' I will wait for 3'ou outside ! ' '

I felt ill at ease; my anger cooled ofi" and I repented. No,
Coretti could not have done it purposely; he is good, I thought.
I remember when I saw him at his home, how he worked and
how he assisted his sick mother, and then how warmly I had
welcomed him at my home, and how well my father had liked
him. How much I would have given if I had not said that
rude word, if I had not insulted him! The advice which my
father had given me came to my mind.

*'Are you in the wrong?" '*Yes." "Then ask his
pardon. ' '

But this I did not dare to do. I was afraid to humiliate
myself. I looked at him from the corner of my eye; I saw his
coat was ripped on the shoulder, perhaps because he had car-
ried too much wood. I felt that I liked him, and I said to my-
self: ' ' Courage! " but the words, '' I beg 3'our pardon," stuck
in my throat.

He looked at me askance from time to time and seemed to
be more worried than angry. But then I also looked at him
disdainfully, to show him that I was not afraid.

He repeated: " We will meet outside! " and I, " We will
meet outside! " But I was thinking of what my father had
told me once: " If thou art wrong, defend thyself, but do not
strike!"

And I said to myself: " I will defend myself, but I will
not strike. ' '

However, I felt discontented and sad. I could no longer
listen to the teacher.

At last the school closed. When I was in the street alone»

158 THE HEART OF A BOY

I saw that Coretti was following me, I halted and stood still,
awaiting him with my ruler in my hand.

He approached me, I raised the ruler. No, Enrico,"
said he, w4th his kind smile, putting aside the ruler with his
hand, "let us be friends again as before."

I was stupified for a moment, then I felt as though a hand
had pushed my shoulder, and I found myself in his arms.

He kissed me and said: " No more quarrels between us! "

** No, never! Never! Never!" I answered. We sep-
arated satisfied. But when I ran home and told all to my
father, thinking to please him, he frowned and said:

' ' You ought to have been the first one to extend your hand
because you were wrong!" Then he added: " You ought
not to have raised the ruler upon a schoolmate better than
yourself; upon the son of a soldier!" And snatching the
ruler from my hand, he broke it in pieces and threw it against
the wall.

MY SISTER

Friday the 24.th.
WJiy is it, Enrico, that, after our father had reproved you for
having behaved so badly with Coretti^ you have still been so unkind
to me? You cannot imagi?ie the grief I have felt. Do you know
that when you were a baby, I would stand hours a7id hours beside
your cradle instead of going to amuse myself with my compa7i-
ions; and when you were sick, I ivould leave my bed iti the middle
of the night to see if your forehead was hot f Do you not know
that if a terrible mishap should strike us, I would act as a mother
to you, I would love you ? Do you not knoiv that ivhen our father
and mother ivill not be any longer here below, I will be your best
friend? The only one with whom you may be able to speak of our
bereaved dead, and of your childhood! A^id that if it were 7ieces-
sary, I would work for you, Enrico, in order to earn bread and to
sillow you to study, and that I will always love you zvhenyou are

THE HEART OF A BOY

169

a maUy and thai Iwillfollou^you with my thoughts when you go far
away^ because we have grow?t up together and we have the satne
blood in our veins! Oh, Enrico, be sure that when you are a
man, if a misfortune should befall you, if you should be alone, be
sure that you will look for we; that you will cotne to me and cry:
* * Silvia, 7ny sister, allozv me to stay with you! Let us speak of
the times when we were happy, do you remember? Let us speak
of ourviother, of oicr home, of the thou sa7id' beautiful days ^ so far

away! " Oh, Enrico, you will always find your sister with her
ar77is open to you. Yes, dear E^nico, forgive me also for the
reproof that I have bestowed upon you, NoWy I shall never
remember any w}ong on your part; and, even if you should
cause me other sorrows, what do I care f You will always be my
brother just the same. I shall only recollect my having held you in
my arms when you were a baby; of haviyig loved father a?id
mother with you: of having seen you grow up^ and of having

160 THE HEAR'T OF A BOY

been for maiiy years your trusted companion! But do write me a
good word upon this very writing-book^ and I will get it and
read it before evening. In the meantime, to show you that I am
7iot ajigry with you, seeing that you were tired, I have copied the
mo7ithly story, " Blood of Roniagtia,^^ which you had to do for the
^^ Little Mason,'''* who is sick. Look in the drawer at the left of
your desk. I wrote it last night while you were asleep. I beg of
you, Enrico, write a good word to me.

Your Sister Silvia,

Dear Sister:

I am not worthy to kiss your hand.

EnricQ.

BI,OOD OF ROMAGNA
(monthly story)

The house of Ferruccio was quieter than usual that eve-
ning. The father, who kept a little dry-goods store, had gone
to Forli to make some purchases and his wife had accompanied
him, taking with them the little girl, Luigina, to see a doctor
who was to perform an operation upon one of her eyes which
had become diseased; and they would not return before the
next morning. It was nearly midnight. The woman who
came to work by the day had gone at sunset. There was no
one in the house but the grandmother, whose lower limbs were
paralyzed, and Ferruccio, a boy of thirteen. It was a small
house with only a ground floor. It was situated upon the
highway, within gunshot of the village, a little distance from
Forli, a city in Romagna. Next to this dwelling there was an
empty house, which had been partly burned two months before,
and upon which one could still see the sign of an inn. There
was a small vegetable garden behind the little house, and it
was surrounded by a hedge through which opened a small rustic
gate. The door of the shop served as house-door also and
opened upon the highway. A deserted country extended on

THE HEART OF A BOY

161

every side, vast cultivated fields planted with mulberry trees.

It was nearly midnight. Rain fell and the wind blew.
Ferruccio and the grandmother were still up and were sitting
in the dining-room, between which and the garden was a little
room encumbered with old pieces of furniture. Ferruccio did
not come home until eleven that night, after an absence of sev-
eral hours, and the grandmother had expected him with open
eyes, full of anxiety. She was sitting in a large arm-chair,
where she was accustomed to pass the whole day, and, at times,
even the whole night, as an oppression of breath w^ould not
allow her to lie down.

The wind dashed the
rain against the window
panes; the night was very
dark. Ferruccio had come
home tired and muddy, with
iiis coat all torn, and with
the mark of a stone on his
forehead. He had been
fighting with his compan-
ions, using stones as weap-
ons ; as usual, they had
come to blows. Not satis-
fied with that, he had gam-
bled and lost all his soldi, and had left his cap in a ditch.

Although the room was lighted only by a small oil lamp
placed on the corner of the table next to the big arm-chair,
still the giandmother had noticed in what a miserable plight her
grandson was, and she had partly guessed and partly made him
confess his misdeeds.

She loved the boy with all her soul. When she knew
everything, she began to weep.

"No, no," she said after a long silence, "You have no
heart for your poor grandmother. You have no heart if you
will take advantage of the absence of your father and mother

i62 THE HEART OF A BOY

in that way and cause me grief. You have left me alone the
whole day long. You have not had the least bit of pity for
me. Beware, Ferruccio! You put yourself in a bad way
which may lead to a sad end. I have seen others commence
in the same way and become very bad. One commences by
running away from home, by quarreling with the other boys,
by gambling one's soldi, and, little by Httle, from stone fights
the boy passes to stabbing with knives, and from gambling to
other vices, and from vices to thieving! "

Ferruccio stood about three paces from her leaning on a
cupboard and listening with his chin dropped on his breast.
He was frowning, still excited from the heat of the fight; a
lock of his luxuriant auburn hair hung across his forehead, and
his beautiful blue eyes were as transfixed.

' * From gambling to thieving, ' ' repeated the grandmother,
continuing to weep. * * Think, Ferruccio, think of that scourge
of this section of the country, of that Vito Mozzoni, who is
now in the city, a ragged vagabond, who, at the age of twenty-
four, has already been twice in prison, and caused his poor
mother, whom I knew well, to die of a broken heart, and his
father to flee to Switzerland in despair. ThinJi of that per-
verse character, whose greeting your father is ashamed to
answer. He is always around with men who are more wicked
than himself, and he will continue to grow worse until he comes
to the gallows. Listen, I knew him as a lad, I knew him when
he was like you. Think that you may lead your father and
mother to the same end that he has led his parents! "

Ferruccio was silent. He was not perverse at heart; on the
contrary, his escapades arose rather from his superabundance
of spirits and from boldness than from wickedness; and his father
had trained him badly in this respect, holding him capable of
the finest sentiments, and, when put to the proof, of noble and
generous actions; so he left the bridle upon his neck, expecting
that he would become wise without any suggestions. Ferruccio
was good rather than perverse, but obstinate, and it was very

THK HEART OF A BOY 168

difficult, ex^en wnen his heart was oppressed with repentance,
for hira to allow himself to say those good words which gain
forgiveness for us:

" Yes, I am wrong; I shall not do it again, I promise you;
forgive me! '

His soul was full of tenderness at times, but his pride pre-
vented it from coming out.

** Ah, Ferruccio! " continued the grandmother, seeing that
he remained silent. ' ' You do not say a single word of repent-
ance to me! Do you not see to what a state I am reduced,
that I am about ready to be buried. You ought not to have
the heart to make me suffer, to make the mother of your mother
weep; as old as I am and so near to my last day of life — your
poor grandmother, who has loved you so much, who rocked
you night after night when you were a baby but a few months
old, and who would not eat that she might play with you, do
you know that ? I always used to say: ' This boy will be my
consolation! ' But now you will kill me! I would gladly p^ive
the little that remains of my life to see you be good again, obe-
dient as you were in those days when I led you to the Sanc-
tuary. Do you remember that, Ferruccio? When you filled
my pockets with little stones and grass ? When I carried you
home in my arms fast asleep ? At that time you loved your
poor grandmother. vNow I am a paralytic. I need your affec-
tion as I need the air which I breathe, because I have no
one else in this world, poor woman, half dead as I am. Oh,
Lord! "

Ferruccio was about to throw himself at the feet of his
grandmother, moved by emotion, when he seemed to hear a
sly noise, a sort of creaking in the next room, the one
which opened on the garden. But he could not make out
whether it was the shutters shaken by the wind or something
else.

He stood listening.

The noise was repeated. His grandmother also heard it.

164 The heart' of a boy

' * What is the matter ? ' ' she asked after a moment, some-
what troubled.

" The rain," murmured the boy.

** Then, Ferruccio." said the old woman, wiping her ej^es,
" you will promise me to be good; that you will nevermore
make your poor grandmother weep ' ' A new noise inter-
rupted her.

* * It does not seem to be the rain ! ' ' exclaimed she, growing
pale, " go and see! "

But she added immediately: " No, stay here!" and grasped
Ferruccio by the hand.

They both stood with suspended breath — they only heard
the noise of the rain coming down.

All at once they both shivered.

It had seemed to them that the}^ heard a noise of feet in the
little room.

" Who's there? " asked the boy, gathering up his courage.

No one answered.

" Who is there? " cried the boy again, frightened nearly to
death.

Scarcely had he pronounced these words, w^hen they both
uttered a shriek of terror. Two men sprang into the room;
one grasped the boy and put his hand over his mouth; the
other one grabbed the old woman by the throat; the first one
said:

" Silence, if you don't want to die! "

The second:

" Hush! " and he raised a knife.

Each had a black handkerchief upon his face, with two
small holes for the eyes.

Nothing but the gasping breath of the four was heard for a
moment, and then the dropping of the rain; the old woman s
throat rattled and her eyes were starting from their sockets.

The man who held the boy whispered in his ear: "Where
does your father keep his money ? "

THE HEART OF A BOY 165

The boy answered with a faint voice, while his teeth chat-
tered: ' ' Over there in the cupboard."

" Come with me," said the man.

He dragged him into the small room, holding him securely
by the throat. There was a dark lantern upon the floor.

** Where is the cupboard ? " he asked. The boy, gasping,
pointed out the cupboard.

Then, in order to be sure of the boy, the man threw him on
his knees in front of the cupboard, clasping his neck between
his legs in such a way that he could strangle him if he at-
tempted to cry, and holding the knife in his teeth and the lan-
tern in his hand, he pulled from his pocket, with his other
hand, a sharp iron point, stuck it into the lock, broke the door
and opened it on both sides, upset everything in a hurry, closed
the doors again, and re-opened them to make another search;
after this he grasped the boy once more by the throat and
pushed him into the other room where the other fellow was
holding the old woman, w^ho was in convulsions, with her head
turned back and her mouth open.

He asked him in a low voice: ' ' Have you found it ? " and
his companion answered: " I have found it." And he added:
"Look at the door."

And the one who had been holding the woman ran to the
door of the garden to see if there was any one there, and he
said from the little room, wdth a voice which sounded like a
whistle, "Come!"

The one who had remained alone, and who w^as still hold-
ing Ferruccio, showed a knife to the boy and to the old woman,
who was re-opening her eyes, and said: " Not a word, not a
sound, or I will come back and cut yoMx throat.'

And he looked sharply at both for a minute.

At that moment, the sound of many voices was heard at a
distance on the highway.

The thief turned his head quickly toward the door, and in
doing so the handkerchief fell from his face.

166 THE HEART OF A BOY

The old woman gave vent to a shriek: " Mozzoni! "

"Curse you, woman! " roared the recognized thief. " You
must die! "

He rushed upon her with his knife lifted, and the olo
woman fainted.

The murderer dealt the blow.

With a quick movement, and giving a desperate shout,
Ferruccio had thrown himself upon his grandmother and had
shielded her with his body. The murderer ran away,
knocking against the table and upsetting the lamp which
went out.

The boy slid down softly from over his grandmother's body,
and fell on his knees, remaining in that attitude, with his arms
around her waist and his head upon her breast.

A few moments passed; it was very dark; the song of the
* ' contadini ' ' was slowly dying out in the distance. The old
woman recovered her consciousness.

"Ferruccio!" she called, with a scarcely audible voice,
while her teeth were chattering.

' * Grandmother, ' ' answered the boy

The old woman made an effort to speak, but the fright had
paralyzed her tongue.

She remained silent for a moment, trembling violently.

Finally she succeeded in asking:

' ' Are they no longer here ? * '

"No."

" Have they not killed me? " gasped the old woman in a
choked voice.

" No you are safe," said Ferruccio in a faint voice.

' ' You are safe, dear grandmother. They have taken the
money away. But papa had almost everything with him."

His grandmother sighed,

" Grandmother," said Ferruccio, still on his knees and
clasping her around the waist, " dear grandmother — you love
me, do you not ? ' '

the; heart of a boy 167

"Oh, Ferruccio! My poor child!" answered tne woman,
placing her hand on his head. "How frightened you must
have been! Oh, Lord of Mercy! Light the lamp — we are now
in darkness; I am still afraid."

" Grandmother," said the boy, " I have always caused you
sorrow. ' '

** No, Ferruccio, do not speak in that way; I don't think of
it any more; I have forgotten, I love you so much! "

" I have always caused you sorrow," continued Ferruccio,
speaking with difficulty and in a trembling voice. ' ' But I have
always cared for you. Will you forgive me ? Do forgive me,
grandmother. ' '

" Yes, my child, I forgive you, I forgive you with all my
heart. Just think, if I should not forgive you! Rise up
from your knees, my child. I will never scold you again.
Be good, you are so kind, Ferruccio! Let us light the
lamp. Let us take a little courage. Rise to your feet, Fer-
ruccio. ' '

" Thanks, grandmother," said the boy, speaking each time
in a fainter voice. ** Now 1 am satisfied. You will re-
member me, grandmother will you not ? You will remem-
ber me always your Ferruccio."

*' Oh, my Ferruccio ! " exclaimed the grandmother,
astounded and uneasy, placing her hands upon his shoulders
and leaning her head so as to look in his face.

** Remember me," again murmured the child, in a voice as

faint as a breath. * ' Give a kiss to mother to father, to

Luigina Farewell, grandmother ' '

" In the name of heaven, what is the matter with you? "
cried the woman, anxiously feeling the head of the boy who
had fallen across her knees; and then, with all the voice she
had in her throat, she shouted, in desperation: "Ferruccio!
Ferruccio! Ferruccio! My child! My love! Angels of Para-
dise, help me ! "

But Ferruccio did not answer. The little hero, the savior

168 THK HEART OF A BOY

of the mother of his mother, stabbed in the back from the
.knife thrust of the robber, had surrendered his noble soul
to God !

THE LITTLE MASON SERIOUSLY ILL

Tuesday the lyth.

The Little Mason is dangerously ill. The teacher told us
to call and see him; and Garrone, Derossi, and myself agreed
to go together. Stardi might have come, but the teacher gave
us for a lesson the description of the Cavour Monument, and he
said that he must go and see the monument in order to write a
more accurate description. We also invited the vain boy,
Nobis, just for fun, but he answered us, in a dry manner,
* ' No. ' ' Votini also excused himself, perhaps because he was
afraid of soiling his clothes with plaster. We went after school
was over. It was raining. On the way Garrone stopped and
said, with his mouth full of bread :

* ' What are we going to buy ? ' ' and he jingled two soldi in
his pocket.

We gave two soldi each and bought three large oranges.

We went up to the garret. In front of the door, Derossi
took off his medal and put it in his pocket. I asked him why.

" I don't know," he replied. " I do not wish to put on
any airs — it seems to me more delicate to enter without a
medal."

We knocked at the door, and the father opened it for us—
that tall man who looks like a giant. He had a sorrowful face
and looked worn out by grief

' ' Who are you ? " he asked. Garrone answered :

' ' We are schoolmates of Antonio, and we are bringing him
three oranges."

"Ah, poor Tonino!" exclaimed the mason, shaking his
head. " I am afraid he will never be able to eat your
oranges!" and he wiped his eyes with the back of his hand.

THE HEART OF A BOY 169

He bade us come iii. We entered a room under the roof.
The Little Mason was lying on a little iron bedstead; his
mother was leaning on the bed with her face in her hands,
and scarcely turned around to look at us. Some brushes, a
trowel, and a plaster sieve hung on the wall of the room, and
over the feet of the sick boy was laid the jacket of the mason,
all white with plaster. The poor boy was very emaciated, and
scarcel}^ able to breathe. Oh dear Tonino, so good and so merry,
my little companion, how it pained me, how much I would
have given to see him make the hare face, poor Little Mason!
Garrone put an orange on the pillow next to his face. The
odor wakened him; he took it resolutely, but let it go, and
looked at Garrone fixedly.

" It is I, Garrone," said the latter, " do you not recognize
me?"

He smiled, but it was scarcely perceptible, and with diffi-
culty he raised his hand from the bed and reached it to Gar-
rone, who took it between his and laid his cheek upon it,
saying :

" Courage, courage. Little Mason! You will soon recover;
you will soon return to school, and the teacher will put you
near me. Are you satisfied ? "

But the Little Mason did not answer. The mother burst
out sobbing :

"Oh, my little Tonino! My poor Tonino! So brave and
so good, and to think that God wishes to take him away! "

" Hold your tongue! " cried the mason, in despair. " Be
silent, for the love of God, or you will make me lose my head! "
Then he said, anxiously:

*'Go, go, boys; thanks; go home; what can you do here?
Go."

The sick boy had closed his eyes again, and looked as
though he were dead.

'* Do 3^ou need anything " asked Garrone.

**No, my good child, thanks," replied the mason. "Go

170 THE HEART OF A BOY

home." And as he said this, he pushed us out on the land-
ing and closed the door.

We were hardly half way down the stairs, when we heard
him call :

" Garrone! Garrone! " We went up again in a hurry, all
three of us.

" Garrone !' ^ cried the mason with a changed voice, "he
has called you by name. It has been two days since he has
spoken; he has called you twice; he wants you, come at once.
Ah, great God! If this were only a good sign! "

" Good-bye," Garrone said to us; *' I will stay! " And he
rushed into the room with the father. Derossi's eyes were
filled with tears. I asked him:

" Do you weep for the Little Mason? He has spoken, he
will get well."

" I believe it," replied Derossi. " But I was not thinking
of him — I was thinking of that kind and noble soul, Garrone! '

THE COUNT CAVOUR

Wednesday the 2pth,
''Is it not the description of Courit Cavour that thou must
write f Wel/y thou canst do it. But who the Count Cavour was,
thou canst not yet understand. For the present, learn only this :
that he was for many years the priine minister of Piedmont; that
it was he who sent the Piedmontese army i7ito the Crimea to resus-
citate, with the victory of Cernaia, our military glory which had
fallen with the defeat at Novara. It was he who caused one hu7i-
dred and fifty thousand Frenchmen to descend from the Alps and
chase the Austrians from Lombardy. It was he who governed
Italy in the most solemn period of our revolution, who gave, diw-
ing those years, the most powerful impulse to the holy undertak-
ing of the u7iification of the country. He, with his shilling talent,
his invincible constancy, his more than humaji activity. Many

THE HEART OF A BOY 171

generals passed terrible hours upon the field of battle^ but he
passed mo7e terjible ones still in his study, while that enormous
undertaki7ig of his might have crumbled dow7i at any moment,
like a frail edifice at the shock of an earthquake : hours, nights oj
toil and of anguish y fro7Ji which he came out witli shattered reason
and with death iyi his heart. It was this gigantic and fearful
undertaking, while consigned with fever, that shortened his life
by twenty years. He still struggled desperately agahist the dis-
ease in order to do sornething more for his country. *' // is
strange,'' he would say, painfully, up07i his death-bed, '' I 7io
lo7iger know how to read; I can read 7io more.'' While they were
bleeding hi77t and the fever was increasing, he was thi7iki7ig of his
coimtry, and said imperiously: * ' Cicre 77iy cloudi7ig mi7id; I need
all my faculties to deal with grave matters." hi his last 7710-
ments, whe7i the whole city was agitated a7id the fzi7ig stood by his
bedside, he was sayi7ig anxiously: ^^ I have ma7iy thi7igs to tell
you, Sire, many thi7igs to show you, but I am stck; I ca7inot do
it." A7id he was inconsolable! His feve7ish thoughts co7iti7iu-
ally hovered over his country, the new Italian provinces which had
been united to us, and he was troubled about the ma7iy thi7igs
which remai7ied to be done^ when the delirium overtook hi77t.
*' Educate Childhood! " he exclaimed between his gasps for breath.
'^ Educate Childhood a7id Youth — govern with freedo7n!'* TJie
delirizwi i7icreased, death was tip07i hi77i, a7id he i7ivoked with
ardent words Ge7ieral Garibaldi, with who7n he had Jiad so7ne
disagreeme7its, and Venice and Rome, wJiich were 7iot yet libe7-a'
ted. He had visio7is of tJie future of Italy a7id of Europe;
dreamed of foreig7i i7ivasio7is; asked where the ar77iy co7ps a7id
the generals were — he still trembled for his people. His great sor-
sow — dost thou understand f — was not to feel hi^i life ebbi7ig out;
it was to see Imnselffiee from his cou7itry. which still 7ieeded hi7n
and for which he had, i7i a few years, worn out ffie immeasurable
powef of his wonderful orga7iis77i. He died with tJie cry of battle
i7i liis throat — Iiis death was as great as fiis life. Now reflect a
littte^ Enrico, what sort of a tiling our work is which seems t^

172 THE HEART OF A BOY

weigh so 7nuch up07i us^ what are our griefs^ what is death itself
compared to those toilSy those formidable anxieties^ the tremendous
agonies of those tne^i up07i whom a world and its vital interest
rests! Think of these ^ viy child, and when thou passeth in front
of that marble image cry: " Glory! " in thy heart.

Thy Father,

APRIL

SPRING

Saturday the ist.

The first of April ! Only three more months ! This has
been one of the finest mornings of the year. I was so happy
at school because Coretti asked me to go with him to-morrow
to witness the arrival of the king. His father, who knows the
king, will accompany us. And also because my mother has
promised to take me that same day to visit the Infant Asylum in
Corso Valdocco. I was also content because the "little
mason ' ' is better, and because last night when the teacher was
passing he said to my father: *' He is better, he is better."

Then, too, it was a beautiful spring morning. From the
windows of the school-room we could see the blue sky. The
trees in the garden are all sprouting. The windows of the
houses were wide open and there were flower- vases and boxes
filled with blooming plants on the sills. The master did not
laugh, because he never does, but he was in good humor, so
much so that the straight wrinkle on his forehead was scarcely
visible, and while he was explaining a problem upon the black-
board, he jested, and you could see that he felt a pleasure in
breathing the air which came from the garden through the
open windows, with that good, fresh fragrance of the earth
and of the trees, which makes one think of the walks in the
country.

THE HEART OF A BOY 173

While he was explaining, we could hear a blacksmith in a
street near by, who was beating something upon the anvil; and
in the house opposite, a woman sang her babe to sleep. In the
barracks of Cernaia, far away, the trumpets were sounding.
The boys all seemed happy, even Stardi. Suddenly, the
blacksmith began to hammer and the woman to sing in a higher
key. The teacher stopped to listen. Then he said softly,
looking out of the window:

* * A sky which smiles, a mother who sings, an honest work-
man who labors, and some boys who study — that is really a
fine thing."

When we left the class room I noticed that all the others
were merry. They all walked in file, stamping their feet and
singing in a playful way, as though it were the eve of a four
days' vacation. The school-teachers were jesting; the one
with the red feather tripped behind the boys like a school girl;
the parents of the boys were talking to one another, laughing,
and the mother of Crossi, the vegetable vender, had many bou-
quets of violets in her basket, and they filled the hall with
perfume. I never experienced so much happiness as on this
morning when I saw my mother waiting for me in the street,
and I told her so when I met her.

" I am happy, and what is it that makes me so happy this
morning ? ' '

My mother smiled and answered that it was the fine season
and a good conscience.

KING UMBERTO

Monday the jrd.
At ten o'clock sharp, my father saw Coretti, the wood-
huckster, and his son, who were waiting for me in the square,
and he said to me: " Here they are, Enrico, go and see thy
king."

I went down quickly. The father and son were more alert

174 THE HEART OF A BOY

than usual, and it occurred to me that they resembled each
other very much this morning. The father wore the medal of
valor upon his jacket between two commemorative medals, and
his little mustache was curled up and pointed like two pins.

We started at once toward the railway station, where the
king was to arrive at half past ten. Coretti's father smoked
his pipe and rubbed his hands. "Do you know," he would
say, ' ' that I have not seen him since the war of sixty-six ? A
trifle of fifteen years and six months ! First, I spent three
years in France, then I went to Mondovi, and I have never
before happened to be in the city when he came. It is all a
matter of luck ! ' '

He spoke of King Umber to as he would speak of a com-
rade. " Umberto commanded the sixteenth division; Umberto
was twenty- two years and as many days old; Umberto rode on
horseback," and so on.

" Fifteen years," he said in a loud voice, and quickened
his step. " I have a great desire to see him again; I left him
a prince; I shall see him a king. I have also changed much;
I have passed from a soldier to a wood-huckster," and he
laughed.

His son asked: "If he sees you, do you think he would
recognize you ? ' '

He began to laugh.

* * Are you crazy ? " he replied. " It would be too haru Tor
him. There was only one like him, while we were as thick as
flies, and he did not stop to look at us one by one."

We reached the Corso Vittorio Emanuele; there were many
people hurrying toward the station. A company of Alpine
soldiers with their trumpets were passing; two mounted cara-
bineers went galloping b}'. The sky was brilliant and serene.

*' Yes! " exclaimed Coretti's father, growing excited. " I
am so pleased to see him again, the general of my divino \.
Ah, how fast I have grown old! It seems to me but a day
since I had a knapsack on my shoulder and a gun in my hands,

THE HEART OF A BOY 17o

in the midst of that turmoil on the morning of June twenty-
fourthj when we were about to come into battle. Umberto was
going and coming with his officers, while the cannons thun-
dered from a distance. All looked at him and said: ' Let us
hope that there may not be a bullet for him ! ' I was a thou-
sand miles away in my thoughts, never dreaming that in a few
moments I should be so near him, in front of the lances of the
Austrian Uhlans, only four steps from each other, boys! It was
a beautiful day; the sky was like a looking-glass, but it was
very warm ! — Let us see if we can enter. ' '

We had reached the station. There was a large crowd;
carriages, guards, carabineers, societies with their banners, and
the band of a regiment was playing. Coretti's father tried to
get under the portico, but he found it impossible. Then he
thought he would put himself in the first line of the crowd
which was making an opening at the exit. By forcing his
way with his elbows, he succeeded in pushing himself ahead of
us. The crowd was wavering and pushing us here and there.
The wood-huckster had spied the first pillar on the portico
where the guards allowed no one to stand. ** Come with me,"
he said, and, taking us by the hand, he crossed the empty space
with two leaps and placed himself there with his shoulder
against Ihe wall.

A police officer ran to him and said: ' 'You cannot stay here. "
** I belonged to the Fourth battalion of the forty-ninth! "
answered Coretti, touching his medals.

The policeman looked at him and said: " Stay."
" Didn't I tell you so! " exclaimed Coretti triumphantly.
" It is a magic word that Fourth of the forty-ninth! Have I
not a right to see him, my general, with comfort; I, who was
in his command! I saw him near then; it is right that I should
see him near now, and that I call him my general! He
was my commander in battle for a long half hour, as in those
moments it was he who commanded the battalion, while he was
in the midst of it, and not Major Ubrich, by thunder! "

176 THE HEART OE A BOY

In the meanwhile, we could see in the hall where the trains
arrived, and outside, a gathering of gentlemen and officers, and
in front of the door carriages stood in line with the coachmen
and grooms dressed in red.

Coretti asked his father if King Umberto had his sword
in his hand when he was inside the square.

" He might have had his sword in his hand," he answered,
* ' to ward ofif the blow of a lance, which might have struck him
as well as any one else. Ah, those unchained demons! They
came upon us like the wrath of God. They swept around the
groups, the squares, the cannons, and they seemed like a
wild wind in a hurricane, breaking through everything. There
was such a confusion of Allessandria cavalr5^men, of Foggia
lancers, of infantry, of Uhlans, of Bersaglieri — such a pande-
monium that we could not see around us. I heard some one
crying: 'Your Highness! Your Highness!* and saw the
lowered lances coming. We discharged our guns; a cloud of

smoke hid everything Then the cloud vanished The

earth was covered with horses of the Uhlans, with wounded
and with dead. I turned around and saw in our midst Um-
berto on horseback, looking around quietly, as if he were about
to ask: ' Is there any one who has been scratched, my boys! '
And we shouted 'Hurrah!' right in his face, and acted like

crazy men. Great God! What a moment that was! See,

the train is coming."

The band played, the officers took their places, the crowd
stood on tip-toe.

" He will not come out right away," said a guard. " They
are delivering a speech to him."

Coretti' s father was beside himself. "Ah, when I think of
it," he said, "I always see him \here. He does his duty
among people afflicted with cholera, among those whose homes
are destroyed by earthquakes — and anywhere else I know of.
And brave he was in battle, too; I have him constantly in my
mind as I saw him then, in the midst of us, with that tranquil

THE HEART OF A BOY 177

face; and I am sure that he also remembers the fourth battalion
of the fort^^-ninth, though he is now a king, and he would like
to see us for once at his table all together, those whom he saw
once around him in such a moment. Now he has generals and
lords and high officers; at that time he had nothing but poor
soldiers. If I could only exchange a few words with him
alone, our general of twenty-two; our prince, who was then en-
trusted to our bayonets It is fifteen years since I saw

him, our Umberto. Ah! this music excites my blood, upon
my honor! "

A crash of applause interrupted him. Thousands of hats
were lifted in the air, four gentlemen dressed in black entered
the first carriage.

** It is he!" cried Coretti, remaining there as if dumb-
founded.

Then he said: " By our Lady, how grey he has grown! "

We all three took off our hats; the carriage was coming
along slowly, in the midst of the throng, shouting and waving
their hats. I looked at Coretti' s father. He seemed like an-
other man, he looked as if he had grown taller, stern and pal-
lid, standing close against the pillar. The carriage came in
front of us not more than a step from the pillar. ' ' Hurrah ' '
cried many voices.

'* Hurrah! " cried Coretti after the others.

The king looked in his face and glanced for a moment at
his three medals.

Then Coretti lost his head and shouted: "The fourth
battalion of the forty-ninth ! ' '

The king who had already turned to the other side,
turned again towards us, and, gazing into Coretti 's eyes,
held his hand out of the carriage.

Coretti bounded forward and shook it. The carriage moved
on. The crowd broke in and separated us from each other and
^ve lost sight of Coretti' s father, but it was only for a moment.
We soon found him again, panting, with his eyfes wet, and he

178 THE HEART OF A BOY

was calling his son's name and holding his hand lifted in the
air. The son hastened to him, and he cried: "Here, little
fellow, while my hand is still warm," and he laid his hand
over his face, sa^dng: " This is a caress from the king."

And he stood there as if in a dream, with his eyes j&xed
upon the distant carriage, smiling, with his pipe in his hand,
in the midst of a group of curious people, who were looking
at him. " It is one of the forty-ninth, ' ' they were saying. ' ' It
is a soldier who knows the king." " And the king has recog-
nized him." *' It is he who reached out his hand." " He has
handed the king a petition," said one louder than the others.

"No," cried Coretti, turning around brusquelj^; "I have
handed him no petition. There is something else which I
would give him."

They all looked at him.

He smiled and said: * ' My life! ' '

THE INFANT ASYLUM

Tuesday the ^.th.

Yesterday, after breakfast, my mother took me to the Infant
Asylum of Corso Valdocco, as she promised. She went to
recommend the little sister of Precossi to the directress. I had
never seen an asylum. How amused I was ! There were two
hundred little boys and girls, and they were so small that a
pupil of our first lower class might be taken for a man as com-
pared to them. We arrived just as they were filing into the
refectory, where there were two long tables with many round
holes and in each hole a black soup plate, filled with rice and
beans, and a tin spoon lay beside it. Coming in, some of the
children fell down and lay on the floor until one of the teachers
ran to pick them up. Some of them would stop m iront or a
ooup plate, thinking it was ineir place, and hurriedly swallow
a spoonful, when one of the teachers would come up and say:

THB HEART OF A BOY 179

* Go ahead ! *' and he would go three or four steps and swallow
another spoonful of soup, and then go ahead again until he
arrived at his own place, having lawlessly taken half a portion
of soup. At last, after much pushing and crying " Hurry up !
Hurry up ! " they were all placed in order and began to say
their prayer. All those in the inside rows, who, in order to
pray, had to turn their back to the soup plate, would twist
their heads back to keep an eye on thf. soup lest some one
should fish in it; and they prayed in such a funny way, with
their hands together and their eyes turned toward the ceiling,
but with their hearts on their soup. Then they began to eat.
oh, what a sight that was ! One would eat with two spoons,
another filled his mouth with his hands; some would pick out
the beans one by one and put them in their pockets; others
would wrap them up in their little aprons and crush them to-
gether to make paste. There w re some who did not eat
because they were so interested in watching the flies. Some,
coughing, sprinkled a shower of rice all around. It looked
like a poultry yard. However, it was a pretty sight; those
two rows of little girls with their hair done up in a knot with
red, blue or green ribbons. One of the teachers asked a line
of eight little girls: " Where does the rice grow ? "

All of them opened their mouths, filled with soup, and
answered together, singing: " It-is-born-in-the- water." Then
the teacher gave the order: "Raise your hands!" It was
so nice to see those little arms fly up from children who a few
months ago were in their swaddling clothes. All those little
waving hands looked like butterflies, white and rosy.

Then they went to the recreation room, but first they took
from the wall their little baskets containing their breakfasts.
As they came out into the garden, they scattered themselves
around and began to take out their provisions — bread, stewed
prunes, a small piece of cheese, a hard-boiled egg, some small
appleSj a handful of boiled vetch- peas or a chicken wing. In
a moment the whole garden was covered with crumbs, as if they

180 THE HEART OF A BOY

had spread food for a flock of birds there. They were eating
in the strangest positions; like rabbits, mice and cats; nibbling,
licking and sucking. One child had fastened some rice on his
breast and was smearing it around with a medlar as though he
were polishing a sword. Some little girls were crushing pieces
of soft cheese in their hands, and it trickled through their
fingers like milk and ran iubide their sleeves without their
noticing it. They were running around, following each other
with apples and rolls in their teeth like dogs. I saw three who
were excavating the inside of a hard egg with a little stick,
thinking to find a treasure in there, and were scattering it
around on the ground, then picking it up crumb by crumb
with a great deal of patience, as if it were pearls. There was
something singular about some of them. There were eight or
ten bending their heads to look inside of a basket, as one would
have looked at the moon inside of a cistern. There must have
been about twenty standing arouiid a midget about a span high,
who held in his hand a little sugar bag, and they were all mak-
ing bows to him in order to be allowed to dip their hand into
it. He gave it to some, and to others, after being well begged,
he only granted his finger to suck.

By this time, my mother had come into the garden and was
kissing first one and then another. Many of them would go
to meet her or cling to her dress and ask her for a kiss with
their upturned faces, opening and closing their mouths, like
little birds asking for food. One offered her a quarter of an
orange which had already been bitten; another a crust of bread;
one little girl gave her a leaf, and another, in great earnest-
ness, showed her the point of her index finger, and, looking
closely, one could see a microscopical swelling which she had
gotten the day before by touching a lighted candle. They
would place under her eyes some very small insects, so small
that it was a mystery to me how they could see to pick them
up. Some showed her half corks of bottles; some, shirt-but-
tons; some, little flowers picked from the vases. A child with

THE HEART OF A BOY 181

a bandaged head, wishing to be heard at any cost, stammered
out a story, I could not comprehend what, about a tumble he
had taken, but not a word could be understood. A girl
wished my mother to bend down, and she whispered in her
ear: " My father makes brushes." In the meantime, many
accidents were happening, which forced the teachers to run
here and there. Some, of the girls cried because they could
not undo the knot in their handkerchiefs; others disputed, with
their nails and shouts, over two apple-seeds; a little boy who
had fallen upon an upturned stool sobbed without being able
to rise.

When we were about to leave, my mother took three or
four of them by the arm, and then others ran from all direc-
tions to be taken up also, with their faces all smeared with the
yolk of egg or with orange juice. Some grasped her hands,
others got hold of her fingers to see her ring; one pulled her
watch-cliain, and another tried to pull her hair.

' ' Look out, ' ' said one of the teachers, * ' they will ruin your
dre-s!"

But my mother cared little for her dress and continued to
kiss them, and they crowded around her more and more. The
nearest ones had their arms stretched out as if they were try-
ing to climb, and those more distant were trying to make their
way through the crowd, and all were crying;

' ' Good-bye ! " " Good-bye ! " " Good-bye ! "

At last she succeeded in running away from them and went
into the garden. Then they all ran and put their heads be-
tween the iron bars of the railing to see her go by, throwing
their arms out to salute her. They offered her pieces of
bread, small pieces of fruit, and cheese rind, and all cried to-
gether:

"Good-bye! Good-bye! Good-bye! Come back to-mor-
row. Come again."

M}' mother in passing along put her hand upon those
hundred little heads, as upon a garland of fresh roses.

182 THE HEART OF A BOY

She finally reached the street safely, all covered with crumbs
and spots, mussed up and disheveled; her hands filled with
flowers and her eyes filled with tears, as happy as though she
had come from a feast. We could still hear the voices inside,
like a great twittering of birds, crying:

"Good-bye! Good-bye! Come again, /(35^.**

AT THE GYMNASIUM

Wednesday the 5th.

The weather continuing fine, they made us go from the in-
door gymnasium to the other in the garden, which is fitted up
with apparatuses.

Yesterday, Garrone was in the principal's room when the
mother of Nelli«came — the blonde lady dressed in black — to
have her boy excused from the exercises. She spoke with her
hand upon Nelli's head, and every word cost her an effort.
" He cannot do it," she said to the principal. Nelli appeared
to be very much grieved at being excused from the gymnasium;
at having to suffer this humiliation.

"You will see, mother, that I can do like the others," he
said.

His mother looked at him in silence, with an air of pity and
affection. Then she said with hesitation: "I fear that his

companions" She meant to say that they might ridicule

him.

But Nelli answered: " It doesn't matter, and then Garrone
is there. I am satisfied if he is the only one who does not
laugh."

And then they allowed him to join us. The teacher, the one
who has a scar on his neck and who has been with Garibaldi,
led us immediately to the vertical poles which are very high,
and it was our task to climb to the top and stand upright on
the transverse beam. Derossi and Corretti went up like two

THE HEART OF A BOY 188

monkeys. Precossi also mounted quickly, although embar-
rassed in that large jacket which reaches to his knees, and, in
order to make him laugh while he was going up, they all
repeated his interjection: "Excuse me, excuse me." Stardi
puffed up, growing red like a turkey, and closing his teeth so
that he looked like a mad dog; but, even at the risk of burst-
ing, he would have gone to the top, and he got there. When .
Nobis got to the top, he assumed the air of a conquering em-
peror. Votini slid down twice in spite of his beautiful new
suit with blue stripes, made expressly for gymnastics.

In order to go up more easily they had all daubed their
hands with colophony rosin, as it is called, which the traffick-
ing Garoffi had sold to them for a soldo a bag, thereby making
a profit.

It was Garrone's turn next and he went up, eating bread,
with great ease; and I believe that he would have been able to
carr>" one of us on his shoulder, he is so thick-set and strong,
like a little ox. After Garrone, came Nelli. As soon as they
saw him grasping the bar with his long thin hands many began
to laugh and ridicule him, but Garrone crossed his arms on his
breast and darted such an expressive glance at the boys that
they well understood that he would immediately deal them
blows, even in the presence of the teacher, and they all stopped
laughing at once.

Nelli commenced to climb with difficulty, poor thing. His
face was scarlet, he was breathing hard, and the perspiration
ran from his forehead. The teacher said: "Come down."
But he answered, " No," making an effort and growing obsti-
nate, while I was expecting every moment to see him tumble
to the ground half dead. Poor Nelli ! I was thinking if I
had been like that, and my mother had seen me how she would
have suffered, my poor mother; and thinking of this, I grew
very fond of Nelli, and I would have given a great deal to
have seen him succeed in ascending the bar, and to be able
to push him from below without being seen. In the mean-

184 THE HEART OF A BOY

while, Garrone, Derossi, and Coretti were saying: " Up ! Up !
Nelli ! Courage ! Another effort ! Up ! ' ' and Nelli made
another violent effort, placing his elbow, and finding himself
onl}" two spans from the top.

* ' Bravo ! ' ' cried the others. ' ' Courage ! Another push ! ' '
and behold Nelli grasped the transverse bar. All clapped their
hands.

"Bravo!" said the teacher, *'but that is enough; come
down now." But Nelli wanted to go up on top like all the
others, and after a little hesitation succeeded in placing his
elbows upon the bar, then his knees, then his feet, until he sat
up panting and smiling, and looked at us.

We again clapped our hands. Then he looked in the street.
I looked that way, and through the plants which covered the
iron railings of the garden I saw his mother walking on the
sidewalk, not daring to look up. Nelli came down and the
boys all made much of him. He was excited and rosy, and
his eyes were sparkling; he did not look like the same boy.
His mother came to meet him when we came out, and embrac
ing him, she asked a little uneasily:

"Well, my dear child, how did it go?* All his compan-
ions answered:

""He has done very well! He went up like the others! "
" He is strong, do you know it?" "He is quick!" "He
does just as well as the others."

It was a pleasure to see the joy of that woman! She tried
to thank us, but she was not able. She shook hands with
three or four of us, caressed Garrone, and then took her boy
away.

We watched her for a few moments as she walked along
hurriedly, talking and gesticulating with Nelli, both more con
tented than any one had ever seen them.

THE HEART OF A BOY 185

MY father's teacher

Tuesday the nth.

What a beautiful excursion I had yesterday with my father'!
This is how it happened. The day before yesterday, while we
were at dinner, reading over a newspaper, my father gave vent
to an exclamation of surprise. Then he said: '' And I thought
him dead for the last tw^enty years! Do you know, he is still
alive, my first teacher of the elementary school, Vincenzo
Crosetti, who is now eighty -four years old ? I see here that
the ministry have bestowed upon him the medal of merit for
having taught for the last sixty years. Sixty yea7^s, do you
understand ? And it is only two years since he stopped teach-
ing. Poor Crosetti ! He lives only an hour's ride from here
by the railw^ay, at Condovi, the place of our old garden woman
of the villa of Chieri." And he added: "Enrico, we will go
and see him. ' '

Through the whole evening, he spoke of no one else but
him. The name of his elementary teacher called to his mind
a thousand things that happened when he was a boy. It
reminded him of his first companions and of his dead mother.
" Crosetti! " he exclaimed, " was forty years old when I was
with him. It seems to me that I can see him now; a little
round-shouldered man, with clear eyes, and his face was al-
ways clean shaven. Rather severe, but with good manners,
and he always loved us as a father, and never forgave us any
escapades. By dint of study and privations, he rose from being
a farmer. He was an honest man. My father was pleased
with him and treated him like a friend. Why he has gone
from Turin to live at Condovi is more than I can guess! He
surely will not recognize me. It matters not, I will recognize
him. Forty-four years have passed! Forty-four years, Enrico,
and to-morrow we wall go and see him."

Yesterday morning at nine o'clock w^e were at the railw^ay

186 THE HEART OF A BOV

Station of Susa. I wanted to have Garrone go with us, but he
could not on account of his mother being ill. It was a fine
spring morning. The train ran through green meadows and
blooming hedges, and the air was full of fragrance. My father
was happy; and every once in awhile he put his arm around
my neck, speaking to me as to a friend and looking out at the
country.

" Poor Crosetti! " he would say, '* he is the first man who
liked me and who did me some good after my father. I have
never forgotten some of his good advice, as well as some dry
reproaches which sent me home with a lump in my throat.
His hands were short and thick. I can still see him as he en-
tered the school, placing his cane in the corner and hanging his
cloak on the hat -rack, always with the same gesture. He had
an even temper, was always conscientious and full of good
wishes, and so attentive that it seemed as though he were
teaching every da}^ for the first time. I remember as well as
though I heard him now, when he looked at me and said:
'Bottini, eh! Bottini! hold the index and the middle finger
upon thy pen!' He must have changed much in forty-four
years."

As soon as we reached Condovi, we went to look for our
old garden woman of Chieri, who keeps a small shop in an
alley. We found her with her boys and she gave us a hearty
welcome, telling us the news of her husband who is about to
return from Greece, where he has been working for the last
three years. She also told us about her oldest daughter, who
is now in the Deaf and Dumb Asylum at Turin. Then she
showed us the way to go to find the teacher, who is known by
every one.

We left the place and went through a steep lane, flanked by
blooming hedges.

My faiher no longer talked; he seemed absorbed in his
memories, and once in awhile he would" smile and shake his
ad.

THE PIEART OF A BOY 187

Suddenly he stopped and said: "Here becomes. I am
willing to wager that it is he. ' '

A little old man with a white beard was coming toward us.
He wore a broad-brimmed hat, was walking with a stick, drag-
ging his feet, and his hands were trembling.

" It is he ! " repeated my father, hastening his step.

When we came near him, we halted. The old man also
stopped and looked at my father. He still had a fresh face, and
his eyes were clear and had a lively expression.

"Is it you? " asked my father, taking off his hat. " The
teacher, Vincenzo Crosetti ? ' ' The old man also took off his
hat and said: "It is I," with a tremulous but full voice.

" Well," said my father, taking him by the hand, " allow
an old pupil of yours to shake your hand and ask you how you
are. I have come from Turin to see you."

The old man looked at him in amazement, and then said:

' * You honor me too much 1 do not know When were

you my pupil? If you please. Tell me your name.
I beg/'

My father gave him his name, Alberto Bottini, and told
him the year that he had been in his school and where, adding :
"You probably do not remember me, and it is quite natural,
but I remember you very well ! "

The teacher bent his head and looked down, thinking, and
he murmured two or three times the name of my father, who
in the meanwhile gazed at him smiling.

All of a sudden, the old man raised his face, with his eyes
wide open and said slowly : "Alberto Bottini, the son of the
engineer Bottini ? The one who lived on Consolato square ? ' '

" The same," answered my father, holding bis hand.

" Then," said the old man, " allow me, dear sir, allow me,"
and coming forward he embraced my father, his head scarcely
reaching his shoulder. My father laid bis cheek upon his
forehead.

" Have the kindness to come with me," said the teacher.

188

THE HEART OF A BOY

Without saying anything more, he turned and retraced his
steps toward his house. In a few minutes, we entered the yard
in front of a small house with two doors, one of which opened
through a little white wall.

The teacher opened the second door and bade us enter.
The room was white- washed; in one corner stood a cot-bed with
a cover of white and blue squares; in another, a little table with
a small bouquet upon it ; there was an old geographical map
nailed to the wall, and the room also contained four chairs ; and
an odor of apples was perceptible.

We all three sat down. My father and the
teacher silently looked at each other for a few
moments.

' * Bottini ! ' * exclaimed the
teacher, his eyes upon the
brick floor, where the sun re-
vealed a checker board. ' * Oh,
I remember well. Your moth-
er was such a kind lady! Dur-
ing the first year, 3'ou sat for
a time on the first bench at the
left near the window. See
how well I remember ? I still
see your curly hair. ' ' Then he
paused a moment to think.
' ' You were a pretty lively boy, eh? The second year, you were
taken ill with the croup. I remember when they brought you
back to school wrapped up in a shawl, and you were so emaci-
ated. Forty years have passed since then, is it not so ? You
are so kind to remember your poor teacher ! Others have
come, too, in the past years to see me here ; some of my old
pupils: a colonel, .some priests, and several gentlemen."
He asked my father what profession he followed. Then he
said: " I congratulate you, I congratulate you w^ith all my.
heart. Thanks. It has been a long time since I had seen any

-^--.^-^^

THE HEART OP A BOY 189

of my old pupils and I fear that you may be the last one to
visit me, dear sir."

' ' Do not talk so, ' ' said my father. * * You are well and
still strong. You must not say such things. ' '

' ' No, no, " replied the teacher. ' ' Do you see this trembling !"
and he showed his hands. " This is a very bad sign. It came
upon me three years ago while I was still teaching. At first,
I paid no attention to it, thinking it would pass away. But
instead it remained, or rather it kept on increasing. The day
came when I was no longer able to write. Oh ! that day, the
first time I made a blot upon the copy-book of one of my
pupils, it was a blow to my heart, my dear sir. I went ahead
for a little time, but I finally had to give up. After sixty
years, I was obliged to say good bye to the school, to the pupils,
to the work. And it was a hard thing, do you know, it was a
hard thing. The last time I gave a lesson, they all escorted
me home and made much of me, but I was sad, I felt that life
had come to an end for me. The year previous I had lost my
wife and my only child. Now I live upon a few hundred lire
of pension. I work no more. My only occupation, as you see,
is to look over my old school books, some collections of educa-
tional journals, some books which my pupils have given me.
There they are, ' ' he said, pointing to a little bookcase. ' ' There
are the souvenirs of my past — ^It is all I have left in this
world."

Then in a changed and jolly tone : "I want to surprise
you, dear Signor Bottini. ' '

He got up and approached a table, opened a long narrow
drawer containing several little bundles, all bound together
with a paste-board back, upon which was written a date in four
figures. After searching for a moment, he opened one of them,
turned over several papers and pulled out a sheet, grown yel-
low with age, and handed it to my father. It was his lesson
of forty years ago ! He read on the top of it : ' 'Alberto Bot-
tini, Dictation, April 3, 1838." My father recognized at once

190 THE HEART OF A BOY

his large hand writing when a boy and began to read, smiling;
all of a sudden, tears came to his eyes. I got up and asked
him what was the matter.

He passed an arm around my waist, and pressing me to
his side, he said : ' ' Look at this sheet of paper. Do you see ?
These are the corrections of my poor mother. She would
always strengthen the I's and the t's. And the last lines are
hers. She had learned to imitate my hand writing, and when
I was tired or sleepy she would finish the work for me. My
dear, sainted mother ! ' *

And he kissed that page.

" Here they are/' said the teacher, showing other bundles,
* * here are my souvenirs. Every year, I put aside a piece oJ
work of each of my pupils, and they are all put in their
order by number. At times, I look them over and read a line
here and there, and a thousand things come back to my mind,
and it seems to me that I live in the past. How many have
passed away, my dear sir ? If I close my eyes, I see faces over
faces, class after class, and hundreds and hundreds of boys.
Who knows how many of them are already dead. I remember
some of them very well. I remember well the best and the
worst, those who have given me much satisfaction, and those
who caused me some sad moments, and I have had some who
were serpents, do you know ? And a large number of them }
But now, you understand me, it seems as though I already
belonged to the other world, and I love them all alike."

' 'And do you remember any roguish trick of mine ? ' ' asked
my father, smiling.

"You, sir?" replied the old man, also smiling, "not at
this moment. But I do not mean to say that you never did
anything wrong. Still, you were a boy who had judgment ;
you were serious for your age. I remember the great affection

you had for your mother x\nd you have been good and kind

to come and see me ! How could you leave your business to
come and see a poor old teacher ? "

THE HEART OF A BOY 191

•'Listen, Signer Crosetti, ' replied my father quickly, "I
recall the first time my poor mother accompanied me to
school. It was the first time that she had ever been separated
from me for two hours, or had left me outside of the house in
any other hands than those of my father — in the hands of an
unknown person. For that good creature, my entering school
was like an entrance into the world, the first of a long series
of necessary and painful separations. It was society which for
the first time, was tearing from her her son who would never
be to her quite the same as before. She was moved and so was
I. She recommended me to you with a trembling voice, and
when she went away, she saluted me from the door with her
eyes filled with tears. At that moment, you made a gesture
with your hand, placing the other one upon your breast as if to
tell her: 'Madam, trust in me.' From that look and from
that gesture, I perceived that you had understood all the
thoughts, all the sentiments of my mother. That look which
meant * Courage ! ' that gesture which was a solemn promise
of protection, of affection, of indulgence — I have never forgot-
ten it — It has ever since remained engraved upon my heart,
and that remembrance is what caused me to leave Turin this
morning, and here I am after forty years, to tell you : Thank
you, dear teacher ! "

The teacher did not answer, he was caressing my hair with
his trembling hand which glided from my hair upon my fore-
head, and from my forehead upon my shoulder.

During this time, my father looked at these bare walls, at
that poor bed, at the piece of bread and the phial of oil upon
the window, and it seemed as though he wished to say: " Pool
teacher, after sixty years of work, is this all your recom-
pense ? ' '

The old man was contented, and again commenced to speak
with vivacity of our family, of the other teachers, of those
3^ears, of my father's school-mates, some of whom he remem-
bered, and others whom he did not, and each gave the other

192 THE HEART OF A BOY

news of them. At last, my father interrupted the conversation
by begging the teacher to come down to the village and have
luncheon with us. He ceremoniously replied : ' * Thank you,
thank you." But he seemed to be uncertain about it. My
father took both his hands and begged him again. " How can
I eat, ' ' said the teacher, * ' with these poor hands which tremble
so; it would be a punishment to the others ! " " We will help
you," said my father. Then he accepted, shaking his head
and smiling.

"It is a fine morning," he said closing the outside-door,
" it is a fine morning, dear Signor Bottini ! I assure you that
I shall keep it in mind as long as I live."

My father took the teacher by the arm, the old man took my
hand, and we descended the lane. We met two little bare-footed
girls leading some cows, and a boy passed us running with a
large load of straw on his shoulders. The teacher told us that
they were pupils of the second class, who during the morning
would lead the cattle to pasture or work in the fields, bare-
footed, and in the evening would put on their shoes and go
to school. It was almost noon and we met no one else. We
reached the hotel in a few minutes. We seated ourselves at a
table, putting the teacher between us, and immediately ordered
our luncheon . The hotel was as quiet as a convent. The teacher
was very jolly, and as his excitement increased, he trembled so
that he could hardly eat; but my father cut his meat, broke his
bread and put salt upon his plate. In order to drink he was
obliged to hold the glass with both hands, and even then he
shook so that the glass would click against his teeth. He
talked constantly, with warmth, about the reading books when
he was a youth, about the schools of those years, about the
praises which his superior had bestowed upon him, and about the
regulations of the last years; all the time with that serene face
a little redder than before, in that gay voice, and he laughed
almost like a young man. My father looked and looked at
him, with the same expression with which, at times, I sur-

THE HEART OF A BOY 193

prised him looking at me at home, when he thinks and smiles
to himself with his face leaning to one side. The teacher let
some wine trickle upon his breast ; my father got up and
cleaned it off with a napkin. " No, no, I will not allow you,"
he said, and laughed. He would speak some words in Latin.
Finally, raising his glass, which danced in his hands, he said
very seriously : "To your health, my dear engineer, to your
children, and to the memory of your good mother ! ' * "To
your health, my good teacher ! " answered my father, pressing
his hand. The landlord and some others who were at the
other end of the room looked at us and smiled as though they
were pleased with the celebration which was granted to the
teacher of their place.

The teacher wished to accompany us to the station when
we left, at two o'clock. My father again gave him his arm and
he took me by the hand, while I carried his cane. The people
all stopped to look at us as we passed; all knew him, and some
saluted him. At one place on the road, we heard from a win-
dow several boys' voices reading together and spelling aloud.
The teacher stopped and seemed to grow sad.

" That — dear Signor Bottini," he said, " that is what pains
me : to hear the voices of the boys at school, and to think
that I can no longer be among them, while some one else is
there. I have heard this music for the last sixty years, and I

have grown to love it Now I am without a family, I no

longer have children. ' '

"No, teacher," said my father, resuming the way, "you
still have many children scattered all over the world, who
remember you as I do."

"No, no," replied the teacher, sadly, " I no longer have
any children, and without children I cannot live much longer.
My hour will soon strike. ' '

" Do not say so, teacher; do not think it," said my father.
" At any rate, you have done much good! You have lived
your life nobly.'*

194 THE HEART OF A BOY

For a moment the old teacher inclined his head towards my
father and shook my hand.

We had just entered the station, the train was about to
leave.

" Good-bye, teacher,*' said my father, kissing him on both
cheeks.

"Good-bye, thanks, good-bye, " answered the teacher, taking
one of my father's hands in his and pressing it upon his heart.

I kissed him also and felt that his face was wet. My father
pushed me inside the car. Then taking, with a quick move-
ment, the rough cane from the teacher's hand and putting in
its stead his own beautiful one with a silver handle which had
his initials upon it, he exclaimed: "Do keep it in remem-
brance of me ! ' ' The old teacher tried to return it to him and
take back his own, but my father entered the car and closed
the door.

' * Good-bye, my good teacher. ' '

"Good-bye, my child," answered the teacher, while the
train was moving, ' ' and may the Lord bless you for the con-
solation which you have brought to a poor old man. ' '

** Until we meet again," cried my father, his voice filled
with emotion.

But the teacher shook his head, as if saying : "We shall
never meet again. ' '

"Yes, yes," repeated my father, "until we meet again."

The old man raised his trembling hand toward the skies
and answered : ' ' There above ! ' *

CONVALESCENCE

Thursday the 20th,

Who would have thought when I was returning so merry
:ind happy from that lovely excursion with my father that for
ten days I would see neither the country nor the sky! 1 have

THE HEART OF A BOY

10.-^

been dangerously ill. I have heard my mother sobbing; I
have seen my father very, very pale, gazing at me fixedly; and
my sister Silvia and my brother talking softly. The doci-or,
with his eye-glasses, was there every moment, saying things
which I could not understand. I have, indeed, been on the
point of saying good-bye to all. Ah, my poor mother! There
are at least two or three days of which I remember scarcely
anything, and it seems as though I had a dark and perplexing
dream. It seemed that I had seen next to my bed my good
teacher of the first superior, who was trying to stifle her cough
with her handkerchief, in
order not to disturb me.
I have a confused remem-
brance of my teacher
bending down to kiss me
and he prickled my face
a little with his beard.
And I saw, as through a
mist, the red head of
Crossi and the blonde
curls of Derossi, the Cal-
abrian boy dressed in
black, and Garrone, who
brought me a mandarin /

orange with the leaves on the stem, and ran away imme-
diately because his mother was ill. Then I woke up,
feeling as though I had been having a long dream. I
knew that I was better because my mother smiled and I
could hear Silvia singing softly. Oh, what a sad dream I
had ! After that, I improved every day. The Little Mason
came and made me laugh for the first time since my illness by
making his hare face, and how well he does it now that his face
is a httle elongated, owing to his sickness, poor boy! Ccretti
came to see me; also Garoffi, who presented me with two
tickets to the new raffle for a pen-knife with five blades which

196 THE HEART OF A BOY

he bought from a second-hand dealer in via Bartola. Yester-
day, while I was sleeping, Precossi came and placed his cheek
upon my hand without waking me, and, as he came from his
father's w^orkshop w^ith his face covered with charcoal dust, he
left a black mark upon my sleeve. I found pleasure in seeing
it when I awoke. How green the trees have become in a few
days! and how I envy the bo3^s whom I see running to school
with their books, when my father takes me to the window. In
a short time, I shall also return to vSchool; I am so impatient to
see all the boys again, and my desk, the garden, the streets,
and to know all that has happened in this time; I wish once
more to occupy myself with my books and copy-books, which
it seems to me a year since I have seen. Poor mother! how
pale she has grown. My poor father, how tired he looks.
And when my schoolmates come to see me, they walk on tip-
toe and kiss me on the forehead. It makes me feel bad to
think that some day we shall separate. Perhaps, I shall con-
tinue to study with Derossi and some of the other boys, but
how is it about the balance of them ? When I get through the
fourth elementary, it will be a good-bye to all; we shall not see
each other again. They will no longer come to my bedside
when I am ill. Garrone, Precossi, Coretti — so many fine boys!
Such good and kind companions ! Never again !

THE FRIEND OF THE WORKMAN

Tuesday the 20th,

Why '' yiever agaiii,'" Enrico? That will depend upon thy-
self. When thou art through thefoicrth elementary^ thou wilt go
to the high school and those compajiions will go to work; but thou
wilt remain in the sa^ne city perhaps for many years to come.
Why theyi wilt thou not see one another again f When thou wilt
be at the university or at college, thou wilt seek the7n in their shops
and in their stores^ and it will be a great pleasure to thee to find

THE HEART OF A BOY 197

once more the companions of thy childhood ivho have become vten at
woik. I should be displeased to know that thou didst no longer go
to see Coretti aiid Precossi, no matter where they were. Thoic wilt
go and spend hours in their company ; and thou wilt see, while
studyi7ig human life and the world, how many things thou wilt
be able to learn from them that no one else will be able to teach
thee about their ow7i trades, their families, as well as mtich about
thy country. Be careful, if thou dost not keep those friendships,
it will be ha7'dfo} thee; if thou shouldst not acquaint thyself with
similar persons in the future — / 7nean other friendships outside
the class to which thou ^belongest, and only live among a separate
class. The man who acquaints himself with but a single social
class is like the student who reads a single book. Do purpose from
this time on to keep these good friends even after separating, and
cultivate their friendship in preference to that of others, because
they are so?is of workmen. The men of the dipper class a?e the
officers a7id the workmen are the soldiers of work. Thus in society
as well as hi the a} my, the soldier is not less 7ioble tha7i the officer,
as 7iobility lies i7i the merit and not i7i the p7'oft ; it depe7ids up07i
the valor a7id 7iot np07i the ra7ik. But, if there is a superiority
of merit, it belo7igs to the soldier, to the work77ia7i, who draws f7'077i
his 0W71 work a vii7ie of profit. Love a7id respect those a77io7ig thy
companio7is who are J he so7is of the soldiers of labor. Honor in
the77i the stniggles a7id sac7'ifices of their pare7its. Despise the
difference of fo7'tu7ie a7id of 7'a7ik, up07i which 07ily the base regu-
late their se7iti77ie7its a7id courtesies. Reflect that the blessed blood
which redee77ied thy cou7it7y ca77ie ahnost e7itirely fro77i the wo7-king
class; fro77i the shops a7id f7'077i the fields. Love Gar7V7ie, love
Precossi, love Coreiti, love the Little Maso7i ; for i7i their s77iaU
breasts are shri7ied the hearts of p7'i7ices ; a7id sivear to thyself that
no change of fortune will ever alie7iiate thee fro77i those blessed
juvenile frie7idships of thy soul. P7-oi7iise thyself that ^ if i^i fo7'ty
years f7'077i 7iozv, thou shouldst pass th7-ough a railway station a7id
shouldst 7'ecog7iize in the garments of a 7'ailway e7igi7ieer ivitli a
black face thy oldfrieyid Gar7'07ie Ah, it is not 7iecessa7y that

198 THE HEART OF A BOY

thou shouldst promise it ; I am certain that thou wouldst jump on
the engine and throw thy arms around his neck, even if thou wert
a Senator of the Kingdom,

Thy Father,

GARRONE'S MOTHER

Saturday the 2gth.

The first thing I heard when I returned to school was sad
news. Garrone did not come to school for many days because
his mother was seriously ill. She died last Saturday. Yes-
terday morning, as soon as we entered the school, the teacher
said to us:

**A great misfortune has happened to poor Garrone —
the greatest misfortune that can befall a child; his mother
is dead. He will come back to the class to-morrow. I beg
you all to respect the terrible sorrow which wrings his soul.
When he comes in, greet him with affection, but in a grave
manner. Let no one jest; let no one laugh at him, I beg of
you."

Garrone came in this morning a little later than the others.
My heart sank when I saw him. He looked haggard; his
eyes were red, and he could hardly stand. It seemed as
though he had been ill. He was all dressed in black, and one
could scarcely recognize him; it was a pitiful sight. All
looked at him breathlessly. As soon as he entered the room
and saw the place where his mother had waited for him nearly
every day, and that bench where she had so often bent down
on the days of examination to give him the last word of en-
couragement, and where he had so many times thought of
her, while impatient to get out and run to meet her, he
could not restrain himself from weeping. The teacher drew
the boy to him and pressed him to his breast, saying:

" Weep, poor boy, but have courage. Your mother is no
longer here below, but she sees you; she still loves you; she

THE HEART UF A BOY 19!»

Still lives beside you, and some day you will see her again,
because you are good and honest like her. Have courage ! ' '

Having said this, he escorted him to his bench near me. I
did not dare to look at him. He pulled out his books, which
he had not opened for several days, opening his reader where
there was an engraving representing a mother holding her
child by the hand. He burst into tears again and laid his head
upon his arm. The teacher made us a sign to let him alone,
and commenced the lesson. I wished to give him something,
but did not know what. I put my hand on his arm and whis-
pered in his ear:

"Do not weep. Garrone."

He made no reply, but without raising his head from the
desk, he put his hand in mine and held it there for some time.
Coming out, no one spoke to him; tliey all passed him by with
respect and in silence. I saw my mother waiting for me, and
ran to embrace her, but, looking at Garrone, she rebuked me.
I did not immediately understand the reason, but I noticed
that Garrone, who was standing a little to one side, was look-
ing at me, gazing with a look of inexpressible sadness, as if he
meant to say:

" You embrace your mother, and I cannot embrace mine
anymore. You still have your mother; mine is dead."

Then I understood why my mother had rebuked me, and I
walked beside her without putting my hand iu hers.

GIUSEPPE MAZZINI

Saturday the 2gth.

Garront, j^ale and with eyes swollen from weeping, came to
school again this morning. He scarcely glanced at the small
presents which we had put upon his desk to console him. The
teacher had brought a page of a book to read to him to give him
courage. First, he notified us that at one o'clock to-morrow

200

THE) HEART OF A BOY

we should go to the City Hall to witness the awarding of a
medal of civic valor to a boy who had saved a little child from
the river Po, and Monday he would dictate the description of
the celebration in the place of the monthly story. Then, turn-
ing to Garrone, who kept his head down, he said to him:

' ' Garrone, make an effort and write w^hat I am about to
dictate." We all took our pens and the teacher commenced
the dictation.

"Giuseppe Mazzini, who was born in Genoa in 1805, and
died in Pisa in 1872, was a great patriotic soul. He had the
mind and inspiration of a great writer. He
'^mIj ^^^ ^^^ ^^^^ apostle of the Italian Revolution.
'V For the love of his country, he lived for forty

years in poverty; an exile, perse-
cuted; a fugitive, heroically stead-
fast in his purpose and in his reso-
lutions. Giuseppe Mazzini, who
adored his mother, and who had derived from her all
that which in her strong and kind soul was noblest and
purest, wrote in this way to a faithful friend to console
him upon the greatest of misfortunes. These are his words:
* My friend, you will never behold your mother again upon this
earth. This is a tremendous truth. I do not come to see you
because your sorrow is one of those holy and solemn sorrows
that one must suffer and conquer alone. Do you understand
what I mean by these words, ' Vou must coiiquer your sor?ow ? '
Conquer that which is least holy in the sorrow, least purifying,
annihilate that which, instead of bettering the soul, weakens it?

The heart op a boy 201

But the other side of sorrow, the most noble side, the one
which absorbs and elevates the soul, that one must remain with
you and never leave you.' Nothing takes the place of a good
mother here below. In sorrows, in consolations, that life will
still crown you; you will never forget her. You must remem-
ber her, love her, mourn her death in a manner worthy of her.
Oh, friend, listen to me. Death does not exist; it is nothing.
One cannot even understand it. Life is life, and follows the
laws of life: it is progress. Yesterday, you had a mother upon
earth; to-day, you have an angel somewhere else. All that
is good survives, increasing in power through our earthly life.
It is so with the love of your mother. She loves you now more
than ever. Ana you are more responsible for 3- our actions now
in her eyes than you were before. It depends upon your deeds
whether you meet her again, whether you see her in another
existence. For the love and reverence due your mother, you
must become better and cause her joy. Because of this, you
must from now henceforth, at every act, say to yourself: Would
my mother approve of it? Her transformation has placed near
you a guardian angel to whom you must refer everj^thing that
you do. Be strong and good. Fight this unhealthy and des-
perate sorrow. Have the tranquility of great souls in great
sufferings: that is what she wishes."

* ' Garrone, ' ' added the teacher, * ' be strong and peaceful,
that is what your mother wishes. Do you understand ? ' '
Garrone made a sign of assent with his head, while flowing
tears fell upon his hands, upon his book, and upon his desk.

CIVIC VALOR

(MONTHLY STORY)

At one o'clock, we found ourselves with our teacher in front
of the City Hall to witness the awarding of the medal of civic
valor to the boy who has rescued his companion from the
River Po.

202 THE HEART OF A BOY

Upon the balcony on the facade of the building was a
large tricolored flag. We entered the court-yard of the
palace.

It was already crowded with people. We could see at
the end a table with a red cover and some papers laying
upon it. Behind this there was a row of large gilded chairs
for the mayor and the council. The ushers of the munici-
pality, with blue waistcoats and white stockings, were there.
A detachment of civic guards, wearing many medals on their
breasts, were standing on the right side of the court-yard;
next to them, a detachment of customhouse officers; and on
the other side, the firemen, in full dress uniform; and there
were many soldiers scattered around, who had come to look on:
cavalry soldiers, bersaglieri, and artillery men. Among these,
some gentlemen, some working men, some army officers,
women and boys, who were crowding around. We were
pressed into a corner, where there had already gathered many
pupils of the other schools with their teachers, and near us
there \>as a group of country boys, between ten and
eighteen years of age, who were laughmg and talking in a
loud manner, and we understood that they all belonged to the
Borgo Po, class-mates or acquaintances of the one who was to
receive the medal. The employees of the City Hall could be
seen leaning out of the windows, and the loggia of the library
was also crowded with people, pressing against the iron rail-
ings. In the one on the opposite side, which is over the en-
trance door, stood a number of girls of the public schools,
many Daughters of Soldiers, with their pretty blue veils. It
seemed as though we were in a theatre. They all talked,
merely looking from time to time toward the red table to
see if any one was appearing. The band was playing at the
end of the portico. The sun shone upon the walls. It was a
beautiful sight.

Suddenly they all began to clap their handt in the court-
yard, in the loggia, and the windows.

THE HEART OF A BOY 20o

I stood on tip-toe to see.

The throng which was behind the red table had made
an opening and a man and woman had come through. The
man held a boy by the hand. It was the one who had rescued
his companion.

The man was his father, a mason, in Sunday clothes; the
woman his mother, a little blonde wearing a black dress. The
boy was small and also blonde, and he wore a grey jacket.
Seeing all those people, and hearing all that thunder of ap-
plause, all three stood there not daring to look or move. An
usher of the municipality pushed them next to the table into
the light.

All were silent for a moment. Then the applause broke
forth again from every side. The boy looked at the windows
and then at the loggia where the Daughters of the Soldiers
stood — holding his cap in his hands, looking as though he did
not know where he was. It seemed to me that he looked a
little like Coretti, although his face was somewhat redder. His
father and mother kept their eyes fixed upon the table.

In the meantime, the boys of Borgo Po, who had come near
us, were pushing themselves ahead and making gestures toward
their companion, in order to be noticed by him, and calling him
in a low voice: '* Pin! Pin! Pinot! " By persevering in calling
him, they attracted his attention. The boy looked at them and
hid a smile behind his cap.

Finally all the guards placed themselves in the position of
''attention."

The mayor entered, accompanied by many gentlemen.

He had a white beard and wore a large tricolored sash
around his waist. He went to the table and stood there, and
Ihe others placed themselves on the side and behind him. The
band ceased to play, the mayor made a gesture and all were
silent.

He began to speak. I could not understand the first words
very well, but I knew that he was telling about the deed of

204 THE HEART OF A BOY

the boy. Then his voice began to grow louder and sounded
clear and sonorous through the whole court, so that I could not
miss a word. ' ' When, from the shore, he saw his com-
panion struggling in the river, already overtaken by the terror
of death, he tore his clothes from his back and ran without
hesitating for a moment. They cried to him: 'You will
drown yourself ! ' He did not answer. They grasped him,
but he freed himself ; they called him, but he was already in
the water. The river was swollen and the risk very great even
for a man. But he flung himself against death with all the
power of his little body and his great heart. He overtook and
got hold of the unfortunate boy just in time; he was already
under the water, but he drew him to the surface and fought
furiously with the waves which were about to overwhelm him
with his companion, who was clinging to him; he disappeared
many times but came up again with a desperate effort, obsti-
nate, invincible in his noble purpose. Not like a boy w^ho
wishes to save another boy, but like a man, like a father who
fights to save his son w^ho is his hope and his life. God did
not allow such a generous deed to be fruitless. The swimming
child wrested his friend from the giant river and brought him
safely to land, and with the others gave him the first comforts.
After that, he returned home alone quietly, to tell ingenuously
of his deed.

" Gentlemen, the heroism of man is beautiful and worthy
of veneration; but that of a child, in whom no aim of ambition
or other interests may be possible, in a child who must have
the more hardihood in proportion to his strength; in a child,
from whom we ask nothing, who is considered nothing, who
seems to be so noble and amiable, not only when he accom-
plishes what he undertakes but also when he recognizes the
sacrifices of others. Heroism in a child is divine ! I will say
nothing more, gentlemen. I do not wish to cover such simple
grandeur with superfluous praises. Behold before you the noble
and valorous rescuer. Soldiers, salute him like a brother;

THE HEART OF A BOY 205

mothers, bless him as a son; children, remember his name,
impress upon your mind his face, that he may never be erased
from your memory and from your heart. Approach, boy. In
the name of the King of Italy, I bestow upon you the medal
of civic valor. ' '

A rousing hurrah, in a chorus of many voices, echoed
through the palace. The mayor took the medal from the table
and fastened it on the breast of the boy. Then he embraced
and kissed him.

His mother placed a hand over her eyes and his father hung
his head before such honor.

The mayor shook hands with both of them and taking the
decree of decoration, bound with a ribbon, he gave it to the
woman.

Then he turned to the boy and said: " May the remem-
brance of this day, so glorious for you, so joyful for your
father and mother, maintain you through all your life on the
road of virtue and honor. Good bj'e !"

The mayor went out. The band commenced to play, and
everything seemed to be over, when a squad of firemen made
their way in, and a child of eight or ten years, pushed ahead by
a woman, ran toward the boy wearing the medal and fell into
his arms.

Another crash of applause and hurrahs rang through the
court-3'ard. All immediately understood that he was the boy
who had been rescued from the Po, and had come to thank
his rescuer. After having kissed him, he took his arm to es-
cort him out. They were at the head of the line; next came
the father and mother. It was difficult for them to make their
way through the crowd, which, forming a line composed of
guards, soldiers, boys and women, all mingled together. They
all pushed ahead, standing on tip-toe to see the boy. Thou-
sands who stood in his way touched his hand. When he
passed in front of the school boj^s, they all waved their caps
in the air. The boys of Borgo Po made a big uproar, pulling

206 THE HEART OF A BOY

him by his arms and by his jacket and exclaiming: " Pin !
Hurrah for Phi ! Bravo, Pinot ! "

He passed very near me; his face was all aflame. He
was very happy, wdth his medal hanging on a red, white and
green ribbon. His mother was weeping and laughing, and
his father was twisting his moustache with his hand. He
trembled as if he had a fever. They were still applauding
from the windows, from the balconies, and from the loggia.

As they were about to pass under the portico, the Daugh-
ters of the Soldiers suddenly threw down a shower of pansies,
violets and daisies, which fell upon the head of the boy, of the
father, of the mother, and were scattered on the ground. Some
of the crowd began to pick them up hurriedly, in order to pre-
sent them to the mother. In the meanwhile the band at the
end of the court was playing a very soft and beautiful tune
which seemed like a song of many silvery voices fading away
along the banks of a river.

MAY

THE CHILDREN WITH THE RICKETS

Thursday the ^th.

I took a vacation to-day, because I was not feeling well,
and my mother permitted me to go with her to the asylum for
children afflicted with the rickets, where she went to recom-
mend a child of our janitor, but she did not allow me to enter
the school.

Dost thou not understand, Enrico, why I did not allow thee to
enter? I did not wish to place in front of these unfortunates,
there in the middle of the school, almost as a show, a healthy and
robust boy. They have too many occasions to make soryowfd com-
parisons. What a sad thing ! Teays came from my heart whe7i

THE HEART OF A BOY 207

/ eyitered that room. I saw about sixty boys and girls Poor

tortured bo7ics ! Poor hands ! Poor little shriveled and distorted
feet ! Poo? deformed bodies ! I immediately observed some pretty
faces, some eyes full of inUlligence and affection ; there was a little
girl having a face with a pointed nose a7id chin, who looked like a
tiltle old woman, but she had a sweet and celestial smile. Some of
them looked quite pretty in their faces and without defects, but
zvhen they turned around, how differ ent ! A weight fell upon
one's soul. The physician was theje visiting them. He stood them
upon the benches a7id lifted their little dresses, touching the swollen
stomachs a7id the enla7ged joi7its, but they did not seem at all bash-
ful, poor creatures f 07ie could see that they were acacsto7ned to bd
undressed, exa}7iined a7id turned aroimd to be seen fro77i every
side; and to think that they a7'e 7iow i7i the best stage of thei?
disease and they do 7iot suffer 77iuch a7iy more! What 7nust they
7iot have suffered whe7i their bodies bega7i to be defor77ied, zvhen,
with the growing of their defor7nity, they saw the affection of theit
co7npa7iions di7ni7iishi7ig toward thei7i/ Poor childre7i! Left alo77e
for hours i7i the cor7ier of a roo77i, or i7i the cou7't-ya}^d, badly fed,
and at ti)nes eve7i scoffed at. Some of them to7nnented for month
with ba7idages a7id orthopedic appa7'atuses! Now, hozvever, /' %7ik%
to care a7id good food a7id gy77inastics, ma7iy i7nprove. The
teacher 7nade them go through some gy7nnastic exercises. It was
a pitiful sight, at certai7i com77ia7ids, to see the7n stretch f7'om
under the be7iches all those ba7idaged limbs squeezed betwee7i
splints, knotty a7id defor7ned — those li77ibs thai should have been
covered with kisses ! Several of them were not able to rise f7vm
the be7ich and sat there with their heads be7it down upo7i their
arms, caressi7ig their crutches with their hands, others making a
thrust with their ar77is would lose their breath and fall down up07i
the be7ich and sit there pale but smili7ig in order to co7iceal
their sorrozv. Ah, Enrico! You otiier boys do 7iot appreciate
health, thi7iki7ig it is so S77iall a thing to be well ! 1 was timiking
of the beautiful, strong and thriving boys tJiat their mothers carry
arou7id in triumph, proud of tJieir beauty, a7id I felt as if I wa7ited

208 THE HEART OF A BOY

to take all those poor little heads and press them upon my heart in
despair; and say : ''Were I alone in the world, I would never
move from here, I would consecrate my life to you, wait upon you ^

act as a mother to you icntil my last day " They sang with

such thin, sweet and mournful voices that the music touched my
soul, and when the teacher praised them, they appeared to be so
glad. While she zvas passifig between the benches, they would
kiss her hands a7id arms as though they felt much gratitude to
those who labored for their benefit. They are very affectioiiate.
Soine also have talent — those little angels — and the teacher told
me that they study zvelL. This yoimg teacher had a kind face,
but with a certain expression of sadness like the reflection of the
misfortunes which she consoles and caresses. Dear girl ! Among
all the creatures who earn their living by toil, there is not one
who earns it in a more holy way thanyou^ sainted creature !

Thy Mother.

SACRIFICE

Tuesday the gtk.

My mother is good and my sister Silvia is exactly like her,
she has the same kind and gentle heart. Last night I was
copying a part of the monthly story, ' 'From the Appennines to the
Andes,' ^ of which the teacher has given us each a portion to
copy, because it is so very long, when my sister Silvia entered
on tip-toe and told me softly, speaking in an anxious tone :
" Come with me to mamma. I heard some one talking this
morning. Some of papa's business has turned out bad. He
was sad and mamma was trying to encourage him. We are
in stringent circumstances, do you understand ? There is no
more money. Papa said it would be necessary to make some
sacrifices in order to meet our loss. Now it is essential
that we two also make some sacrifices, do you not think so ?
Are you not ready? Well then, when I speak to mamma, you

THE HEART OF A BOY

209

must nod assent and promise upon your honor, that you will do
all that I am about to tell her."

After saying this, she took me by the hand and led me
to our mother, who was sewing, all wrapped up in her
thoughts. I sat down on one side of the sofa and Silvia on
the other, and she immediately said :

'' Mamma, listen, I wish to speak to you. We both wish
to speak to you." Mother looked at us in astonishment.

Silvia then began
money ? "

"Is it not true that papa is without

* ' What do you mean ? ' ' asked
my mother, blushing. ' ' No, it is
not true. What do you know about
it ? Who has told you this ? ' '

" I know it," said
g^^\^\/-- Silvia resolutely.
~~^fe^ " Listen, mamma, we
must make some sac-
too. You had promised me a fan
for the end of May, and Ernico was ex-
pecting his paint box. We no longer
want them; we do not want any soldi to
be wasted; we shall be just as well satis-
fied without. Do you undersfan':' ?"
Mother tried to speak, but Silvia con-
tinued : " No, it must be so. We have
come to this conclusion. As long as
papa does not have money, we do not want any dessert or other
fine things, we will be satisfied with soup alone; and we will only
eat bread for breakfast in the morning. This will reduce the
expense for the table, as w^e spend more than is necessary now.
Besides we promise you that you shall see us just as contented
as before. Is it not so, Enrico ? ' '

1 answered, yes. ' 'Always as contented as before, ' ' repeated
Silvia, closing mamma's mouth with her hand, "and if there

210 THE HEART OF A BOY

are any other sacrifices to make, either in dress or anything
else, we shall be glad to do so. We are ready to sell our
presents; I would give everything I have, I will wait upon you
like a maid, we shall not have anything ordered out of the
house, and I will work with you the whole day, I will do
everything you wish, I am disposed to do everything ! To do
everything ! " she exclaimed, throwing her arms around
mother's neck, "provided that papa and mamma may never
experience any sorrow, in order that I may see you both calm
and in good spirits as you were before, with your Silvia and your
Enrico, who love you so much, and who would give their
lives for you ! ' '

I had never seen my mother so happy as when she heard
those words. She never kissed us on the brow in that way
before, weeping and laughing and unable to speak. After
awhile, she assured Silvia that she had misunderstood the situ-
ation, that we were not in such reduced circumstances as she
thought; luckily for us, we were not destit'-ite. She thanked us
hundreds of times, and was cheerful all the evening, and when
my father came home she told him ever3lhing. He did not
open his mouth, my poor father ! But this morning, when I was
taking my seat at the table, I experienced a great pleasure min-
gled with some sadness. I found my box of paints under my
napkin, ana Silvia found her fan.

THE FIRE*

Thursday the nth.

I had just finished copying my portion of the story, ''From
the Appennines to the Andes'' this morning, and was trying to
find a theme for my individual composition, which cur teacher
asked us to write, when I heard an unusual sound of voices on
the stairs and soon after two firemen entered our apartment,

♦ This happened the night of Jdnuary 37th, 1880.

THE HKART OF A BOY 211

who asked my father's permission to inspect the stoves and the
chimneys, as a smoke-pipe was on tire upon the roof, and they
did not know which one it was. My father told them to go
ahead, and, although we had no fire lighted anywhere in our
apartment, they went around from room to room, laying
their ear against the walls to hear if a fire was roaring inside
of the flues which run from the other stories of the house.

While they were going through the other rooms, my father
said to me: ** Enrico, here is a theme for your composition,
* The Firemen.' Listen to me and write it down. I saw them
at work one evening two years ago, when I came out of the
Balbo theatre late at night. Going through the via Roma, I
saw an unusual light and a crowd of people were running; a
house was on fire. Tongues of flame and clouds of smoke
were bursting from the windows and from the roof. Men and
women appeared en the window sills and disappeared, uttering
despairing cries. There was a great noise in front of the door
of the house, and the crowd shouted: '* They are burning
alive! Help! Help! The firemen!" At that moment a
wagon arrived and four firemen sprang out of it. They were
the 'first ones to arrive and they rushed inside the house.
Hardly had they entered when a horrible sight was witnessed.
A woman peeped from a third story window, shouting and
clutching at the railing, climbed over it and remained sus-
pended in that way, almost in space, with her back turned,
bending under the smoke and flames which were creeping from
room to room and leaped almost to her head. The crowd
uttered a cry of horror. The firemen, who had by mistake
been stopped at the second floor by the horrified lodgers, had
already made an opening through the wall, and rushed into
room, when a hundred cries from below told them:

•' 'Up to the third story!' "

" They flew to the third story. A terrible destruction was
going on there; wooden beams were falling; the corridors were
filled with flames and a stifling smoke* The only way that

212 THE HEART OF A BOY

remained by which to reach these lodgers was to pass over the
roof. They rushed up immediately, and a minute after, a man
was seen like a black phantom going over the tile roof in the
midst of fire and smoke; it was the corporal of the firemen,
who was the first to reach the side of the roof which corre-
sponded to the suite of rooms cut off by the fire.

* * In order to reach this point, it was necessary to go over an
extremely narrow place between the dormer window and the
eaves. All the remainder of the house was in flames and that
little space was covered with snow and ice and there was not
a projection one could grasp with the hand.

" * It is impossible for him to go through there! ' said the
crowd below.

" The corporal came out on the edge of the roof; every one
shuddered and stood looking, with suspended breath; he passed
over; an immense hurrah arose to the sky. The corporal
pushed further ahead, and having reached the threatened
point, began with furious blows of his hatchet to split the
beams, shingles and tiles in order to make an opening by
which he could enter the room below. All this time the wo-
man remained suspended outside the window; the fire was rag-
ing above her head; one moment more and she* would have
fallen into the street.

"The opening was made, the corporal was seen taking off his
shoulder belt and sliding down; the other firemen having arrived
followed him. At the same moment, a very tall patent ladder,
which had just been brought, was placed on the entablature of
the house in front of the windows from which the flames and
maddening cries were issuing. But every one thought it was
too late.

' ' ' No one can be saved ! * they were crying. ' The fire-
men will be burned to death ! * * It is all over ! ' " They
are dead ! ' Suddenly the black figure of the corporal, illu-
minated by the flames overhead, appeared at the window over
the balcony. The woman clasped her arms around his neck;

THE HEART OF A BOY 213

he caught her by the waist with both arms and pulled her up
and laid her inside the room. The crowd gave vent to a shout
of a thousand voices which deafened the uproar of the fire.

** ' But how about the others? How can they get down.'
The ladder was leaning on the roof in front of another window,
but a wide space intervened between them.

' * ' How will they be able to reach it ? '

"While the crowd were saying this, one of the firemen came
out of the window, thrust his right foot upon the window sill
and the left upon the ladder, and standing thus in the air, he
grasped the lodgers one by one as the other firemen reached
them out to him from the window,, handed them over to his
companion who had come up on the ladder, and who, after
securing them on the ladder, one after the other, and with the
assistance of the firemen below, helped them to descend to the
street. The woman who had clung to the balcony was the first
to come out, then a little girl, another woman and an old man
followed. All were saved. After the old man, the firemen
came down; and the corporal, who had been the first to run up,
was the last one to descend.

"The crowd received them all with an outburst of applause
but when the last one appeared, the van-guard of the rescuers,
the one who had faced the abyss before the others, the one who
would have died if it had been necessary for any one to lose his
life, the crowd saluted him like a triumphing conqueror, shout-
ing and stretching their arms with a loving impulse of admira-
tion and gratitude, and in a few moments his obscure name,
Giuseppe Robbino, resounded from thousands of lips. Do you
understand ? This is true courage ! The courage of the heart
which does not stop to reason, which does not waver, which
goes blindly like a flash of lightning wherever he hears the cries
of the dying. Some day, I will take you to see the firemen
manoeuvering and will point out to you Corporal Robbino.
as I am sure that you would be very glad to meet him, would
you not?"

214 THE HEART OF A BOY

I answered that I should.

'* Here he is," said my father.

I turned around startled. The two firemen, having finished
their inspection, were crossing the room to go out.

My father pointed to the smaller of the two, who had stripes
of braid on his sleeves, and said to me: *' Shake the hand of
Corporal Robbino."

The corporal, smiling, reached his hand to me; I shook it;
he saluted me and left.

"Remember it well," said my father, "among thousands
of hands that you will shake in your life, there may not be ten
that are worth this one."

FROM THE APENNINES TO THE ANDES

Many years ago a Genoese lad of about thirteen, son of a
workman, went from Genoa to America, all alone, to search
for his mother.

Two years before she had gone to Buenos Ayres, the capi-
tal of the Argentine Republic, to enter the service of some rich
family, in order to earn in a short time enough to put the fam-
ily in better circumstances; for, owing to various mishaps, they
had fallen into poverty and debt. There are thousands of wo-
men who would take such a long journey with that object.
The people who went into service there, on account of the
large salaries which they received, would return home in a few
years with several thousands of lire.

The poor mother had wept bitter tears at being separated
from her children — the oldest was eighteen and the youngest
eleven — but she departed full of courage and hope. She had
quite a pleasant voyage, and as soon as she landed, through
the influence of a Genoese cousin of her husband, who had
been established in business there for a long time, she found
work with a good Argentine family, who paid her high wages

THB HEART OF A BOY

315

and treated her kindly. For a short time she kept up a regu-
lar correspondence with her family. As they had agreed, the
husband would direct letters to the cousin, who transmitted
them to the woman, and the latter remitted the answers to him
and he would send them to Genoa, adding some lines of his
own. Earning eighty lire a month and not spending anything
for herself, she was sending home a nice little sum of money

every three months, with which
the husband, who was an up-
right man, was gradually pay-
ing his most urgent debts, and
by degrees regaining his good

' ^" the

meantime he was working
and satisfied with his own
affairs, always cherishing
the hope that the mother
would return soon, as the
home seemed empty with-
out her. The younger child
especially, who loved his
mother so much, was de-
pressed and unable to rec-
oncile himself to his moth-
er's absence.

A year had passed since
they had parted, and after recei\dng a brief letter in which
the woman said she was not feeling well, they received
no more news. They wrote to the cousin twice, but he
did not reply. They wrote to the Argentine family by
whom she had been employed, but probably the letter
did not reach its destination, as they had misspelled the
name in the address, and they never received an answer.

216 THE HEART OF A BOY

Fearing some mishap had occurred, the husband wrote to the
Italian consul at Buenos Ayres to make some inquiries. After
three months the consul wrote back that, in spite of the adver-
tisements in the papers, no one had even appeared to give any
information concerning such a person. It must have been
that the woman had not given the Argentine family her true
name, thinking to spare the reputation of her family, whom
she thought might be disgraced by her being a servant. A
few months more passed without any news. Father and sons
were in consternation, and the smaller of the boys was oppressed
by a sadness which he could not conquer. V/hat could be
done ? To whom should they have recourse ? The first thought
of the father had been to go and look for his wife in America.
But how about his work. Who would support his sons? The
oldest son could not go away, as he was just beginning to earn
something, and he was necessary to the family. So they lived
m in constant anxiety, asking each other, day after day, the
same painful questions, and looking silently at each other.

Finally, one evening, Marco, the younger of the two boys,
said resolutely: * ' I will go to America to look for my mother. "

His father shrugged his shoulders sadly but did not answer.
It was a loving thought but an impossibility to undertake a
trip to America alone at the age of thirteen, when it took d
month to get there ! But the boy patiently persisted. He
spoke of it that day and the day after, and every day with great
calmness, reasoning with the good sense of a man. ''Others^
have gone there," he would say, "who are smaller than I.
When once on the boat, I will reach there the same as any one
else. When I arrive, I have only to find the shop of my
cousin. There are so many Italians there that some one will
show me the way. When I find my cousin, I can easily find
my mother. If I do not find him, I will go to the consul, I
will look for the Argentine family. No matter what happens,
there is work for all there and I will also find work, at least
until I can earn enough to return home. ' ' Thus little by little

THE HEART OF A BOY 217

he almost persuaded his father to let him go. His father had
the greatest esteem for him; he knew that he was judicious and
courageous; that he was accustomed to privations and sacri-
fices; and that all these good traits would acquire double force
in the holy undertaking of finding his mother whom he adored.
In addition to this, it happened that the captain of a steamer,
a friend of an acquaintance of his, having heard something
about the matter, pledged himself to provide a third-class
ticket for him to America.

After a little further hesitation, the father consented and
the trip w^as decided upon. They filled a bag with clothes, put
some " scudi " in his pocket, and gave him the address of his
cousin; and on a beautiful morning in the month of May, they
sav/ him on board.

"My child! My Marco!" said his father, pressing the
last kiss upon his cheek, with tears in his eyes, as he stood
upon the steps of the steamer which was about to leave, ' * have
courage. You leave on a holy undertaking and God will help
you."

Poor Marco ! He had a strong heart, prepared for all the
hardest trials of that voyage, but when he saw his beautiful
Genoa disappear, when he found himself upon the high seas
on that large steamer thronged with emigrants, alone, unknown
to ever}^ one, with a little bag which held all his fortune, a
sudden discouragement seized him. He remained for two days
sitting at the bows like a lost dog, eating scarcely anything, op-
pressed by a great desire to weep. Every kind of sad present-
iment, was passing through his mind, and the saddest, the most
terrible was the most persistent in its return, the thought that
his mother might be dead. In his painful and broken sleep,
he always saw the face of a stranger looking at him with an
air of pity, and whispering in his ear: ''Your mother is
dead. ' ' Then he would awake with a suppressed cry on his
lips.

Nevertheless, at the first sight of the Atlantic Ocean, after

218 THE HEART OF A BOY

passing the Straits of Gibraltar, he began to have a little
courage and hope, but it was of short duration. That immense
but never varying sea, the increasing heat, the sadness of all
the poor people who surrounded him, the thought of his own
solitude returned to depress him. The days which followed,
empty and monotonous, were confused in his memory as it
happens with a sick person. It seemed to him that he had
been at sea for a year. Every morning when he awoke, he
felt a new stupor at being there alone, on that immense body
of water, on a voyage to America. Beautiful flying fishes fell
from time to time upon the boat. He saw those marvelous
tropical sunsets, those great blood-red clouds all aflame, those
nocturnal phosphorescences, that make the ocean appear like
a sea of lighted lava, all of which did not give him the impres-
sion of real things but of prodigies seen in dreams.

He experienced some days of bad weather, during which
he remained locked in the dormitory, where everything was
rolling and cracking, in the midst of a frightful chorus of la-
mentations and imprecations, and he believed that his last hour
had come. He sailed for three days through a yellowish sea,
through days of unbearable heat, of infinite annoyance, oi
hours interminable and sinister, during which the passengers,
enervated and stretched motionless upon the berths, looked like
dead bodies. It seemed as though this voyage would never
come to an end. Sea and sky, sky and sea, to-day like 5^ester-
day, and to-morrow like to-day — the same, always the same—
eternally.

He would lean over the bulwarks for hours, looking at that
boundless sea, dumbfounded; thinking vaguely of his mother
until his eyes closed and he was falling down into sleep, and
in his dream he would again see that strange face looking at
him with pity and whispering in his ear: '' Your mother is
dead!"

At that voice, he would wake with a start and resume his
dreamings with open eyes, looking at the unchangeable horizon.

THE HEART OF A BOY 219

' The voyage lasted twenty-seven days! The last days were
the best. The weather was beautiful and the air was fresh.
He had formed the acquaintance of an old man, a Lombard,
who was going to America to join his son, a farm laborer near
the city of Rosario. The boy told him everything about his
home, and the old man would repeat to him from time to time,
patting him on the back of the neck: " Courage, my boy, you
will find your mother in good health and contented. ' ' The
companionship of the old man comforted him, and his presenti-
ments became more joyful. Sitting at the bow, under that
beautiful starry sky, next to the old farmer who was smoking
his pipe, in the midst of a group of emigrants, he fancied the
scene of his arrival at Buenos Ayres a hundred times. He
would see himself in a certain street, finding his cousin, rush-
ing into the shop and asking him: "How is my mother ?
Where is she ? Let us go at once! Let us go at once! " They

would run together, ascend the steps, a door would open

and here his mute soliloquy would stop and his imagination
would be lost in the inexplicable sentiment which caused him
to look slily at a little medal which he wore on his neck, mur-
muring his prayers while kissing it.

They arrived at Buenos Ayres the twenty-seventh day after
their departure. It was a beautiful rosy morning in the month
of May when the steamer dropped anchor in that immense
river La Plata. On the shore of the river stretched out the
vast city of Buenos Ayres, the capital of the Argentine Re-
public. The fine weather seemed to him to be a good omen.
He was fairly beside himself with joy and impatience. His
mother was only a few miles distant from him ! In a few hours
he would see her! He was in America, in the New World,
and he had had the courage to come alone! All that extremely
long voyage seemed to him as nothing. It seemed to him that
he had dreamed and awoke at that point. He was so happy
that he experienced no surprise or distress when he went
through his pockets and found that one of the packages into

220 THK HEART OF A BOY

which he had divided his little treasure in order not to lose it
all, was gone. Some one had stolen it from him. He had
only a few lire left, but what did he care now that he was so
near his mother? With his bag in his right hand, he left the
steamer with the other Italians and stepped into a little tug
boat which carried him near the shore. Then he got into a
row-boat, bearing the name of Andrea Dojia, and came upon
the wharf. He bade good-bye to his old Lombard friend and
started with long strides toward the city.

As soon as he arrived at the entrance to the first street, he
stopped a man who was passing and begged him to tell him
which way to go to reach the street of los Artes. It happened
that he stopped an Italian workman. The latter looked at him
with curiosity and asked him if he knew how to read. The
boy made a sign of assent. "Well," said the workman,
pointing out the street from which he came, "go up the street
reading the names at the corners until you find the one you
want." The boy thanked him and began walking up the
street before him.

It was a straight and rather narrow road, and seemed end-
less, flanked on either side by low, white houses, which looked
like so many little cottages. It. was crowded with people, car-
riages and large wagons, making a deafening roar. Here and
there hung enormous flags of various colors upon which was
written in large letters the announcement of the departure of
steamers for unknown cities. All the way, turning to the right
and left, he saw the streets stretching as far ahead as one
could see, all lined with low, white houses and filled with
people and wagons. The streets all terminated in the bound-
less American plain, similar to the horizon on the sea. The
town seemed to him infinite. He thought that one could walk
for days and days and for weeks, always seeing here and there
other streets like those, and that the whole of America was
covered with them. He looked attentively at the names of
the streets, some of them very strange, which he could onl}-

THE HEART OF A BOY 221

read with great effort. Every new street he reached his hean
would throb, hoping it might be the one he wanted. H«v
looked at every woman, thinking that he might meet his
mother. He saw one walking in front of him who caused the
blood to leap in his veins. He overtook her; looked at her — it
w^as a negress. He kept going and going, hastening his steps.
When he reached a certain street and read the name, he stood
there as though rooted to the sidewalk; it was the street of los
Artes. He turned into it and saw the number 117; the store
of his cousin was 175. He hurried his gait, almost running,
until he reached the number 171, then he was obliged to stop
and take breath, and he said to himself: "Oh, my mother,
my mother ! Is it really true that I will see you in a few
moments?" He ran forward and came to a small dry-goods
store. It was the one. He peeped in and saw a w^oman with
eye-glasses.

"What do you want, boy ? " she asked him in Spanish.

The boy, speaking with difficulty, said, "Is this not the
store of Francesco Merelli ? "

"Francesco Merelli is dead," replied the woman in the
Italian tongue.
^ The boy felt as if he had received a blow upon his breast.

"When did he die?"

"A long time ago," replied the woman. "It is several
months since he died. He met with failures and fled. It is
said that he went to Bahia Blanca, a great distance from here,
and that he died as soon as he reached there. This store is my
own. ' '

The boy grew pale.

Then he said rapidly: "Merelli knew my mother, who
was here in the service of Mequinez. He was the only one
who could tell me where to find her. I came to America on
purpose to find my mother. Morelli sent her our letters. I
must find my mother. "

" Poor child," said the woman, " I do not know. I will

222 THE HEART OF A BOY

ask the boy out in the court-yard; he knew the young man
who was running errands for Merelli. It may be that he
knows something about it. ' '

She went to the end of the store and called the boy, who
came indirectly. *' Tell me," said the store-keeper, " do you
remember that young man whom Merelli sent at times to carry
letters to a woman in service in the house of his countryman?"
"To Signer Mequinez," the boy replied. "Yes, madam, I
remember. He lives at the end of the street los Artes. ' '

"Thanks, madam, thanks!" cried Marco. "Tell me the
number. Do you know it? Accompany me at once, I still
have a few soldi left. ' '

Marco said this with so much warmth, that without waiting
for the order of the woman, the other boy exclaimed: "Let
us go," and started out immediately.

Almost running and without saying a word, they went to
the end of a very long street, entered the entrance hall of a
small white house, stopped in front of a beautiful iron gate
from which a court, filled with vases of beautiful flowers, could
be seen. Marco pulled the bell vigorously.

A young lady appeared. ' * Does the family of Mequinez
live here ? ' ' anxiously inquired the lad.

" They did live here," answered the young lady, pronounc-
ing her Italian with a Spanish accent. ' * The Zeballos live
here now."

' ' And where have the Mequinez family gone ? ' ' asked
Marco with a palpitating heart.

" They have gone to Cordova."

"Cordova!" exclaimed Marco, "where is Cordova?
And how is it about the woman they had in their service? The
woman, my mother ! That woman was my mother I Did
they take her with them ? ' '

The young lady looked at him and said: " I do not know.
My father who knew them before they left may be able to tell
you. Wait a moment, "

THB HKART OF A BOY 223

She ran away and came back in a short time with her father,
a tall gentleman with a grey beard. He looked for a moment
at that sympathetic type of a little Genoese sailor with blonde
hair and aquiline nose and said in bad Italian: ''Is your
mother a Genoese ? ' '

Marco replied' "yes! '*

"Well, the Genoese woman went with the family she served.
I am certain that she did. ' '

' ' And where have they gone ?

' ' To the town of Cordova. ' '

The lad drew a deep sigh and then said with resignation,
" Then I must go to Cordova/'

"c/f/?, ninoJ" exclaimed the gentleman looking at him
with an air of compassion. " Poor boy ! It is hundreds of
miles from here to Cordova."

Marco grew as pale as death and leaned upon the iron
railing.

The gentleman, moved to pity, opened the door and said:
" Let us see — come in a moment. Let us see what can be
done." He offered Marco a seat, sat down and had him tell
his story, listening to him very attentively. He stood a
moment in thought and then said resolutely: *' You have no
money, have you?"

" I have still — a little," answered Marco.

The gentlemaii again thought for about five minutes and
then seated himstlf at a desk and wrote a letter, sealed it, and
handing it to the boy, said to him: " Listen, Italianito. Take
this letter and go to Boca. It is a small town, half Genoese, at
about two hours distance from here. Any one can show you
the way. Go there and look for the gentleman to whom this
letter is addressed, and whom every one knows. Take this
letter to him. He will arrange for you to leave to-morrow for
Rosario, and he will recommend you to some one out there who
will take it upon himself to see that you reach Cordova, where
you will find the Mequinez family and your mother. In the

224 THE HEART OF A BOY

meanwhile, take this, and he thrust a few lire into his hand.
"Go, and have courage. You will find your countrymen
everywhere; you need not be ashamed. Adios."

The boy said: *' Thanks." He could find no other words
with which to express himself. He went out with his bag, and
taking leave of his little guide, he started slowly towards Boca,
filled with sadness and amazement, as he marched through
those noisy streets.

All that happened to him from that moment until the even-
ing of the next day was always confused and uncertain in his
memory, like the vagaries of a person in a fever. He was so
tired, disappointed, and despondent. He slept in a small room
of a house in Boca the first night, by the side of a porter of the
harbor. He passed nearly the whole of the next day sitting
upon a pile of planks as if in a trance, gazing at thousands of
ships, large boats, and tug boats, and that evening he found
himself on the poop of a large sailing vessel, laden with fruit,
which was leaving for the city of Rosario, managed b)'' three
robust Genoese, bronzed by exposure to the sun, whose voices
and beloved dialect furnished him a little comfort.

The voyage lasted for three days and four nights. It was a
continued surprise to the little traveler. Three days and four
nights on that marvelous river of Parana. In comparison to
it, our river Po is nothing but a rivulet, and the length of Italy
quadrupled does not equal the length of its course. The boat
moved slowly against that immense body of immeasurable
water. It passed between long islands which were once the
haunts of serpents and tigers, now covered with orange and
willow trees, something like floating woods; and now it passed
through narrow canals, from which it seemed it would never
come out; then it sailed through vast expanses of water look-
ing like large tranquil lakes; then again between islands and
through the intricate channels of an archipelago, in the midst of
enormous masses of vegetation. A most profound silence
reigned. For long distances, the shores, the solitary and vast

THB HEART OF A BOY 22ft

waters offered the suggestion of an unknown river, upon which
that poor sailing vessel was the first one in the world to ven-
ture. The farther he advanced, the more that monstrous river
dismayed him. He would imagine that his mother could be
found at the source of that river and that the voyage would last
for years. Twice a day he ate a little bread and salt meat with
the boatmen, who, observing that he was sad, did not say a
word to him. During the night, he slept upon the deck, and
woke once in awhile astounded by the limpid light of the moon,
which was glittering over the vast waters and whitening the
distant shores, and his head was oppressed. " Cordova ! " he
repeated that name: "Cordova!" like the name of one of
those mysterious cities of which he had heard in some fable.
Then he would think: " My mother passed through here, she
has seen these islands, these shores," and then those places did
not seem so strange and solitary to him, upon which ihe gaze
of his mother had rested. During the night, one of the boat-
men sang. That song reminded him of the songs which his
mother sang him to sleep when he was a babe. The last night
when he heard that song, he sobbed. The boatman stopped,
and then he cried out: "Courage! Courage, my child!
What is the use ? A Genoese does not cry because he is
so far away from home ! The Genoese go around the world,
glorious and triumphant ! "

Hearing those words, Marco shook himself, raised himself
haughtily, beating the helm with his fist: * 'Yes, ' ' he said to him-
self * 'should I have to search through the whole world and travel
years and years yet, and walk hundreds of miles, I shall go
ahead until I find my mother. Even if I should reach her
dying and drop dead at her feet, if I may only see her once
again ! Courage ! " — In this state of mind, on a rosy morn-
ing at daybreak, he arrived in front of the city of Rosario, sit-
uated on a high bank of the Parana, where the beflagged yards
of hundreds of ships f'-om all over the world were mirrored ia
the water.

226 THK HEART OF A BOY

After landing, he went up to the city, with his bag in his
hand, to look for the Argentine gentleman for whom his pro-
tector at Boca had given him a visiting card with a few words
of recommendation written upon it. He beheld those inter-
minable streets, traversing in all directions, flanked by low,
white houses; and above the roofs there were great bundles of
telegraph and telephone wires which looked like enormous
spider webs. The streets were filled with swarms of people,
horses and wagons. His mind was confused; he thought for a
moment that he was entering Buenos Ayres again, and that he
would have to look for his cousin once more. He walked
around for about an hour, making turn after turn, and it
seemed to him all the time as though he were walking over the
same street. By constantly inquiring, he found the house of
his new protector. He rang the bell. A big, blonde man,
with a gruflf voice, who looked like a country steward, awk-
wardly asked him, with a strange pronunciation, "What do
you want ? "

The boy spoke the name of the master.

The steward replied, "The master left last night with all
his family for Buenos A3Tes."

The boy was speechless.

Then he stammered, * ' But I — I know no one herel I am
alone ! ' ' and he showed the card.

The country steward took it and read it, and said brusquely,
*' I do not know what to do about it. I will hand it to him
when he comes back in a month."

** But I — I am alone. I am in want," said the boy in a
beseeching voice.

" Come, come, now," said the man, "are there not enough
parasites who come from your country to Rosario to beg? Go
back and do your begging in Italy."

And he closed the gate in his face.

The boy stood there as though petrified.

Then he slowly took up his bag again and went out with

THE HEART OF A BOY 227

his heart full of anguish and his mind in a whirl, at once as-
sailed by a thousand sorrowful thoughts. What was there to
be done ? Where could he go ? From Rosario to Cordova
was a day's ride by rail. He had only a few lire. Deducting
what he needed for that day, he would scarcely have anything
left. How could he find money for his trip ? He could work,
but how, and of whom should he ask work ? Ask for alms I
No, no; to be rebuked, humiliated and insulted as before? No,
never, never again; he would rather die ! With that thought,
and seeing in front of him a very long street which lost itself
far away in the boundless plain, his courage gave way again.
He threw his bag on the sidewalk, and sat with his shoulders
against the wall, bending his head upon his hands, without
crying, in an attitude of desolation.

The people in passing jostled him with their feet, the
wagons filled the air with noise; some boys stopped to look at
him. He remained in that position for a long time.

At last he was startled by a voice, half Italian and half Lom-
bard, which called out: " What is the matter, little fellow ? "

He raised his head at these words and immediately jumped
to his feet, uttering an exclamation of surprise: "You here! "
It was the old Lombard farmer with whom he had formed a
companionship during his voyage.

The surprise of the farmer was not less than that of the boy,
but the latter did not give him time to question him, and he
told rapidly all that had happened to him since he left him at
the wharf in Buenos Ayres. "Now I am without money.
That is my condition. I must work. Find me some work,
that I may be able to earn a few lire; I will do anything; I
will carry merchandise, sweep the streets, I can run errands, I
can work in the country, I will be satisfied to live upon black
bread, if only I may be able to leave soon, if only I may find
my mother again. Do me this favor; some work; give me
some work, for the love of God, as this is more than I can en-
durel"

228 THE HEART OF A BOY

*' The deuce," said the fanner, looking around and rubbing

his chin. " "What a tale! One can easily say ' some work.*

Let us think a little. There may be a way to find thirty lire
among so many compatriots! "

The boy was looking at him, comforted by a ray of hope.

'' Come with me," said the farmer.

" "Where ? " asked the boy, picking up his bag.

* ' Come with me. ' '

The farmer started out and the boy followed him. They
went for a long distance in the street without talking. The
farmer stopped at the door of an inn, which had a sign in the
shape of a star upon which was written: ''La Estrella de
Italia^ He looked in and turning to the boy said playfully:
' ' We have come at a good time. ' '

They entered one of the large halls where there were sev-
eral tables and a number of men seated, who were drinking
and talking loudly. The old Lombard approached the first
table, and from the way in which he saluted the six customers
who sat around it, one could see that he had been in their com-
pany only a short time before.

They were red in the face and were clinking their glasses,
shouting and laughing. "Comrades," said the Lombard,
standing up and presenting Marco: *' Here is a poor boy, a
countryman of ours, who came from Genoa to Buenos Ay res
searching for his mother. When he reached Buenos Ayres,
they told him: * She is not here, she has gone to Cordova.'
He comes to Rosario in a boat, traveling three days and three
nights, with two lines of recommendation; he presents the
card and they make an ugly face at him. He has not the
shadow of a centesimo. He is here alone and in despair. I
know him; he is a boy full of heart; let us think a lit-
tle. Can he not find enough here to pay for his ticket to Cor-
dova and find his mother ? Shall we abandon him here like a
dog?"

* • Never in the world 1 " * ' That shall never be said ! ' ' they

THE HEART OF A BOY 229

cried together, striking their fists on the table. ' ' A country-
man of ours!" "Come here, little fellow." "We, too, are
emigrants here!" "Look what a fine rogue." " Out with
your money, comrades! " "Good boy! He came here alone.
He has lots of pluck ! " " Have a drink, compatriot! " " We
will send you to your mother, never fear."

One pinched him in the cheek, another patted him on the
shoulder, and a third relieved him of his bag. Some of the
other emigrants arose from the neighboring tables and ap-
proached. The story of the boy made the rounds of the inn.
Three Argentine customers came in from the next room, and
in less than ten minutes the Lombard farmer, who was passing
the hat, gathered in over nine dollars.

"Do you see," he said, turning toward the boy, "how
quickly one does business in America ? "

" Drink," cried another, reaching out a glass of wine, "to
the health of your mother. " They all raised their glasses, and
Marco repeated:

" To the health of my " but a sob of joy choked his

utterance, and replacing his glass upon the table, he threw his
arms around the old man's neck.

He left for Cordova the next morning before daybreak, bold
and smiling, his heart filled with happy presentiments. But
there is no joyousness which reigns for a long time surrounded
by the sinister aspects of nature. The weather was dark and
disagreeable. The train was empty and ran through an im-
mense plain, bereft of every sign of vegetation. He found
himself alone in a very long car which resembled those that
are used for carrying the wounded. He gazed to the right and
left, seeing nothing but a boundless solitude, and here and
there were scattered small dwarf trees with distorted trunks
and branches, in such shapes as he had never seen before, as
though they had been twisted and gnarled by wrath and
anguish. Rank and dark vegetation could be seen everywhere,
which gave to the prairie the appearance of a boundless ceme-

230 THE HEART OF A BOY

tery. He would doze for a half hour and then look around
him again; always seeing the same spectacle. The railway
stations were lonesome like the huts of hermits, and not a voice
could be heard. .It seemed to him that he was on a lost train,
abandoned in the middle of a desert. He fancied that every
station he passed by ought to be the last, and from that point
he was going to enter into some mysterious and frightful laud
inhabited by savages. A sharp breeze blew in his face. When
sailing from Genoa about the last of April, his friends had not
thought that in South America he would find a wintry season
and they had clad him in summer clothes. After many hours,
he began to suffer from the cold, and in addition to this suffer-
ing he felt the lassitude of the previous days, filled with violent
emotions, and of harassing and sleepless nights. He fell asleep
and slept for a long time; when he awoke, he felt chilled and
sick. A vague terror seized him for fear he might be taken
ill or die on his way, and be thrown into the midst of that
desolate plain, w^here his body would be torn by dogs and
birds of prey, like the bodies of horses and cows which be
had seen at different places near the railway track, and
from which he would turn away his eyes in disgust. In the
midst of the restless agitation of that sad silence of nature, his
imagination would become excited and grow very somber. Was
he over-confident of finding his mother in Cordova? And if
she had not gone there ? If that gentleman of the via los Arteb
should have made a mistake ? And if she were dead ?

With such oppressing thoughts, he fell asleep again and
dreamed he was in Cordova; it was night and he heard from
every door and from every window people cry: "She is not
here ! She is not here ! " This roused him with a start, ter-
rified with horror; when he saw at the end of the car three
bearded men, wrapped in shawls of various colors, who were
talking softly among themselves and looking at him. A sus-
picion that they were murderers flashed through his mind, and
he thought they were planning to kill him, to rob him of his

THE HEART OF A BOY 231

bag. To the cold and the oppression of his heart fear was added ;
and his perturbed fancy became distorted, while the three men
still gazed at him.

One of them got up and moved towards him. Then he lost
his self-control, and, running to meet him with his arms out-
stretched, he cried: " I have nothing ! I am a poor boy ! I
came from Italy to look for my mother ! I am alone, do not
hurt me ! "

The men understood everything and were moved to pity.
•They caressed and quieted him, saying many words which he
could not understand, and, noticing that his teeth were chatter-
ing with the cold, they put their shawls around him and had
him sit down again. He fell asleep once more when it was
growing dark. When they woke him up, he was in Cor-
dova.

Ah, what a breath he drew, and with what impetuosity he
rushed out of the car. He asked a railway employe at the sta-
tion where the engineer Mequinez lived. The latter gave him
the name of a church next to which was the Mequinez dwell-
ing. The boy hurried hither. It was night when he entered
the city. It seemed to him that he was again entering Ro-
sario, and that he saw those straight streets flanked by small
white houses and crossed by straight and endless streets.
There were few people out, but under the light of the street
lamps far apart he saw some strange faces of an unfamiliar
color, something between a black and greenish complexion.
Raising his eyes from time to time, he beheld churches of a
peculiar architecture, which were outlined black and enormous
against the sky. The city was dark and silent; but after hav-
ing crossed that immense desert, it seemed cheerful to him.
He inquired his way of a priest, and soon after found the
church and the house. He pulled the bell with a trembling
hand, while pressing the other on his breast to suppress the
palpitation of his heart, which seemed to be jumping into his
throat.

232 THE HEART OF A BOY

An old woman came to open the door with a lamp in her
hand.

At first the boy was unable to speak.

' ' For whom are you looking ? ' ' inquired the woman in
Spanish.

' * For the engineer Mequinez, ' ' said Marco.

The woman crossed her arms on her breast and answered,
nodding her head, "You are also one of those who are after
the engineer Mequinez! It seems to me that it must be about
time for this thing to stop. They have bothered nie now for
more than three months. Is it not enough that it was pub-
lished in the newspapers? It will be necessary to have it posted
on the corners of the streets that the Senor Mequinez has gone
to live in Tucuman ! ' '

The boy made a gesture as though he were in desperation;
then, breaking into a wild rage, he said: "It is a curse!
I shall have to die on my way without being able to find
my mother! I am going crazy; I will kill myself ! My God!
What did you call that place? Where is it? How far from
here?"

" Eh, poor lad," cried the old woman, moved to pity, " It
is not a trifle. It must be four or five hundred miles, at the
least."

The boy covered his face with both hands, and then asked,
sobbing, "And now^ what can I do? "

" What can I tell you, poor child? " answered the woman.
" I do not know."

Suddenly, however, a thought flashed through her mind,
and she hurriedly suggested: "Hear me, now I think of it.
Turn to the right and you will find at the third door a court-
yard. There is a capataz, a merchant, who leaves to-morrow
morning for Tucuman with his carretas and his oxen. Go
and see if he feels like taking you along. Ofler him your
services; probably he will make a place for you on one of his
wagons "

THE HEART OF A BOY 238

The boy thanked the woman, ran away, and two minutes
after he was in a vast court-yard, lighted by a lantern, where
several men were about to load bags of wheat upon some very
large wagons, similar to the movable houses of the mounte-
banks, with a round roof and very high wheels, while a tall
man with a long mustache, wrapped in a sort of mantle of
black and white plaid, wearing high top boots, was directing
the work. The boy approached the latter, and expressed his
wish, saying that he had come from Italy and that he was
searching for his mother.

The capataz (the head conductor of that convoy of wagons)
cast a glance at him from head to foot, and said drily, " I have
no room."

"I have fifteen lire," said the boy in a beseeching manner;
'I will give them all to you. And I am willing to work on
the way. I will go and haul water for the oxen; I will do any-
thing. A little bread is enough for me. Do grant me a little
place, signore! "

The capataz looked at him again and answered, in a milder

tone: ' * There is no room and besides we are not going

to Tucuman; we are going to another city, Santiago dell
*Estero. At a certain place we should have to drop you and
you would have a long distance to go on foot."

•*I am leady to walk double the distance!" exclaimed
Marco; " I am ready to walk, do not worry about that; I will
go, no matter how: do make a little room for me, signore, for
heaven's sake; do not leave me here alone! "

"Think of it; it is a long trip of twenty days.*'

•' It does not matter."

** It is an uncomfortable trip! "

*' I will endure it all."

"You will have to travel alone."

*' I fear nothing; if only I can find my mother again. Have
pity upon mel "

234 THE HEART OF A BOY

The capataz put a lantern up to his face and scrutinized him,
then he said: " Well, you may go! "

The boy kissed his hand.

" For to-night, you may sleep on a wagon," said the cap-
ataz, leaving him there. ' ' I will wake you to-morrow morning
at four o'clock. Buenas yioches! "

The next morning at four, while it was still starlight,' the
long row of wagons started out with a great deal of noise, each
wagon being drawn by six oxen, followed by a large number
of animals for relays. The boy awoke and they put him in-
side one of the wagons, and he immediately fell into a pro-
found sleep. When he awoke, the convoy had stopped in a
solitary spot. All the men — \y\^ peones — w^ere sitting in a
circle around a quarter of a calf, which was roasting over a
large fire in the open air, stuck upon an iron spear planted
firmly in the ground. They all ate together, slept awhile
and started out again. The journey continued, regulated
like a march of soldiers. Every morning they would set
out at five and halt at nine; tney would leave again at five in
the evening, halting again at ten. The peones were riding
on horseback, stimulating the oxen with long poles. The lad
would light the fire for the roast, feed the animals, clean the
lanterns, and carry the waier for the men to drink. The coun-
try passed before him like an indistinct vision. There were
vast woods of small dark trees; villages containing but a few
houses scattered around, with red facades and battlements.
He gazed over extensive spaces, perhaps the ancient beds of
rivers or large salt lakes, glimmering with salt as far as the
eye could reach; and continually, on every side, a plain, a soli-
tude, a silence.

At rare intervals, they would meet two or three travelers on
horseback, followed by a herd of horses, galloping like a whirl-
wind. The days were all alike as they had been at sea, tire-
some and endless. However, the weather was beautiful, but
the peones were becoming more and more exacting every day,

THE HEART OF A BOY 235

and they treated the boy as though he were their bounden
servant; some of them even threatened him and abused him
brutally; some forced him to serve them without mercy, mak-
ing him carry great loads of forage, and sending him long
distances for water; and the poor boy, worn out with fatigue,
could not even sleep at night, constantly shaken by the violent
jolts of the wagon, and disturbed by the deafening noise of
the wheels and wooden axles. In addition to this, the wind
had risen and a thin, reddish, greasy dirt enveloped everything,
penetrating into the wagons and making its way through his
clothes. It filled his eyes and mouth (depriving him of hir
eyesight and making it difficult for him to breathe), in a pei
sistent and unbearable manner. Exhausted by fatigue and loss
of sleep, ragged and dirty, reproved and maltreated from morn-
ing until night, the poor lad became more and more dejected as
the days passed. He would have lost his wits entirely if the
capataz had not once in awhile spoken a kind word to him.
Oftentimes, when in a corner of the wagon, unseen, he would
cry, hiding his face inside of his bag which now contained only a
few rags. Every morning he got up, more feeble and more dis-
couraged, and looked at the country, always seeing that same
boundless and unchanging plain like an ocean of sand, and he
would say: * * Oh, I cannot endure this until night ! To-day I
will die on the way ! ' * His fatigue was growing and the mal-
treatment increased. One morning he was slow in carrying
the water, and in the absence of the capataz one of the men
beat him. After this example, they began to beat him habit-
ually; when they were giving him an order they would give
him a blow, saying: ''Take that, vagabond ! Take that to
your mother!" His heart was almost broken. He fell sick
and remained for three days upon the wagon, with a cover over
him, shaking with fever and seeing no one but tUe capataz
who came now and then to oflfer him a drink and to feel his
pulse. He thought himself lost and was invoking his mother
desperately, calling her by name a hundred times. " Oh, m}

236 THE HEART OF A BOY

mother! Help me! Come and meet me, I am dying! Oh,
poor mother, I will never see you again! Poor mother, you will
find me dead on the way I ' And he folded his hands upon his
breast and prayed. Then he began to recover, owing to the care of
the capataz. He regained his health; but with the return of
his health came the most terrible day of his journey, the day
in which he had to be left alone. They had been on the way
for more than two weeks, when they came to the place where
the road to Tucuman parted from the one which leads to San-
tiago deir Estero. The capataz told him they were about to
separate. He furnished him with some information concerning
the road, tied the bag upon his shoulders in such a way that
it would not annoy him in walking, and saying little to him, as
if he feared to show emotion, he bade him good bye. The lad
had barely time to kiss his hand. The other men who had
treated him so harshly also seemed to feel a little pity at seeing
him left alone, and made him signs of farewell as they moved
away. He returned the salute with his hand and stood looking
at the convoy until it was lost in the reddish dust of the coun-
try, and then sadly started out on his way.

Something, however, comforted him a little from the begin-
ning. After all those days of travel across the boundless plain
having all the time the same aspect, he saw in front of him a
chain of very high azure mountains, with white tops, which
recalled to his mind the Alps and which made him feel as
though he were approaching his own country. It was the
Andes, the dorsal spine of the American Continent, that
immense chain which extends from Terra del Fuego to the
glacial sea of the Arctic Pole, through one hundred and ten
degrees of latitude. He was also comforted by feeling that the
air was all the time growing warmer, and this happened
because he was going to the north and nearing the tropical
regions. At great distances from each other, he passed by
small groups of houses with a little shop where he would buy
something to eat He met men on horseback; from time to

THB HEART OF A BOY 237

time, he saw women and boys sitting motionless on the ground
with grave faces, entirely new to him, of an earthen color,
with oblique eyes and prominent cheek bones. They looked
at him fixedly and followed him with their eyes, turning theii
heads like automatons. They were Indians.

During the first day, he walked as far as his strength would
permit and slept under a tree. The second day, he walked
less and with less spirit. Towards evening, he began to be
afraid. He had heard in Italy that there w^ere serpents in these
countries. He would stop, thinking he heard them crawling,
and then he would start on a run and a cold chill would creep
over him. A great compassion for himself would overtake him
at times, and he cried silently, all the time walking on. Then
he thought: "How my mother would suffer if she knew that I
am so frightened," and the thought of that would give him
courage. In order to distract his thoughts and forget his fear,
he would think of many things concerning his mother. He
recalled her words when she left Genoa, and the gesture with
which she was accustomed to arrange the blankets under his
chin when he was in bed. When he was a little child, she
would take him in her arms saying: "Stay with me for a
moment," and he would stay that way for a long time, with
his head leaning upon her, thinking and thinking. He was
saying to himself: "Willi ever see you again, dear mother?
Will I ever reach the end of my journey, mother? " And he
walked on and on amidst unknown trees and vast plantations
of sugar-cane, and over immense prairies, with those azure
mountains, which pierced the serene sky with their peaks,
always before him.

Four days five then a week passed. His strength

was gradually decreasing, his feet were bleeding. Finally, one
evening towards sunset, some one told him: "Tucuman is only
five miles from here. ' '

He uttered a cry of joy and hastened his step as though he
had suddenly regained his lost vigor, but it was a brief respite.

238 THE HEART OF A BOY

His strength suddenly failed him, and worn out he fell upoij
the brink of the ditch. However, his heart was beating with
happiness. The sky above, thick with shining stars, hadnevei
seemed so beautiful to him. He contemplated the firmament
while lying on the grass trying to sleep, and thought perhaps
his mother was looking at him. He exclaimed: "Oh, my
mother, where are you ? What are you doing at this moment ?
Do you think of your child ? Do you think of 3^our Marco, who
is so near you? "

Poor Marco, if he could have seen in what a state his mother
was at that minute, he would have made a superhuman effort
to go ahead and reach her at the earliest possible moment. She
was sick in bed in a room on the ground floor of a lordly house
where lived the Mequinez family, who had grown very fond of
her, and who were bestowing upon her every attention. The
poor woman was sickly when the engineer Mequinez had sud-
denly been obliged to leave Buenos Ayres and she had not
entirely recovered with the good air of Cordova. In addition
to this, the fact of not receiving any answer to her letters either
from her husband or from their cousin; the vivid, growing pre-
sentiment of a great calamity, and the continual anxiety in which
she had lived, not knowing whether to leave or to remain, ex-
pecting every day some bad news, had caused her to grow worse.
At last, a very grave illness had manifested itself, an internal
lesion. She had not left her bed for the last fifteen days. A
surgical operation was necessary to save her life. Just at that
moment when Marco was invoking her, the master and
mistress of the house stood at her beside, trying with much
kindness to persuade her to allow the operation to be per-
formed, while she, weeping, persisted in her refusal. A good
surgeon from Tuouman had come the previous week, but in
vain.

''No, dear masters," she exclaimed, "it is not worth
while; I no longer have the strength to endure it; I would die
under the knife of the surgeon. It is better that you let me

THB HEART OF A BOY 289

die now. I do not rare to live any longer. Every tumg has
come to an end with me. It is better that I should die before
I know what great misfortune has happened to my family."

But the master was telling her that it must not be so, that she
should take courage, that she would soon receive an answer to
the last letter which had been sent direct to Genoa if she would
only allow the operation to be performed; she ought to do it for
the sake of her children !

The suggestion of her children did nothing but aggravate
her anguish and the profound discouragement which had pros-
trated her for a long time. Hearing those words she burst into
tears:

"Oh, my poor children! My poor children!" she ex-
claimed, clasping her hands, "perhaps they are no longer
alive! It is better that I should die, too. I thank you, my
dear masters, I thank you with all my heart. But it is better
that I should die. I know I would not recover even after the
operation had been performed; I am certain of it. Thanks for
all the cares that you have bestowed upon me, m}^ kind mas-
ters. It is useless for the surgeon to come back to-morrow; I
wish to die. It is my destiny that I should die here. I have
decided."

They still tried to console her, and said: " No, do not say
so," and w^ould take her by the hands and beg of her. But
she closed her eyes, worn out with exhaustion, and fell into a
sort of a trance which made her look as if she were dead. Both
the master and mistress remained there a short time, and by
the dim light of a small lamp they gazed with great compas-
sion upon that admirable mother, who, in order to save her
family, had come to die seven thousand miles from her native
country; to die after having suffered so much; poor woman,
so honest, so good, but so unhappy.

Early in the morning of the next day, with his bag on his
shoulder, bent and limping, but full of spirit, Marco entered
the city of Tucuman, one of the youngest and most flourishing

240 THE HEART OF A BOY

cities of the Argentine Republic. It seemed to him that he
again beheld Cordova, Rosarioand Buenos Ayres. There were
the same long, endless, straight streets, with those low, white
houses; but on every side there was a young and luxuriant
vegetation, a perfumed air, a marvelous light, a limpid and
profound sky, such as he had seen in Italy. As he was going
through the streets, that feverish agitation, which had over-
taken him at Buenos Ayres, again took possession of him; he
looked at the windows and the doors of the houses, gazed at
the women who were passing, with the anxious hope of meet-
ing his mother. He felt like questioning every one, but did
not dare to stop anybody. From the doors of the houses, the
people would turn to look at that poor, ragged and dusty boy,
whose appearance showed that he had come from a great dis-
tance. He looked among the people for a face that would in-
spire him with confidence enough to ask that tremendous
question, when his eyes fell upon the sign of a store, upon
which he read an Italian name. He saw a man and two wo-
men inside. He slowly approached and summoning a resolute
courage and calmness said: " Will you tell me, sir, where the
family of Mequinez lives ? "

" The ingeniero Mequinez ? '* asked the shopkeeper in his
turn.

" The engineer Mequinez," replied the boy in a despairing
voice.

" The Mequinez family," said the shopkeeper, ** is not in
Tucuman."

A desperate outburst of pain, like that of a person who has
been stabbed, rang as the echo of those words.

The shop-keeper and the women arose, and some of the
neighbors ran to him. " What is the matter, boy," said the
shop-keeper, drawing him inside of the store and putting him
on a chair. "There is no use despairing. The Mequinez
family is not here, but at a short distance, only a few hours*
walk from Tucuman."

THE HEART OF A BOY 241

•• Whereabouts? Whereabouts? " cried Marco, springing
up as if restored to life again.

"About fifteen miles from here," pursued the man, " on the
shore of the Saladillo river, in a place where they are building
a large sugar factory, a cluster of houses, one of which is the
home of signor Mequinez. Everybody knows it, and you can
reach there in a few hours."

" I was there a month ago," said a young man who had
run forward at that cry.

Marco looked at him with wide open eyes, and, growing
pale, he impatiently asked, "Have you seen the woman in
the service of signor Mequinez — the Italian woman? ' '

" The Genovesa? Yes; I have seen her.'

Marco burst into convulsive sobbing, half laughing, half
crying.

Then with a sudden resolution he impetuously asked:
"Which way must I go? Quick; show me the way, and I will
leave at once."

" But it is a day's walk," they all said together. " You
are tired; you must rest; you can start in the morning.

"Impossible! Impossible!" cried the boy. "Tell me
which way to go. I cannot wait a moment, I want to go at
once, even if I have to die on the way."

Seeing how inflexible he was, they opposed him no longer.
"May God be with you," they said. "Lookout on your
way through the forest." " Pleasant trip to you, Italian! to."

The man escorted him outside the door and showed him
the way, giving him some instructions about the road, and
wailing to see him go. After a few minutes the boy disap-
peared behind the thick trees which lined the road.

That very night was a terrible one for the poor sick woman
who suffered excruciating pains which wrung shrieks from
her almost enough to burst her veins, and rendered her
delirious at times. The women who waited upon her were at a
loss. The mistress ran in from time to time affrighted. They

242 THB HEART OF A BOY

all commenced to fear that even if the operation were decided
upon, the physician who would have to come the day after
would arrive too late. In the intervals in which she was
not delirious one could see that she suffered more terrible tor-
ture from the thought of her distant family than from het
bodily pains. With an agonized look on her distorted face,
she would thrust her hands into her hair in a desperate gest-
ure, which was heart-rending, and cry:

"Oh, my God! My God! To die and so far away! To
die without seeing them again ! My poor children who will be
without a mother, my young creatures, my dearest ones! My
little Marco, who is still so small, only tall as this, and so affec-
tionate! You do not know what kind of a boy he was! Oh,
my mistress, if you only knew ! I could scarcely tear him away
from my neck when I departed, he sobbed enough to move any
one to pity; it seemed as though he apprehended that he woul(?
never see his mother again! My pool Marco! My poor child
I thought my heart would burst! Ah, if I had only died then,
when he was bidding me farewell. It would have been far better
if I had dropped dead then! Without a mother, poor child, he
who loved me so much, who wanted me so badly, without a
mother, reduced to misery, he will have to go and beg, he, my

Marco, to be obliged to stretch out his hand in hunger Oh!

Eternal God! No, 1 do not wish to die! Call the doctor!
Call him at once! Let him come! Let him cleave my breast!
Let him drive me mad, only let my life be saved! I wish to
recover, I wish to live, I want to go away to-morrow, at once.
The doctor! Help! Help! " — The women around her seized
her by the hands, caressingly and begging her to calm herself,
speaking to her of God and of hope. Then she would fall
back in a mortal dejection, weeping, with her hands on her
grey hair, moaning like a child, uttering deep lamentations,
and murmuring from time to time: "Oh! my Genoa! My
home! All that sea! Oh! my Marco, my poor Marco! Where
is he now, that poor child of mine? '*

THE HKART OF A BOY li-in

It was midnight, and poor Marco, exhausted with fatigue,
having j-pejit many hours upon the bank of a stream, was then
walking throu^e^h a vast forest of gigantic trees, monsters of
vegetation, whose huge trunks, similar to the pillars of a cathe-
dral, interlaced their enormous silvery branches at a lofty height
under the light of the moon. Through that semi-obscurity, he
dimly perceived myriads of trunks of all shapes, upright, in-
clined, contorted, crossing each other in strange positions of
menace, and some of them overthrown on the ground like
towers that had fallen down a long time ago, covered with a
thick and confused mass of vegetation which looked like a
throng of people who were disputing, inch by inch, the pos-
session of the forest. Others collected in groups stood verti-
cally bound together like trophies of Titanic lances, whose tops
touched the clouds; a superb grandeur, a prodigious disorder
of colossal forms, the most majestic, terrible spectacle that
vegetation had ever offered to him. At times a great stupor
overtook him. But at once his soul took flight toward his
mother. He was totally worn out. His feet were bleeding.
He was alone in the midst of that formidable forest, where he
only saw at long intervals some small human dwellings, which
looked like ant hills in comparison with those enormous trecb.
He passed some sleeping buffaloes by the side of the road.
He was tired out, but did not feel his weariness; he was alone,
but did not feel afraid. The grandeur of the forest enlarged
his soul. The nearness of his mother infused in him the
strength and boldness of a man; the remembrance of the ocean,
of the sufferings, of the struggles which he had undergone, all
the fatigues he had endured, the iron constanc}^ which he had
displayed, caused him to uplift his head. All the strong
and noble Genoese blood flowed back to his heart like a
warm tide of joy and audacity. A new feeling arose in his
mind. Up to that time he had borne in his brain a dark and
faded image of his mother, dimmed by the two 3'ears of separa-
tion, but in this moment her image grew clear; he saw her

244 THE HEART OF A BOY

wholesome and open face as he had not seen it for a long time.
He saw her near him, illuminated and speaking; he saw again
the most fleeting motions of her eyes and of her lips, all her
attitudes, all her gestures, the very shadow of her thoughts; and,
urged on by these remembrances, he hastened his step, while
a new affection and an indescribable tenderness was becoming
stronger and stronger in his heart, causing some sweet and
quiet tears to flow down his cheeks. Going along in the dark-
ness, it seemed that he spoke to her, that he whispered words
to her, that he would murmur in her ear, before long: " I am
here, mother ; here I am ; I will never leave you again ; we
shall return home together; I shall always be near you upon
the boat, close beside you, and no one shall ever take me from
you, nevermore, till you shall leave this world! " And he did
not perceive that from the tops of the gigantic trees, the silvery
iight of the moon was dying out in the delicate whiteness of the
dawn.

At eight o'clock on that same morning, the physician of
Tucuman, a young Argentine gentleman, was already at the
bedside of the poor sick woman, accompanied by the surgeon,
trying for the last time to persuade her to allow the operation
to be performed, and the engineer Mequinez and his wife were
adding their persuasions to that of the others. But it was all
in vain. The woman, feeling that she was exhausted, had no
longer any confidence in the operation; she was certain that
she would either die under it or would only survive half an
hour after suffering more terrible pains than those which would
naturally kill her. The physician was repeating that the op-
eration was a sure one, that her safety was certain if she would
only exercise a little courage, and he added that her death was
equally certain if she refused. These were words thrown to the
winds. " No," she answered in a faint voice. " I still have
courage to die, but I have none left to suffer uselessly; thanks,
doctor! It is my destiny! Let me die quietly."

The doctor discouraged, desisted. No one dared to speak

THE HEART OF A BOY 246

again. Then the woman turned her head toward her mistress,
and, with a dying voice, made her last request. " My good
mistress," she said, sobbing and speaking with great effort,
' ' you will send the little money that I have and my poor
effects to my family through the Consul. I hope that they are
all alive. My heart presages me good in this last moment.
You will do me the favor to write that I have always thought
of them; that I have always worked for them, for my children;
that my only sorrow is never to see them again; but that I
died with courage, resigned, and blessing them — my husband,
my eldest son, and my poor Marco, whom I have borne in my
heart up to this last moment " Becoming suddenly ex-
cited, she cried, clasping her hands: "My Marco, my little
child' My life!" — and raising her eyes filled with tears she
perceived that her mistress was no longer beside her; they had
secretly called her away. She looked for the master; he had
also disappeared. No one but the two nurses and the surgeon
were in the room.

She could hear in the adjoining room a great noise of steps,
a murmur of hasty and subdued voices and repressed exclama-
tions. The sick woman fixed her eyes upon the door and
waited. After a few minutes, the physician appeared with an
unusual expression upon his countenance; then her master and
mistress, each with an altered face, entered the room. The
three persons looked at her with a singular expression, and
exchanged a few words in a low tone. It seemed to her that the
physician said to the mistress: " It would be better at once ! "
" losefa," said the mistress with a trembling voice, " I have
some good news for you. Prepare your heart for good news. "

The woman looked at her attentively.

* ' News, " continued the lady, growing more agitated, ' * that
will cause you great joy."

The sick woman's eyes dilated.

' ' Prepare yourself, ' ' pursued the mistress, ' ' to see a person
to whom you are very much attached. ' '

246

THE HEART OF A BOY

The woman raised her head with a start and rapidly began
to observe alternately her mistress and the door, with flashing
eyes.

The mistress, growing pale, added, ** A person has just
arrived unexpected to you. ' '

*' Who is it? " cried the woman in a strange, choking voice
like that of a frightened person.

A moment later she
gave vent to a shrill
scream, and, raising
herself to a sitting
posture on the bed,
remained motionless,
with her eyes staring,
and her hands on her
temples as though
confronted by a su-
perhuman apparition.
Marco, dirty and
tattered, was stand-
ing there on the
threshold of the door,
held back by the doc-
tor's arm.

The woman cried :
"My God! My God?
My God!"

Marco ran forward,
she raised her flesh-
less arms, and pressing him to her heart with the strength of a
tiger, burst into a violent laugh broken by deep sobs, without
shedding any tears. Then she fell back suffocating on her
pillow.

But she soon recovered, and, crazy with joy, covering the
head of her boy with kisses, crying- ** How is it that you art

THE HEART OF A BOY 247

here? — How is it possible? — Is it you? — How you have
grown ! — Who brought you here ? — Are you alone ? — Are you
not ill ? — Is it you, Marco? — This is not a dream is it, great
God?— Speak to me."

Then suddenly changing her manner, she said: "No!
Be silent ! Wait!" — And, turning hastily to the sturgeon:
' * Quick, quick, doctor. I wish to recover. I am ready. Do
not lose a moment. Take Marco away so that he cannot
hear. — My Marco, it is nothing; I will tell you everything. —
Another kiss, go. — I am ready for you, doctor."

They took Marco away. The master and mistress and the
women quietly left the room, only the doctor and the surgeon
remained. They closed the door.

Signor Mequinez tried to draw Marco into a distant room,
but it was impossible; beseemed rooted to the floor.

" What is the matter ? " he asked. ''What is the matter
with my mother ? What are they doing with her ? ' '

And then Mequinez said softly, trying to pull him away
" Listen, I will tell you; your mother is ill; it is necessary to
perform a simple operation; I will explain everything to you;
come with me. ' '

"No," replied the boy resisting, " I wish to stay here;
explain it to me here. "

The engineer heaped words upon words, trying to pull him
away. The lad began to get frightened and trembled.

Suddenly a sharp and shrill scream, like the cry of a person
hurt to death, resounded through the whole house.

The lad answered with another desperate cry, saying,
" My mother is dead ! "

The doctor came to the door and said, " Your mother is
saved I"

The boy looked at him for a moment and then threw himself
at his feet, and sobbing exclaimed: ** Thanks, doctor, thanks!"

But the doctor lifted him up saying: " Get up, stand up !
You are an heroic child. You have saved your mother s life 1"

J48 THE HEART OF A BOY

SUMMER

Wednesday the 24th.

The Genoese boy Marco is the next to the last little hero
with whom we will form an acquaintance this year. Only one
remains for the month of June. There are only two more
monthly examinations, twenty-six school days, six Thursdays,
and five Sundays. One already feels the end of the year
approaching. The pupils are already dressed in their summer
clothes. It is a fine sight to see them as they come out of the
school room. They look so different from what they did last
month; the curls which touched their shoulders have been cut
ofi"; all the heads are shorn; and we can see the bare calves of
the boys, and their bare necks. Straw hats of every shape
with ribbons which fall down upon the back; blouses and
neckties of all colors. The smallest ones all wear red or blue,
a border sewed on, or a tassel, something of a bright color,
put on by their mothers, no matter how, in order to make them
showy, even among the poorest of them. Many come to school
without a hat, as if they had run away from home. Some
wear their white gymnastic suits. There is a boy in Mistress
Delcati's room who is dressed in red from head to foot, like a
lobster. Some wear sailor suits; but the handsomest of all is
the Little Mason, who now wears a large straw hat which
makes him look like a small candle with a shade over it. It is
very laughable to see him make the hare face beneath it.

Coretti has put aside his cat-skin cap and wears an old grey
silk traveling cap. Votini has a sort of a Scotch suit, close
fitting; Crossi displays his bare breast; Precossi is lost inside
of the blue blouse of the blacksmith. And Garofii ? — Now
that he has been obliged to lay aside his cloak which hid all his
wares, all his pockets remain visible, filled with every kind
of bric-a-brac, which forces itself out with the lottery lists.
Every one knows what he carries; fans made of half a news-

THE HEART OP A BOY 249

paper, knobs of canes, and arrows to throw at birds, and some
May bugs, that crawl out of his pockets and go slowly over
his jacket.

Many of the little ones carry bouquets to the teachers.
The teachers are also dressed in summer attire of bright
colors, except the ** Little Nun" who is always dressed in
black, and the teacher with the red feather who still wears her
red feather and a knot of red ribbon on her neck. The ribbon is
all tumbled by the hands of the pupils, who always make her
laugh and then they run away. It is the season of cher-
ries, of butterflies, of open air music on the avenue, of excur-
sions into the country. Some of the Fourth Elementary boys
already run away to bathe in the River Po. Every boy has
his heart set upon vacation time; every day we come out of
school more impatient and happier than the day before. The
only thing which pains me is to see Garrone dressed in mourn-
ing and to notice that my poor teacher of the first upper is
whiter and more emaciated than ever, her cough growing worse
and worse. She walks bent over and salutes me in a very sad
way.

POETRY

Friday the 26th.
Thou dost begin to mtdersfand the poetry of school ^ Enrico ^ but
for the present thou only seest the inside of it. It will appear to
thee more beautiful and more poetic in thirty years from now,
when thou wilt come here to accompany thy children a?id behold it
from the outside, as I do now. At the close I stroll through the
silent streets around the building, and listen at the windows of the
ground floor, close by the wiyidow blinds. Through one of the win-
dows I hear the voice of a mistress who says: ''Ah, that baron the
7,' that is not right, my child, what would your father sayf^* At
another wiyidow near, I hear the full voice of the master, who is
iiowly dictating .• * ' / will buy fifty meters of cloth for four and

260 THE HEART OF A BOY

one-half lire a meter. You will sell these .*' Further ahead

it is the voice of the mistress with the red feather^ who reads in a
loud voice : ' 'At that momejit Pietro Micca, with a lighted fuse — "
From a neighboyiiig class comes a sound like the sharp twittering
of a hu7idred birds ^ which mean's that the iea<. her has left the room
for a moment. I move ahead^ and at the corner I hear a pupil
crying and the voice of the mistress who reproves and consoles him.
From other windows issue verses ^ the names of great men^ f-ag'
ments of sentences which advise virtue, love of country and cour-
age. A few mome?its' silence efisue, during which one would
think that the building is empty, and it does 7iot seem possible that
there are seven hundred boys inside; then one hears hilarious out"

bursts, provoked by the jest of a teacher in good humor and

the people passing by stop to listen. They all cast a look of sym-
tfathy at that kind building which contains so much youthful vigor
and so many hopes. Then one hears a sudden deafening sound
and clapping of books and satchels, a rustling of feet, a sort of
buzzing which spreads from class to class, from the top to the bot-
tojn, like the suddeii diffusing of good news ; the janitor is
making his rounds to announce that the session is over. At that
noise, a crowd ofmeii, women, girls and youths are rushing here
and there in front of the door, awaiting, some their brothers, some
their 7iephews, while from the doors of the class rooms come forth,
as if poured out irito the large hally the smallest children to take
their little cloaks and hats, creatiytg a confusion upon the floor,
da7icing all arou7id till the janitor drives them out, one by one;
finally, they leave in long rows, stamping their feet. Then all the
relatives begiyi a shower of questions : * ' Did you know your les-
S071 ? How much work has he given you 9 What do you have
for to-morrow f When will the 77ionthly exa7ninatio7i take
place 9 ' ' Fvett the poor who do 7iot k7iow how to read open the
books, look at the problems a?id ask how 77iany points their childre7i
had. * ' Only eight f " * ' Commendation and ten points ? * '
''''Nine o?i the lesson 9^'' And they grow a7tgr)' or rejoice, and
questio7i the teachers in regard to the prospects of the examinatio7i .

THE HEART OF A BOY 261

How beautifjil it all is ! How greats and what a noble prom-
ise for the world I

Thy Father.

THB DEAF AND DUMB GIRL

Sunday the 28th.

The best way to finish the month of May was with that
visit which I made this morning. We were about to go out
when the bell rang, and we all went to see who it was. I
heard my father exclaim in astonishment:

*• You here, Giorgio?" It was Giorgio, our gardener of
Chieri, whose family is now at Condove.

He had just come from Ganoa, where he had landed the day
before upon his return from Greece, after having worked there
for three years on a railroad. He looks a little older than
when I saw him last, but has a rosy and jovial face.

My father wished him to come in but he refused to do so;
and becoming very serious, inquired at once: *' How is my
family ? How is my Gigia ? ' '

* * She was well a few days ago, ' ' answered my mother.

Giorgio drew a deep sigh and said: " Let the Lord be
praised! I did not have the courage to present myself at the
Deaf and Dumb Asylum without first hearing something about
her. I beg permission to leave my valise here and hasten to go
after her. It is three years since I have seen her, my poor
daughter! Three years since I have seen any of my people! "

My father told me to accompany him.

" Another word, please," said the gardener upon the land-
ing. But my father interrupted him: ** And how is it about
your business ? ' '

"Quite good," he replied, "thanks to God. I have
brought home a few soldi. But I was about to inquire how
the education of the little deaf and dumb one is progressing;
tell me a little about it. When I left her she was like a little

252 THE HEART OF A BOY

animal, poor creature. I do not put much confidence in those
institutions. Has she learned to make signs ? My wife wrote
me that she learns to speak and is making progress? But
I was saying to myself: * What does it matter if she does
learn to speak if I do not know how to make the signs ? How
can we understand each other, poor child!' It is all right
enough for the deaf and dumb to understand each other, one
unfortunate with another unfortunate. How then is she get-
ting along ? How is she ? "

My father smiled and replied: " I will not tell you any-
thing; you will see for yourself; go, go; and do not rob her of
one minute more of your presence.'*

We left the house. The asylum is quite near. On the
way, walking with long strides, the gardener was talking tome
and all the time growing sadder. ' ' Oh, my poor Gigia, to be
born with that misfortune! To think that I have never heard
her call me father and she has never heard herself called
daughter by me, and that she has never heard or spoken a word
in this world! It is fortunate that we found a charitable gen-
tleman to pay her expenses at the asylum. But she could not
go there before she was eight years old. She has been away
from home for three years now. She is fully eleven. Has she
grown, tell me, has she grown much ? Is she in good spirits ? "

** You will soon see," I said to him, hastening my steps.

** But where is this building ? " he asked. " My wife took
her to that place after I had gone away. It seems to me it
must be in this direction."

We had just arrived. We immediately entered the parlor
and one of the janitors came to meet us.

** I am the father of Gigia Voggi," said the gardener; "send
for my daughter instantly."

*'They are having their recreation," replied the janitor,
** I will go and notify the teacher," and he went away.

The gardener was no longer able to speak or keep still, and
he was looking at the pictures on the wall without seeing any-

THE HEART OF A BOY 253

anything. The door opened and the teacher, dressed in black,
entered, holding a girl by the hand.

Father and daughter looked at each other a moment, and
then they fell into each other's arms, uttering a cry.

The girl was dressed in a striped reddish cloth gown and a
white apron. She is taller than I am. She wept and pressed
her father's neck with both arms.

Her father disengaged himself and began to look at her
from head to foot with tears in his eyes; and, panting as though
he had been running a distance, he exclaimed: " How she has
grown! How handsome she has become! Oh, my dear, my
poorGigia! My poor deaf and dumb girl! And you, Signora
mistress ? Tell her to make some signs for me that I may see
if I can understand, and then after awhile I will also learn.
Tell her to make me understand something by gestures. * *

The teacher smiled and said in a low voice to the girl, "who
is this man who has come to see you?"

And the girl with a thick, strange, dissonant voice like that
of a savage who speaks our language for the first time, but pro-
nouncing distinctly and smiling all the time — " It is my

fa-ther."

The gardener fell back and uttered a cry like a lunatic: "She
speaks ! But is it possible ! How can it be ! She speaks I
You speak, my child! Do tell me, do you really speak ?" and
he embraced and kissed heron the forehead three times, " But
is it not with signs that they speak, signora teacher r xS it
not with the fingers like this? "

*' No," replied the mistress, " it is not with gestures. That
was the old method; here they use the new method, the oral.
How is it that you do not know it ? "

" I knew nothing about it," replied the gardener, amazed.
*' I have been away for three years. Perhaps they have writ-
ten it to me but I have not understood it : I am a sort of a
blockhead. Oh, my little girl, you understand me then ? You
hear my voice? Answer, do you hear? Do you hear what I say?"

254 THE HEART OF A BOY

**No, my good man," replied the mistress, "she catnot
fiear your voice because she is deaf; she understands from the
movements of your lips what you are saying, but she does not
hear your words, and not even those which she speaks to you;
she pronounces them because we have taught her letter by let-
ter how to place the lips and move the tongue, and what an
efifort she must make with her chest and throat to throw out
the voice. "

The gardener did not understand, and stood with his mouth
wide open; he did not believe it possible.

"Tell me, Gigia,".he said to the daughter, speaking in
her ear, " are you glad your father has returned ?" and raising
his head he waited for the answer.

The girl looked at him thoughtfully but said nothing.

Her father was perturbed.

The mistress laughed. Then she said : ** My good man,
she does not answer you because she has not seen the move-
ment of your lips — you have spoken in her ear. Repeat the
question, keeping your face in front of hers."

Looking sharply in her face, her father repeated: "Are
you glad that your father has returned ? That he will never
go away again ? ' '

The girl who had looked attentively at his lips, trying to
see inside of his mouth, at once replied : * * Yes, I am gla-d
that you have re-turn-ed, that you will not go away again."

The father embraced her impetuously, and then in great
haste, in order to assure himself still further, he overwhelmed
her with questions.

" What is mamma's name? **

"An-tonia."

** What do you call your little sister? *'

"A-de-laide."

** What is the name of this asylum? "

"The Deaf and Dumb."

** How much is two times ten? **

THE HEART OF A BOY 255

''Twenty.'*

We thought that he was laughing for joy, but all of a
sudden he began to weep. That was also on account of his joy.

"Have courage," said the mistress, "you have reason to
rejoice and not to weep. Do you see, you will make your
daughter cry also. Be cheerful. ' ' The gardener grasped the
teacher's hand and kissed it two or three times, saying :
' 'Thanks, thanks, a hundred times thanks. Thanks a thousand
times, my dear signora mistress ! And do forgive me that I
do not know how to express myself better ! ' '

" She not only knows how to speak, but she can write also.
She knows how to calculate. She knows the name of all the
ordinary' objects. She knows a little history and has some
knowledge of geography. She now belongs to the normal
class; when she has gone through two more classes she will
know a great deal more. When she leaves this place she will
be in a condition to take up some profession. We have some
of our deaf and dumb in stores, waiting upon customers, and
who know how to do business like other people."

The gardener was again astonished. He acted as though
his ideas were again becoming confused; he looked at his
daughter and rubbed his forehead. His face showed that he
wished to ask another question.

Then the mistress turned to the janitor and told him to call
a girl from the preparatory class.

The janitor came back in a short time with a deaf and
dumb girl about eight or nine years old, who had entered the
asylum a few days before.

"This girl,'' said the teacher, "is one of those to whom
we teach the first elements. This is the way we go about it. I
wish to have her say ah. Pay attention." The teacher opened
her mouth as we open it to pronounce the open a, and she
motioned to the girl to open her mouth in the same way. The
child obeyed. Then the mistress made a sign to her to throw
out her voice : the girl emitted her voice but instead of saying

266 THB HKART OF A BOY

a pronounced o. " No," said the mistress, "that is not right.'*
And taking the girl by both hands, put one of them on her
throat and the other on her chest and repeated a. The child,
feeling with her hand the movements of the throat and chest
of the mistress, opened her mouth as before and pronounced a
very correctly. Then the mistress made her say c, /, d, always
holding the two small hands upon her chest and throat. ' ' Do
you understand now ? ' * she asked.

The father understood, but seemed more surprised than
when he did not understand. '' Do you teach them all to
speak in that same way ?' ' he inquired, after a moment's reflec-
tion, looking at the teacher. ** Have you the patience to teach
them to speak in that way, little by little, all of them, one by
one, year after year? You are saints! You are like the
angels of paradise! And now, please, leave me alone with my
daughter; leave her with me for five minutes."

Pulling her on a side seat, he began to question her while
the child would answer and he laughed with tears in his eyes,
striking his knee with his fists, grasping the girl with his hand,
looking at her, beside himself with hearing her as though it
were a voice from heaven. Then he asked the mistress: "Am
I allowed to go and thank the director of the asylum ?"

"The director is not here," replied the teacher. " But
there is another person whom you ought to thank. Here,
every girl is entrusted to the care of an older companion, who
acts as a sister, or a mother to her. Your daughter has been
entrusted to a deaf and dumb girl of seventeen, the daughter
of a baker; she is truly kind and very fond of her. Every morn-
ing for the last two years she has helped her to dress; she
combs her hair, teaches her to sew, mends her clothes and keeps
her company. Luigia, what do you call your asylum mamma ?"

The girl smiled and replied: " Cate-rina Gior-dano." Then
she said to her father: " Very, very kind."

The janitor having gone out at a motion from the teacher
Returned with a deaf and dumb girl, blonde and robust, with a

THE HEART OF A BOY 267

jovial face, also dressed in a reddish striped dress and a gray
apron, who stopped at the door blushing; then she bowed and
smiled; she had the figure of a woman but the expression of a
child.

The daughter of Giorgio ran to her, took her by the arm
like a child and dragged her to her father, saying with her
thick voice : ** Ca-te-rina Gior-dano."

"Oh, what a good girl!" exclaimed the father, and he
stretched out his hand to caress her, but immediately drew it
back, saying : **Ah, you dear, good girl, may God bless 3^ou,
may He grant you much happiness and consolation, may He
make you happier than all your people. Such a kind girl she
has been to my poor Gigia ; it is an honest workman, a poor
father of a family who wishes all this to you with all his
heart."

The older girl caressed the little one, all the time smiling,
and the gardener continued to look at her as he would gaze at
a Madonna.

" Now you may take your daughter with you," said the
mistress.

' ' Of course, I will take her," replied the gardener. " I will
take her to Condove and bring her back to-morrow morning ! "
— The daughter ran away to dress — " Three 3'ears that I have
not seen her," repeated the gardener, " and now she speaks !
I will take her to Condove immediately, but first I want to
make a tour around Turin with my little deaf and dumb
daughter on my arm, that they may all see her, and I will take
her to see my few acquaintances, that they may hear her ! Oh,
what a beautiful day ! This is what you may call a consola-
tion ! Here, give me j^our arm ; give your arm to your father,
my Gigia ! "

The girl who had returned with a little cloak and cap, gave
him her arm.

* ' Thanks to all, " said her father at the door. * ' Thanks to
aJl with my whole soul ! I shall return again, thanks to all ! '

258 THS HEART OF A BOY

He stood thinking for a moment, then he took his arm from
his daughter's and turned back, feeling in his waist-coat
pocket, and shouted like a furious man : ''You see I am a
poor fellow, but here, I leave these twenty lire for the asylum,
a nice bright new gold piece ! " and he threw it upon the table
with a bang.

" No, no, my good man," said the mistress, moved, ''take
back your money. I cannot accept it. Take it back; we do not
need it. You will come when the director is here. But he will
not accept it either, you may be sure. You have worked too
hard to earn your money, poor man. They will all be gratefii/
to you just the same."

"No, I wish to leave it," said the gardener obstinately;
*' and then later — we will see."

But the mistress replaced the coin in his pocket without giv-
ing him time to push her back.

Then he gave it up, shrugging his shoulders, and throw-
ing a kiss to the teacher and the older girl, he again took
his daughter's arm and rushed out of the door, saying: ' ' Come,
come, my daughter, my poor deaf and dumb, my treasure 1 "

And the deaf and dumb girl exclaimed with a thick voice :
'* What a beau-ti-ful sun-shine."

JUNE

GARIBALDI
To-morrow is the National Feast Day

June the jrd.
This -i s a day of national mourning . Garibaldi died last night.
Dost thou know who he was ? It was he who delivered ten mill"
io7is of Italians from the tyranny of the Bourbons. He died at
the age of seventy-five. He was bo^n in Nizza, a so7i of the cap-
tain of a sailing vessel. At the age of eight, he saved the life of

THE HEART OF A BOV 269

a woman; when he was thirteen^ he dragged to safety a boat
loaded with his co7npa7iions who we>e about to be shipwrecked ; at
twenty^ he resaied a youth who was drowniiig hi the waters oj
Marseilles ; atforty-oyie^ he saved a shipfiom afire on the ocea7i.
He fought fo} te7i years in South America for the liberty of a
foreign people. He fought in three wars against the Austrians
for the liberation of Lo77ibardy a7id T7e7it. He defe7ided Rome
agai7ist the Fre7ich in i8^q. He liberated Palerino aud Naples
hi i860. He fought agahifor Rome hi '6j. Combatted agai7ist
the Ger7na7iSy i7i i8jo,for the defense of Fra7ice. He bore the
flajyie of heroism a7id the ge7iius of war. He was e7igaged in
forty battles and won thirty-seve7i of them. When he was not
engaged i7i war, he worked f 07 his livhig ; he fou7id seclusion
up07i a solitary isla7id and tilled the land. During his life he
was a teacher, a sailor, a workman, a merchant, a soldier, a gen-
eral, a dictator. He was great, si77iple aiid good, he hated all the
oppressors, and loved all the people. He always protected the
weak ones; he refitsed honor, despised death, adored Italy. When
he 7dte7'ed a zvar cry, a legio7i of valorous men would rirn to him
fro7n every side. Ge7itle7ne7i would leave their palaces, work77ie7i
their shops, a7id youths their schools, hi order to go a7id fight
under the su7ishi7ie of his glory, hi war ti77te, he wore a red
shirt. He was a blo7ide, ha7idso77ie a7id stro7ig. Up07i the field
of battle he .was like lightning ; in his affectio7i like a child; hi his
so7row like a sai7it. Thousands of Italia7is have died for their
cou7itry, glad while dyi7ig to see hi77i pass at a distayice, victorious.
Thousa7ids would have died for hi7n; 77iillio7is have blessed him;
a7id 7nillio7is will continue to bless hi77i. He is dead. The whole
world 77iourns for hi 7n. Thou ca7ist 7iot yet C077iprehe7id it, Bui
thou wilt read of his deeds, thou wilt hear him spoken of co7iti7iu-
ally duri7ig thy life; a7id as thou growest, his i77iage will grow
before thee; whe7i thou art a i7ia7i, thou ivilt behold hi77i as agia7it;
a7id when thou art no longer hi this world, the children of thy
children, a7id the thousa7ids to be born of the co77iing generations,
ivill see 07i high his radiant h7iage glorifying hi7n as the redeemer

260 THE HEART OK A BOY

of the people^ crowned with the fia^nes of his victories as ivith a circle
of stars ^ and the brow and soul of every Italian will beam as he
pronounces his name.

Thy Father,

THE ARMY

Sunday the iith^ the National Holiday havtng been postponed for seven
days on account of the death of Garibaldi.

We went into the piazza Castello to see the military parade,
which filed in front of the Chief Commander of the Army
Corps, between two rows of people While the soldiers were
marching past, at the sound of the trumpets and the music of the
bands, my father pointed out to me the different corps and the
glories of the flags. At the head of the line came the cadets
of the academy, who will become oflQcers in the engineering
and the artillery corps; about three hundred of them dressed in
black, passed by with the dashing and easy elegance of the soldier
and student. After them^ the infantry passed: first the Aosta
brigade which fought at Goito and at San Martino, next the
Bergamo brigade which fought at Castelfidardo, four regiments,
company after company, thousands of red tassels that looked
like a double and very long crown of flowers of a blood red
color, extended and fluttering at the ends, and carried across
the crowd. After the infantry, marched the battalions
of the Engineer's Corps, with their black plumes and
crimson stripes, and while they were filing past, we could see
coming in front and back of them hundreds of straight long
plumes, which rose above the heads of the spectators. These
were the Alpine soldiers, the defenders of the gates of Italy,
all of them tall, rosy, and strongly built, wearing Calabrian
hats and lapels of a vivid green, the color of the grass of their
mountains. The Alpine soldiers were still filing by when a
g[uiver ran through the crowd, and the '' Bersaglieri," the old

THE HEART OF A BOY 261

twelfth battalion, the first ones who entered Rome through the
breach of Porta Pia, their faces bronzed, alert, quick, with
their feathers floating in the wind, passed like a wave in a
black sea, making the piazza ring with the sharp tones of their
trumpets which sounded like cries of joy. But that sound was
deafened by a rumble which announced the field artillery, and
they passed proudly, seated upon their caissons, drawn by three
hundred spans of fiery horses, the handsome soldiers with the
yellow lacings, and the long bronze and steel cannons glitter-
ing upon their carriages which were rattling and making such
a noise that the earth trembled beneath our feet. Then came
slowly, grave and beautiful in their heavy and solid appear-
ance, the stalwart soldiers of the mountain artillery with their
powerful mules, that mountain artillery, which carries dismay
and death as high as the foot of man can climb. The last to
pass was the beautiful regiment of Genoa cavalry, which
wheeled down like a whirlwind upon ten fields and fought
scores of battles from Santa Lucia to Villafranca, galloping,
with their helmets shining in the sun, with their lances erect,
their pennons floating in the wind, glittering with silver and
gold, filling the air with jingling and neighing.

" How beautiful ! " I exclaimed. — But my father almost
reproached me for those words, and said:

" You must not look upon the arn-y as an amusing per-
formance. All those young men, full of vigor and hope, may
be called upon at any time to defend our country and be
crushed to pieces in a half hour by bullets or grape-shot.
Every time you hear the cry at a feast, ' Long live the army !
long live Italy ! ' — just think of the regiment passing over a
field covered wnth corpses and flooded with blood, and then the
hurrahs to the army will come out of the most profound
depths of your heart, and the image of Italy will appear
greater and more severe."

2&2 THE HEART OF A UOV

ITALY

Tuesday the 14th,

Thus thou must salute thy cowitry in the days of festivity :
** Ifalyy my 7ioble a7id beloved land, where my father and my
mother were born and will be buried — where I hope to live and die ,
where my children will grow up and die: Beautiful Italy, grand
and glorious for maiiy centuries, united and free for the last few
years ; who hast scattered so much light and divine intellect
throughout the world ! Italy, for whom so many valorous men
have died upori the field of battle and so majiy heroes upon the
scaffold; august mother of three himdred cities and thirty ?nillions
of children I I, a child who cannot understand thee, for I am still
unable to fully know thee, I venerate and love thee with all my
soul, and am proud to be born of thee, to be able to call 7nyself thy
son ! I love thy beautiful seas, thy sublime Alps; I love thy sol-
emn monuments and thy immortal memories; I love thy glory and
thy beauty; I love a7td venerate thy whole country as I do thai
most beloved part where for the first time I saw the sun and heard
thy name. I love every portion of thee with devoted affection and
with equal gratitude:— Turin, the valia?it; Genoa, the superb;
Bologna, the learned; Venice, the enchanting; Milan, the power-
ful. I love you all with the equal reverence of a child. Florence,
the gentle, and Palermo, the terrible; Naples, great ajid beauti-
ful; Rome, marvelous and eternal. I love thee, sacred cotmtry!
And I swear that I shall love all thy children like brothers; that I
ivill always honor in my heart thy great, illustrious men and thy
noble dead; that I will be an industrious and hmiest citizeji, con-
stantly hitent upon elevatbig myself, to render myself worthy of
thee, to assist with my S7nall powers to cause to disappear from thy
face all misery, ignorance and crime, that thou inayest live and
expand tranquilly in the majesty of thy justice a7id thy strength.
I swear that I will serve thee as it is gra7ited to me^ with my tal-

THE HEART OF A BOY 26

ent, with my arm., and with my heart, humbly and boldly; and ij
the day come$ i7i which I shall have to shed 7ny blood aiid give my
life for thee, I will shed my blood and die crying — crying to the
iky thy. holy 7iame and sending my last kiss to thy blessed flag ! "

Thy Father,

THIRTY-TWO DEGREES CENTIGRADE

Friday the i6th.

In the five days which have passed since the national feast,
the heat has increased three degrees. We are now in full sum-
mer, every one begins to feel tired; the boys have all lost their
rosy color; the heads droop, the legs grow thin, and the eyes close.
JPoor Nelli, who suffers so much from the heat, has now a face
the color of wax. Sometimes he falls asleep with his head
upon his copybook, but Garrone is always prompt to put in
front of him an open reader, standing it upright, so that the
teacher cannot see him. Crossi leans his large head upon the
desk in such away that it looks detached from the shoulders
and placed there. Nobis complains that there are too many
in the room and that we corrupt the air. We have to make a
great effort to study. I see from the window those beautiful
trees which cast a dark shadow, where I would like to go and
run, and I feel impatient because I am obliged to shut mj^self
up among the benches. But then I take courage again, seeing
that my good mother always looks at me when I come out of
school to see if I am pale; and asks me, while going over ever>'
page of the lesson:

" Do you feel bad ? " Every morning when she wakes me
at six to do my lessons, she exclaims :

"Courage! there are only so many -more days; after that
you will be at liberty to rest, and you will be able to go under
the shade of the trees."

She is right to remind me of the boys who work in the fields.

264 THE HEART OF A BOY

beneath the extreme heat of the sun, or on the white gravel of
the river, where they are bUnded by the reflection and scorched
by the heat, and of all those who are employed in glass factor-
ies, who stand motionless the whole day with their faces held
over a gas flame. They all get up sooner than we do and
have no vacations. Let us have courage then ! Derossi is the
first in this as in everything else; he suffers neither from heat
nor drowsiness; he is always alive and merry, with his blonde
curls in summer as well as in winter. He studies without
tiring and keeps every one around him awake, as if refresh-
ing the air with his voice. There are two others who always
keep awake and are attentive to the lesson: first, that stubborn
boy, Stardi, who pricks his face in order not to fall asleep, and
the warmer and more tired he gets, the closer he shuts his
teeth, and he opens his eyes wide as though he were going to
devour the teacher; and after him that trafficking lad Garoffi,
who keeps busy manufacturing fans out of red paper, orna-
mented with borders taken from match-box pictures, which he
sells for a centesimo each. But the bravest of all is Coretti,
poor Coretti, who gets up at five to help his father carry wood.
By eleven o'clock, he can scarcely keep his eyes open and his
head falls upon his chest. Nevertheless, he shakes himself,
strikes himself upon the back of the neck, and asks permission
to go out and wavsh his face, and tells the others to shake him
and to pinch him.

In spite of all that, this morning, not being able to fight
his drowsiness any longer, he fell into a deep sleep. The
teacher called him loudly: '* Coretti ! " He did not hear. The
teacher, irritated, repeated : ** Coretti ! "

Then the son of the charcoal dealer, who lives next door to
Coretti, arose and said :

" He worked from five until seven, carrying fagots." The
teacher let him sleep and continued the lesson for another half
hour. Then he moved softly in front of Coretti 's bench, and
blowing in his face, woke him up. The latter, seeing the

THE HEART OF A BOY 265

teacher before him, drew back frightened. But the teacher
took his head in his hands and told him, kissing his hair :

" I do not reprove you, my child, your sleep is not one of
laziness; it is the sleep of fatigue. "

MY FATHER

Saturday the lyth.

Certainly neither thy companion Coretti nor Garrone would
answer theii father as thou hast answered thine this evening.
How is it possible, Enrico 9 Thou mustpfomise me that this will
never ocair again as long as I live. Every time that thy father
reproaches thee a bad answer flies to thy lips. Thhik of that day
which will inevitably come when he will call thee to his bedside to
tell thee: " Enrico, I leave thee.'' Oh, my child, when thou wilt
hear his voice for the last time, and also for a long time after
when thou wilt weep in thy solitary room, in the midst of those
books which he will never opc7i agaiii; then thou wilt remember that
at times thou hast failed in respect to him, a7id thou wilt ask oj
thyself: " How is it possible f " Then thou wilt imder stand that
he has always been thy best friend, arid that when he was forced
to punish thee, he suffered from it more than thou didst; that he
has never caused thee sorrow but has always done thee good. Then
thou wilt repent; weeping, thou wilt kiss that table upon zvhich he
has worked so hard, 2ipo?i which he has ivorn 02it his health for his
children. Now thou canst not coynprehend, because he hides every-
thijig foyn thee except his kiyidness and his love. Thou dost 7iot
know that at times he is so weary that he thinks he has only a few
days more to live, and in those moments he only speaks of thee; he
has no other care in his hea?'t than that he may not leave thee poor
and without protection ! And how often, thiyiking of this, he
enters thy room ivhen thou art asleep and remains there with a
light in his hand, looking at thee, and theyi, sad and tired as he
is, he returns to work ! Thou dost not even know that he looks for

266 THK HEART OF A BOY

thee and stays with thee because he has a bitterness in his heu,ri;
certain sorrows which attack every man in the world, and looks
for thee as for a friend to fi?id comfort and forgetfulness; and he
feels the necessity of findirig refuge iJi thy affection to recuperate
his serenity a7id courage. Think, then, what a sorrow it must be
for him when iristead of finding affection hi thee, he finds coldyiess
a?id irreverence! Never stain thyself again with that horrible
ingratitudel Think that if thou wert as good as a saint, thou
wouldst never be able sufficiently to repay him for all that he has
done a7id is continually doing for thee, Thhik also that one can-
not rely upon one' s life, that a misfortune may deprive thee of thy
father when thou art still a boy, in two years, in three months,
to-morrow. Then, my poor Eiirico, what a change thou wouldst
see in everything around thee; how empty and desolate would thy
home appear, with thy poor mother dressed hi black I Go, my
child, go to thy father; he is in his room at work; go on tip-toe
that he may not hear thee enter; go and place thy brow upon his
kneeSf that he may forgive and bless thee.

Thy Mother.

IN THE COUNTRY

Monday the ipth.

My good father forgave me this time also, and allowed me to
go on the excursion into the country, which had been planned
ever since Wednesday with Coretti's father, the wood-huckster.
We all felt the need of the fresh air on the hills. It was a reg-
ular feast. Yesterday at half-past two, we all met in the Piazza
dello Statuto; Derossi, Garrone, Garoffi, Precossi, Coretti and
his father, and I, with our provisions of fruit, sausages,
bread and hard boiled eggs; we also had some leather cups and
some tin cups. We rode in the omnibus as far as La Gran
Madre di Dio, and then off quickly to the hills. Everything
was green, shady and fresh; we rolled upon the grass, put our

TffE HEART OF A BOY 267

faces over streams, and jumped over hedges. Coretti's father
followed us at a distance with his jacket on his shoulder,
smoking his clay pipe; from time to time he would admonish
us with his hand that we should not tear our trousers. Pre-
cossi whistled; I had never heard him whistle before. Coretti
was doing a little of everything with his jack-knife on the way;
he knows everything, that little man. He makes small mill
wheels, forks and squirts. He wanted to carry the things of
the others, and he was laden, wet with perspiration, but as
nimble as a goat. Derossi was stopping every moment to tell
the names of the plants and insects. I do not know how he
manages to know so many things. Garrone ate his bread in
silence, but he no longer eats his bread with such mischievous
bites, poor Garrone, since he has lost his mother. However,
he is always the same, always as good as he can be. When
one of us took a start to leap over a ditch , he would run from
the other side and reach out his hand, and because Precossi was
afraid of the cows, having bsen tossed by one when a little boy.
every time that one passed Garrone placed himself before him.
We went up to S-inta Margherita, and then down the incline
in leaps, rolling in such a way that we ran the risk of hurting
ourselves. Precossi, tumbling into a thorn-bush, tore his
blouse and stood there shamefaced with the strip dangling; but
Garofi&, who always has pins in his jacket, pinned it up so that
it scarcely showed, while Precossi was saying to him: " Excuse
me, excuse me." Then he started to run again. Garoffi was
not losing his time on the way; he was picking herbs to make
salads, with some snails; and every shining stone that he found
he put in his pocket, thinking there might be gold or silver
in it." We went along, running and rolling, climbing in the
shade and in the sunshine, up and down through all the lanes
and paths, until we came panting and breathless to the top of
the hill, where we stopped to eat our lunch on the grass. From
this place we could see an immense plain and the azure Alps
with their white peaks. We were almost dying of hunger, and

268 THE HEART OF A BOY

the bread seemed to melt in our mouths. Coretti's father gave
us each a portion of sausage upon a pumpkin leaf instead of
a plate. We all began to talk at once about our teachers, about
our companions who were not able to come on the excursion ,
and about the examinations. Precossi seemed to be a little
ashamed to eat, and Garrone forced the best of his share into
his mouth. Coretti sat next to his father with his legs crossed.
They looked more like brothers than like father and son when
you gazed at them so near to each other; both red and smiling
with those white teeth. Coretti's father drank with pleasure
and emptied the leather and tin cups which we left half finished,
saying:

"You, who study do not need to drink so much; it is the
wood-huckster who needs it I *'

Then he grasped the nose of his child, saying:— " Boys,
you must like this fellow here, he is the flower of an upright
man; it is I who say this!" And all except Garrone
laughed. — Coretti's father continued to drink.

" What a pity! now you are all together as good comrades
and in a few years from now, who knows where you will be;
Enrico and Derossi will be lawyers or professors, how do I
know, — and you other four will probably be in some shop
working at a trade. And then ' Good bye, comrades.' "

" What ? " said Derossi, "so far as myself am concerned,
Garrone will always be Garrone, Precossi will always be
Precossi, and the others the same, even though I should
become the Emperor of Russia; where they are, I will go."

'* Bless thee, my child! " — exclaimed Coretti's father, rais-
ing the flask, — " that is the way to talk! Touch! I^ong live
the good companions, and long live the school which makes
you all of the same family, those who are rich and those who
are poor !"

We all touched his flask with our cups and drank for the
last time. He added:

" Hurrah for the squad of the 4:9th ! " rising upon his feet

THE HEART OF A BOY

and swallowing the last drop; " and if ever you have anything
to do with squads, be careful to be steady as we were ! '

It was already late; we descended running and singing,
walking for long distances arm in arm, and we reached the
River Po as it was growing dark, and thousands of fire- flies
were darting through the air, We did not separate until we
reached the Piazza dello Statuto, where we agreed to meet next
Sunday in order to go to the Vittorio Emanuele Theater, to
attend the distribution of prizes to the pupils of the evening
schools.

What a fine day ! How joyfully I would have returned
home if I had not met my poor teacher. I met her as she
was coming down the stairs of our house, almosc in the dark,
and as soon as she saw me she took me by both hands and
whispered in my ear:

' ' Good bye, Enrico, remember me ! " — I noticed that she
was weeping. I mounted the stairs and said to my mother:

" I have met my school mistress." — ** She was just going
to bed," replied my mother, whose eyes were red. Then she
added with sadness, looking at me:

'^hy poor mistress is very, very low.**

THE DISTRIBUTION OP PRIZES TO THE WORKMEN?

Sunday the 2^tk,

As it had been agreed, we all went together to the theatre
Vittorio Emanuele, to attend the distribution of prizes to the
workmen. The theatre was decorated as on the 14th of March,
and it was thronged; but almost entirely with workingmen's
families, and the pit was occupied by the pupils of both sexes
of the Choral Singing School, who sang a hymn, "To the
Dead Soldiers in the Crimea," which was so beautiful that
when it was over, the audience arose, clapping their hands and
shouting, and they were obliged to sing it over again.

270 THE HEART OF A BOY

Soon after, those who were to receive the prizes began to
file in front of the Mayor, the Prefect, and many others, who
gave them small books of the Savings Bank, diplomas, and
medals. In a corner of the pit, I saw the Little Mason sitting
next to his father; on the other side was our principal, and be-
hind him I saw the red head of my teacher of the second
class.

The first to file out were the pupils of the evening schools
for drawing, then the engravers, the stone cutters, lithograph-
ers and some carpenters and masons. Next those of the com-
mercial school; then those of the musical Lyceum, among whom
were many girls, v/orking girls, all in gala dress, who were
greeted with great applause and who laughed. At last, the
pupils of the evening elementary schools passed by; it was a
beautiful spectacle. They were of all ages, of all trades, and
dressed in all sorts of ways. Men with grey hair, boys from
the work-shops, and workmen with long black beards. The
young ones looked at their ease, the grown men were a little
embarrassed. The people clapped their hands at the youngest
and the oldest. But no one among the spectators applauded
as they did at our celebration. One could see that they were
all attentive and serious.

The wives and children of many of those who received
prizes were in the pit. There were some little children, who,
when their father passed upon the stage, would call him loudly
by name and point their finger at him, laughing. Some farm-
ers and some porters passed by, who belonged to the Boncom-
pagni school. There was a bootblack from the Citadella school,
whom my father knows and who received a diploma. After
him, we saw a large man, who looked like a giant and whom
I thought I had seen before. Ic was the father of the Little
Mason. He received the second prize. It came back to my
mind when I had seen him in a garret at the bedside of his
sick child, and I sought with my eyes the " Little Mason " in
the pit, poor child! He was gazing at his father with tears in

THK HEAKT OF A BOY 271

his eyes, and in order to hide his emotion he was making the
hare face.

At that moment I heard a crash of applause, and looking
upon the stage I saw a little chimne}^ sweep, with a clean face
but in working clothes, and the Mayor spoke to him holding
him by the hand. A cook came next after the chimney sweep.

Then one of the municipal chimney sweeps received his
medal; he belongs to the Rainieri school. I was feeling some-
thing inexplicable in my heart, something like a great affec-
tion and a great respect, thinking how many efforts those
prizes had cost those workmen who had families and were
loaded with cares; how many fatigues were added to their ordi-
nary fatigues; how many hours were snatched from the sleep
they needed so much ; and also of how they must have
taxed their intellects which were not accustomed to study, and
I thought of all those hands roughened and calloused by work!

A boy from a factory passed, and it was evident that his
fether had loaned him a jacket for the occasion, as the sleeves
hung down so far that he was obliged to turn them up there
upon the stage to enable him to take his prize, which caused a
g^eat many to laugh, but the laughing was stifled by the clap-
ping of hands. Then came an old man with a bald head and
white beard. Some of the artillery soldiers who came to the
evening class of our school passed by. Then some municipal
guards and some guards who watch the schools. At last, the
pupils of the Evening Choral School sang again the hymn,
" To The Dead in the Crimea," and with so much spirit this
time and with such powerful effect, that it was clear it came
direct from th^ir hearts. There was scarcely any applause,
and all retired slowly in deep emotion and without making
an}^ noise. In a few moments, the wide vStreet was crowded.
In front of the door of the theater, there was the chimney
sweep with his prize book bound in red, and all around him
stood gentlemen speaking to him. Many saluted each other
from opposite sides of the street; workmen, boys, guards, and

272 THE HEART OF A BOY

teachers; my teacher of the second class came out between tw^o
artillery soldiers. You could see wives of workmen with little
children in their arms, who were holding in their small hands
the diplomas of their fathers, and were proudly showing them
to the people.

MY DKAD SCHOOI, MISTRESS

Tuesday the 2'jth.

While we were at the theatre Vittorio Emanuele, my poor
school mistress died. She died at two o'clock in the afternoon,
seven days after she made her visit to my mother. The prin-
cipal came to tell us of her death this morning, saying:

" Those among you who have been her pupils know how
good she was, how fond ^he was of her boys. She was like a
mother to them. She is no longer here below. A terrible
sickness has consumed her for some time. Had she not been
obliged to work to earn her living, she might have been able
to take care of herself and perhaps would have recovered; at
least, she might have prolonged her life for some months if
she had asked for a leave of absence; but she wished to remain
with her boys up to the last day. Saturday evening, the 17th,
she took leave of them with the certainty that she would not
see them again; she gave them some good advice, then kissed
each one and left sobbmg. Now no one will ever see her
again in this world. Remember her, boys."

Little Precossi, who had been one of her pupils in the
first primary, leaned his head on the desk and began to weep.

Last evening, after school, we all went together to the
house of the dead to escort her body to the church. The
hearse, drawn by two horses, was already in front of the house,
and many people were waiting, talking in a subdued voice.
The principal was there, all the teachers and school mistresses
of our school, and also several from other schools where she
had taught before she came to otu* school All the children of

THE HEART OF A BOY 278

her class were there, led by their mothers, carrying tapers,
and a great many who belonged to other cfasses, and about
fifty girls from the Baretti school, some holding wreaths in their
hands, and others, roses.

A number of wreaths had already been placed upon the
hearse, upon which was hanging a large acacia crown, bearing
this inscription in black letters: " To their school mistress — the
scholars of the fourth class. ' ' Below this large crown hung a
smaller one which had been carried there by her own boys.
You could see in the crowd servant girls, sent by their
mistresses with candles, and there were two domestics in
liver>% holding lighted torches; a rich gentleman, the father
of one of her pupils had sent his carriage lined in blue silk.
They were all thronging in front of the door. Many of the
girls were wiping away their tears.

We waited very silently for a long time. Finally, the
casket was brought down. Several of the little children began
to weep loudly when they saw the cofi&n put into the hearse,
and one started to cry as though he understood for the first
time that his mistress was dead, and he was so convulsed by
sobbing that they had to take nim away. The procession set
out slowly and in order. First came the daughters of the Ritiro
della Concezione, dressed in green; then came the daughters of
Maria, all dressed in white with blue ribbons; after these came
the priest; and behind the hearse came the teachers and school
mistresses, the little pupils of the first upper and all the others,
and finally the crowd. People looked from the windows and
doors to see all those children and the floral crown. They
were saying: " It is a school mistress."

There were ladies who were escorting the smallest boys and
some of them were weeping. As soon as we reached the
church, they took the casket from the hearse and carried it
into the middle of the nave in front of the altar. The school
mistresses laid the wreath upon it, the children covered it with
flowers and all the people, with their lighted candles, began

274 THE HEART OF A BOV^

to chant hymns in that large dark church. Then all of a sud-
den, when the priest said his last Amen; the candles were put
out and all left hastily, and the poor mistress was left there
alone. Poor mistress, who was so good to me, who had so
much patience, who had toiled for so many years.

She left a few books to her pupils; to one an inkstand, to
another a little picture, all she possessed. Two days before
dying she told the principal not to allow the smallest boys to
attend her funeral, she did not wish them to cry. She has
done much good, she has suffered, she has died. Poor mis-
tress, to be thus left alone in that dark church! Good bye,
forever, my good friend! Sweet and sad remembrance of my
infancy!

THANKS

Wednesday the 28th,

My poor school mistress wished to finish her year at school,
and she left only three days before the lessons came to an end.
After to-morrow, we will come together but once more to hear
the reading of the monthly story, *' A Shipwreck^'* and then it
is all over. Saturday, the first day of July, will be examina-
tion day. Another year, and then* the fourth elementary
course is finished. If my mistress had not died, the year would
have passed well. I think of what I knew last October, and it
seems to me that I know much more now; that I have so many
new ideas in my mind; I am now able to speak and to write
better what I think than I could then ; I am also able to figure like
many adults who are not rapid in calculations and could assist
them in their business; I understand a great deal more; I com-
prehend nearly everything I read. I am happy, but how many
have pushed me forward and helped me to learn, in one way
or another, at home, at school, in the street, and everywhere I
have gone, and in all places where I have seen anything! I
thank them all now. I thank, above all my companions, you

THE HEART OF A BOY 275

my good teacher, who have been so indulgent, so affectionate
toward me, and for whom every acquisition of mine, for which I
rejoice and feel proud, has been such a fatigue. I thank you,
Derossi; you helped me several times to understand difficult
subjects and to overcome the obstacles at the examination.
And you too, Stardi, good and strong, who have shown me
with your iron will how one can succeed in everything; and
you, Garrone, kind and generous, who make all who associ-
ate with you love you; and thanks to both of you, Precossi and
Coretti, who have always given me an example of courage in
sufferings and serenity in work; I thank you all, and I say
thanks to all the others, too. But above all, I thank you, my
father, my first teacher, my first friend, who have given me so
much good advice and taught me so many things, while you
were working for me, concealing your worries, and seeking in
every way to render my study easy and my life beautiful. You
also, my sweet mother, my guardian, beloved and blessed angel,
who have rejoiced over all my joys and suffered all my bitter-
ness, who have studied, struggled and wept with me, with one
hand caressing my head, the other pointing to heaven. I kneel
before you as when a little child, and I thank you with all the
tenderness you have infused into my soul for twelve years; I
thank you for all your sacrifices and love.

A SHIPWRECK

(THE LAST MONTHLY STORY)

One December morning, several years ago, there sailed from
the port of Liverpool a large steamship, which was carrying
on board two hundred persons, of whom seventy were men of
the crew. The captain and almost all the sailors were Eng-
lish. Among the passengers, there were several Italians: three
ladies, a priest, and a company of musicians. The steamer
was bound for the island of Malta. The weather was
menacing.

276 THE HEART OF A BOY

Among the third class passengers in the forecastle, there was
an Italian boy about twelve years old, rather small for his age,
but robust, with the fine, bold and severe face of a Sicilian lad.
He was sitting on a coil of rope close to the foremast, and he
kept his hand on a worn out valise which contained all his
effects. He had a brown face and black wavy hair which fell
upon his shoulders. He was poorly clad, wearing a torn
blanket on his shoulders and an old leather bag on his belt.
He was pensive and gazed about him at the passengers, the
ship, the sailors who were running past, and at the restless
sea. He had the appearance of a boy who had suffered some
great family sorrow. He had the face of a child and the
appearance of a man.

After the departure, one of the sailors, an Italian with grey
hair, appeared forward, leading by the hand a little girl,
and stopping in front of the little Sicilian, he said to him:

*' Here is a companion for your voyage, Mario."

And he left.

The girl sat down on the coil of rope beside the boy.

They looked at each other.

• ' Where are you going ? ' * asked the Sicilian.

The girl replied: " To Malta and then to Naples.**

Then she added: ** I am going to meet my father and
mother who are expecting me. I am called Giulietta Faggiani. "

The boy said nothing.

After a few moments, he drew some bread and some dried
fruit out of the bag; the girl had some cakes, and they ate
together.

" We will have some fun! " cried the Italian sailor, passing
by in haste. " We are already beginning to toss! "

The wind was increasing and the ship rolled heavily. But
the two children did not suffer from seasickness and did not
mind it. The little girl smiled. She was about the age of her
companion, although rather taller; she was slim, dark com-
plexion ed, and looked somewhat sickly; she was dressed in a

THE HEART OF A BOY 277

very plain way. Her hair, which was curly, was cut short.
She wore a red handkerchief on her head and two little silver
rings in her ears.

While eating together they told each other their story.
The boy had no longer any father or mother; his father, a
workman, had died in Liverpool a few days before, leaving
him alone, and the Italian Consul had sent him back to his
native place, to Palermo, where some distant relatives lived.
The little girl had been taken to London the year before by a
widowed aunt, who was very fond of her, and to whom her
parents, being poor, had confided her for some time, trusting in
the promise that she should be heir to her aunt's estate. But,
a few months after, the aunt was crushed under an omnibus
and died without leaving a penny. The girl had had recourse
to the Consul, who had put her on this steamer bound for
Italy. Both children had been recommended to the Italian
sailor on board. — "Thus," concluded the girl, "my father
and mother thought I would return home rich, and instead I
return poor. — But they love me just the same. — And so do my
brothers, I have four of them; they are all small. — I am the
oldest of the family. — I dress them. — They will make a great

deal of me when they see me. — I will enter on tip-toe. How

ugly the sea is! " Then she inquired of the boy: " Are yon
going to stay with your relatives ? ' '

' * Yes, if they wish to have me, " replied the boy.

*' Don't they care for you? "

** I do not know."

" I will be thirteen years old on Christmas," said the girL

Then they began to talk about the sea and about the people
they had met. 1 hey remained together during the whole day,
exchanging a few words from time to time. The passengers
believed them to be brother and sister. The girl was knitting
a stocking, the boy was thinking. The sea continued to grow
rougher. At the moment of separation, that evening, befoie
going to sleep, the girl said to Mario: " Sleep well."

278 THE HEART OF A BOY

"No one will sleep well, poor children!" exclaimed the
Italian sailor, as he passed on a run, having been called by the
captain. The boy was about to answer his friend: "Good
night," when an unexpected rush of water dealt him such a
.blow that it flung him against a bench.

"Dear me, he is bleeding," cried the little girl, kneeling
beside him. The passengers who were running below paid no
attention to them. Mario was stunned by the blow and she
wiped his forehead, which was bleeding Taking the red hand-
kerchief from her head, she tied it around his head, then she
pressed his head upon her breast in order to knot the ends, and
In this way she got a blooa stain upon her yellow dress just
above the waist. Mario shook himself and rose to his feet.

" Are you better," inquired the girl.

" It is all over, ' ' he replied.

"Sleep well," said Giulietta. "Good night."

"Good night," replied Mario. And they descended the
stairs into their respective dormitories.

The sailor had predicted aright. They had not yet fallen
asleep, when a frightful tempest broke upon them. It was a
sudden onslaught of furious waves, and in a few moments a
mast was broken, and three of the boats, as well as four
oxen which were on deck, were carried away like the
leaves of a tree. A frightful confusion arose on board the
ship. Everything was crashing and there was a terrible uproar
of cries and sobs and prayers, enough to make one's hair stand
on end. The tempest grew in fury during the ^night, and at
day-break it was still increasing. The formidable waves dashed
transversely against the craft and were breaking over the deck,
smashing, sweeping, and washing everything into the sea.
The platform which covered the machinery was burst open, and
the water rushed in with a terrible roar; the fires went out and
the stokers fled. Huge, raging streams of water were pouring
into the steamer from every side, and a thundering voice cried;

* * To the pumps ! " It was the voice of the captain.

THE HEART OF A BOY 279

The sailors rushed to the pumps.

A sudden wave struck the ship on the stem, demolishing
the bulwarks and the glass in the port holes and letting in a
flood of water.

All the passengers, more dead than alive, had found refuge
in the large state room.

At that moment, the captain appeared.

"Captain! Captain!" they all cried at once. *' What is
the matter ? What is going on ? Is there any hope for us ?
Are we safe?"

The captain waited until they were all silent, and then said
impressively: ** Let us resign ourselves to our fate."

One woman shrieked: " Mercy! " None of the others
were able to utter a sound. All were frozen with terror.
Some time passed in this way. The silence was like that of a
tomb. They all looked at one another with deathly faces.
The sea was growing more and more furious, and the breakers
were dashing against the ship. The captain attempted to
launch a life boat; five sailors entered it and the boat was
lowered, but the waves overturned it and two of the sailors
were drowned, one of whom was the Italian; the others with
great difiiculty succeeded in grasping the ropes and got on
board again.

After this the sailors lost their courage. Two hours later
the ship was submerged in water to the height of the port-
holes.

A tremendous spectacle then presented itself on deck.
Mothers were desperately pressing their children upon
their breasts; friends were embracing each other, and saying:
"Goodbye." Some were going down to their cabins to die
out of sight of the sea. One of the passengers shot himself
in the head with a pistol and fell headlong upon the stairs of
the dormitory, where he expired. Some clung frantically to
each other; some of the women writhed in horrible convulsions,
and a number of them were kneeling around the priest. You

280 THE HEART OF A BOY

could hear a chorus of sobbings and childish lamentations in
shrill and strange voices, and you could see here and there
some who were motionless like statues, stupefied, with their
eyes dilated and without sight, as you see them on corpses or
lunatics. The two children, Mario and Giulietta, clinging to
a mast of the ship, were gazing fixedly at the sea as though
insane.

The sea had quieted a little, but the steamer was sinking
slowly; only a few moments remained.

" Launch the long boat! " cried the captain.

The boat, the last one remaining, was launched and four-
teen sailors and three of the passengers went into it. The
captain remained on board.

" Come down with us! " they all cried.

" I must die at my post!" replied the captain.

"We will meet some ship, " cried the sailors to him. ** We
will be saved. Come down or you are lost."

" I remain!"

The sailors then cried: " There is place for one more," and
turning toward the other passengers, " a woman!"

A woman came forward supported by the captain, but see-
ing the distance between the ship and the life boat, she had
not the courage to take the jump and fell back upon the deck.
The other women were all in a faint or almost dying.

" A child! " cried the sailors.

At that cry, the Sicilian boy and his girl companion, who
had so far stood as though petrified in an extraordinary stupor,
suddenly awakened by the violent instinct of self preserva-
tion, let go of the mast at once and rushed to the side of
the ship, shouting together: "I! — Save me!" and tried to
drive each other back in turn like two furious beasts.

** The smaller of the two! " cried the sailors, " the Doat is
already overloaded! The smaller of the two! "

Hearing those words, the girl, as though struck by light-
ning, let her arms fall and stood motionless looking at Mario

THE HEART OF A BOY 281

with eyes filled with the anguish of death. Mario looked at
her a moment, he saw the blood stain upon her waist, recalled
everything, and a divine idea flashed through his mind.

" The smaller of the two!" the sailors were crying together
with imperious impatience ! * ' We are going ! ' *

Then Mario in a voice which did not seem his own shouted:
' ' She is the lighter of the two. — You go, Giulietta! You have
a father and mother! I am alone! I give you my place!
Go now!"

'* Throw her over!" cried the sailors.

Mario grasped Giulietta round the waist and threw her to
them. The girl uttered a cry as she took the plunge, a sailor
caught her by the arm and pulled her inside the boat.

The lad remained standing on the side of the ship, with
his head held high, his hair flying in the wind, motionless,
tranquil, sublime!

The boat moved away but was hardly^able to pull out of the
whirlpool of the waters, produced by the sinking of the
steamer, and which threatened to overturn it.

The girl almost lost her senses, but at last raising her eyes
to the boy, she broke into an outburst of weeping.

"Good bye, Mario," she cried to him between her sobs,
and with her hands stretched towards him: " Good bye!
Goodbye! Good bye!"

" Good bye," cried the lad raising his hand above his head.

The boat moved swiftly away upon the troubled sea under
that dark sky. — No one was any longer crying on the
steamer. The water was already lapping the edge of the deck.

Suddenly the boy fell on his knees with his hands joined
together and his eyes turned to the sky.

The girl covered her face.

When she raised her head and looked again upon the sea,
the ship was no longer there.

282 THE HEART OF A BOY

JULY

THE LAST PAGE FROM MY MOTHER

Saturday the ist.

The year is Jinished, Enrico ^ and it is a nice thing that the
image of the sublime child, who sacrificed his life for his little
friejidy will remain with thee as a remembrance of the last day.
Now that thou art about to separate from thy teachers a7id thy
companions, I have sad news to communicate to thee. The sepa-
ration will last not only three fnonths, but forever. Thy father^
for reasons concerning his profession, is obliged to leave Turin
and we must go with him. We will move next autumn. Thou
wilt have to enter a new school. Thou art sorry for this, art thou
not f For I am sure that thou carest for thy old school, where for
four years, twice a day, thou hast experienced the pleasure of
toiling, where thou hast seen for a long time, for so many hours
each day, the same boys, the same teachers, the same parents, and
thy mother who was waitijig with a smile for thee; thy old school,
where thy tale7its were developed, where thou hast found so many
good companio7is, where every word that thou hast heard had a
purport of something for thy good, and where thou hast not expe-
rienced any sor^row without its being beneficial to thee! Thou
wilt carry this afi^ectioyi with thee, and say farewell from the bot-
tom of thy heart to all those boys. Some of thcjn will meet with
misfortu7ies, several may soo7i lose their father a7id mother; others
will die you7ig; so77ie will probably shed their blood nobly upon the
field of battle; others will become good a7id upright workmen^
fathers of i7idustrious fa77iilies such as their own. A7id who
k7iows that there might not be so7ne 07ie ofthe7n who will render some
very great service to his country a7id make his na7ne glorious l
Thou wilt separate fro7n the7n with affectio7i, leaving a little of thy
soul in that great family in which thou didst enter as a child and
from which thou comest out a youth, a7id which thy father a7id thy

THE HKART OF A BOY 283

mother love because there thou hast been loved so much. The
school is like a mother. My Enrico^ it snatched thee out of my
afnis 7uhe?i thou couldst scarcely talk, and 7iow it returns thee to
me, tall, stroiig, good, and studious; may it be blessed, and thou
must never forget it, my child. It will be impossible for thee to
forget it; thou wilt go about the world, and thou wilt see large
cities and marvelous monuments; thou wilt forget ma7iy of these,
but that modesty white building with those closed blijids, and the
Utile garden where sprouted the first flower of thy intelligence,
thou wilt always behold it to the last day of thy lije, as I will see
the house where I first heard thy voice !

TTiy Mother,

THE EXAMINATION

Tuesday the ^.th.

The examination day has come at last. Around the streets
and about the school, we hear nothing else spoken of, by the
boys, by the fathers and mothers, even by the teachers :
every one talks about examinations, points, problems,
average, remanded, promoted ; every one repeats the same
words. Yesterday morning we had the examination in com-
position, this morning in arithmetic. It was affecting to see
the parents taking their boys to school, bestowing the last
advice on the way. Some of the mothers would accompany
their children as far as the benches in the school room to see if
there was ink in the inkstand and to try the pen, and turning
around at the door to say : ' ' Have courage ! Pay attention !
I beseech you ! "

Our assistant teacher was Coatti, the one with that rough
black beard, who has a voice like a lion and who never pun-
ishes any one. Some of the boys on the benches were afraid.
When the teacher unsealed the letter from the school board
and took out the problem, not a breath could be heard.

284 THE HEART OF A BOY

He read the problem in a loud voice, looking first at one
and then at another with terrible eyes, but we could see that
if he had been able to dictate the solution also and have us all
promoted, he would have experienced much pleasure.

After an hour's work, a great many began to grow tired, as
the problem was difficult, and one of the boys cried. Crossi
was beating his head with his fist. It was not the fault of
some, that they were unable to solve it, as they had not had
time to study, having been neglected by their parents. How-
ever, a providence was at hand. You ought to have seen how
much pains Derossi took to help them out, how he tried to pass
his figures and to suggest the operation without being noticed,
anxious for all as if he had been our own teacher. Garrone,
who is strong in arithmetic, also helped all those that he could,
and even assisted Nobis, who, finding himself in a quandary,
was unusually kind. Stardi remained motionless for more than
an hour, with his eyes on the problem and his fist at his tem-
ples, and then he put down his work in five minutes.

The teacher was walking between the benches, saying-.
" Be calm! Be calm! I advise you to be calm! " And when
he saw some one who was discouraged, in order to make him
laugh and restore his spirits, he opened his mouth as if to de-
vour him, imitating a lion.

Looking through the blinds about eleven o'clock, I noticed
many of the parents coming and going in the street, looking
rather impatient. There was Precossi's father, wearing a blue
jacket, having just come out of the workshop with his face
still black. Crossi' s mother, the vegetable vender, was there,
as well as Nelli's mother, all dressed in black; she was not able
to keep still. A little before noon, my father came and raised
his eyes toward my window : my dear father ! At noon we
were all through. There was quite a perf9rmance at the exit.
The parents all ran to meet the bays and ask them questions,
and they looked over the leaves of the cop3'-books, comparing
them with the lessons of their companions : ' ' How many opera-

THE HEART OF A BOY 286

tions ? " " What is the total ? " ** How is it about the sub-
traction?" " What is the answer ?' * " How is it about the
point in the decimal ? " All the teachers were going here and
there, called by a hundred voices. My father took the rough
draft from my hand, looked at it and said : " It is well done."
Next to us was the blacksmith Precossi, who was looking at
the problem of his son, rather uneasily, not comprehending it.
He turned toward my father and exclaimed : * * Would you
favor me by telling me the total ? " My father read the figure.
The blacksmith looked at the book— it agreed. *' Bravo, little
fellow!" he joyfully exclaimed, while my father and he
looked at each other with a pleasant smile like two friends ;
my father reached out his hand, and the other shook it and
they separated, saying: "Until the oral examination"—
" Until the oral examination." After walking a few steps, we
heard a falsetto voice which caused us to turn around. It was
the blacksmith singing.

THE LAST EXAMINATION

Friday the yih.

This morning we had the oral examination. We were all
in the class room at eight o'clock, and at a quarter past eight
they began to call us, four at a time, into the large hall, where
there was a large table covered with a green cloth, and around
it sat the principal and four teachers, among whom was our
own. How well I then perceived that he is really fond of us.
While the others were questioning, his eyes were constantly
fixed upon us; he grew uneasy when we were uncertain in our
replies and serene when we gave a good answer; feeling every-
thing, and was making us signs a thousand times wi:h the
hands and with the head, as if saying: — " That is right — no-
pay attention — slower — courage!"

Had he been allowed to speak, I beUeve he would have
prompted us in everything. If one after the other our fathers

286 THE HEART OF A BOY

could have been put in his place, they could not have done
any better. Ten times I felt like crying ' ' Thanks ' ' to him in
the presence of them all. When the other teachers told me:
"That is right, you may go," his eyes beamed with happiness

I returned to the class and waited for my father. Nearly
all of the pupils were there. I sat next to Garrone. I was
not a bit happy. I was thinking that it was the last time that
we should sit so near each other! I had not yet told Garrone
that I should not be able to go through the fourth elementary
with him, that I had to leave Turin with my father; ne knew
nothing about it. He was sitting there bent double, with
his thick head leaning upon the desk, drawing some ornamen-
tal figures around a photograph of his father, dressed as a
machinist. His father is a big tall fellow with a head like an
ox, and has a serious and honest look like his boy. While he
was bent down thus, with his shirt a little open in front, I
spied on his bare and robust chest the golden cross which
Nelli's mother had given him when she learned that he had
protected her son. However, it was necessary that I should
tell him that I was going to leave, and I said to him:

** Garrone, next autumn my father will leave Turin for-
ever. ' '

He askea me if I were also going, and I answered that I
was.

*' Will you not go through the fourth elementary with us ?"
he asked.

I answered, " No.'*

He remained quiet for a short time, continuing to draw.
Then he asked, without raising his head: **Will you ever
think of your companions of the third elementary ? ' '

"Yes," I repUed, "I will remember all of them, but I
will think more of you than of the others. How could I forget
you?"

He cast at me a serious glance, which expressed a thousand
things, and said nothing; but he reached out his left hand,

THE HEART OF A BOY 287

pretending to draw with the other, and I grasped it between
both of my hands, that strong ind loyal hand!

At that moment, our teacher rushed in with a red face and
said hastily in a low and merry tone of voice: " Good boys,
so far everything goes well, I hope those who remain will do as
well; my good boys! Courage! I feel very w^ell satisfied."

And in order to show us his content and to exhilarate us,
Jeaving the room quickly, he feigned a stumbling movement,
catching tlie wall to prevent his falling; he, whom we had
never seen laugh ! It seemed so strange that instead of laugh-
ing we were all dumfoundecl- we all smiled, but no one
laughed. — I cannot explain the pain mingled w^ith tenderness
thct that childish act of joy caused me. That moment of
cheerfulness w^as his whole reward, the reward of nine months of
goodness, of patience, and of worries! It was for that he had
wearied himself so much, and that he had come so many times
to teach when sick, our poor master! That was all, and
nothing else did he ask in exchange for so much affection and
so many cares!

And it seems co me now that I shall always see again that
joy of his when I remember him for many years, and when I
am a man, if he be still alive and w^e meet, I will tell him
about that outburst which touched my heart, and I will kiss
him on his white hair.

FAREWELL

Monday the loth.
At one o'clock we gathered for the last time in the school
room to listen to the result of the examination and to receive
our books of promotion. The streets were thronged with
people. They had also invaded the large hall, and a great
many of them had entered the class room pushing themselves
as far as the teacher's desk. In our classroom, they w^ere
filling all the vacant space between the w^all and the first

288 THK HEART OF A BOY

bench. There was the father of Garrone, the mother of
Derossi, the blacksmith Precossi, Mrs. Nelli, the vegetable
vender, the father of the Little Mason, the father of Stardi,
besides many others whom I had never seen before. One
could hear from every side a buzzing and hum, as though we
were in a square. Our teacher entered; a profound silence
ensued.

He w^as holding in his hand the catalogue and commenced
to read it at once. Abatucci, promoted, sixty -sixtieths;
Archini, promoted, fifty -five sixtieths; the Little Mason, pro-
moted, Crossi promoted. Then he read loudly: "Ernesto
Derossi, promoted, seventy-seventieths, and first prize."

All the parents who were there and who knew him exclaimed:
" Bravo, bravo, Derossi!"

He shook his blonde locks with an easy and beautiful
smile, looking at his mother, who saluted him with her hand.
Garofi5, Garrone, and the Calabrian boy, promoted. Then
three or -four names in succession, remanded; one of them
began to weep as his father who stood near the door made him
a sign of menace. But the teacher said to the father: ** No,
sir, allow me; it is not always the pupil's fault, it is sometimes
hard luck , and this is the case with your son. ' ' Then he read:
•' Nelli, promoted, sixty-two-seventieths." His mother sent
him a kiss with a fan. '* Stardi, promoted with sixty-seven-
seventieths;" but hearing that fine point, he did not even
smile, nor did he take his fist from his temple. The last of all
was Votini, who had come there finely dressed and with his
hair well brushed; promoted. Having read the last name, the
teacher arose and said:

" Boys, this is the last time we will meet together. We
have been together a year, now we separate as good friends,
do we not? I regret to separate from you, dear children."- •
He hesitated and then resumed: " If at times I have lost my
patience, if at times I have been unjust or too severe, forgive

THB HEART OF A BOY 289

"No, no/* said the parents of many of the pupils, " no,
signor maestro, never, never."

** Forgive me," repeated the teacher, " and remembei me.
Next year you will no longer be with me, but I will see you
all again, and you will remain forever in my heart. Farewell,
boys! " Immediately he came forward into our midst, and we
all reached our hands to him, rising from the benches; some
kissed him, and fifty voices cried together:

"Until we meet again, master! Thanks, signor maestro;
may happiness follow 3^ou! Do remember us! " — "UHien he
went out he looked as though oppressed by emotion.

We all came out in confusion. From class rooms on every
side the others were coming out, and they were all mingled
together. There was a great noise; the boys and parents were
saying farewells to the teachers and to the school mistresses,
and were saluting one another. The mistress with the red
feather had four or five little children on top of her and about
twenty around, who were almost taking her breath away.
They had torn the hat of the ** Little Nun," and they had
stuck a dozen bouquets between the buttons of her black dresf
and in her pockets. A number of them were greeting Robetti,
who that day had laid aside for the first time his crutches
From every side, one could hear : ''Till next year ! *' "Till
the tw^entieth of October?** **To meet again at All-Saints
Day! " We also greeted one another. How we forgot all the
disagreements of the past in that moment I Votini, who had
always been so jealous of Derossi, was the first to rush towards
him and throw his arms around him. I saluted the Little Mason
and kissed him just at ihe moment he was making to me
for the last time the hare face, that dear lad I I saluted Pre-
cossi and Garofii who told me the date of the drawing of hii
last lottery and presented me with a little majolica paper
weight «rhidi was broken in one comer. I said good-bye to
all the others. It was nice to see how poor Nelli clung to
Oorrone, so that they could not take him away; they all

290 THB HEART OF A BOY

crowded around Garrone and said: ** Good-bye, Garrone,
good-bye till we meet again." And some were touching him
and pressing him to say good-bye, that brave, noble boy! His
father stood there in amazement; he looked at us and smiled,
Garrone was the last one whom I embraced in the street, and I
stifled a sob in my heart; he kissed me on the forehead. Then
I ran to my father and mother. My father asked me: ** Have
you bade farewell to all your school-mates ? " — I replied; '* I
have." — ** If there is any one whom you have wronged, go
and ask his forgiveness. Is there any one? " — '* No one,** I
replied. — "Then, good-bye!*' said my father with emotion,
casting a last glance at the school. — And my mother repeated:
** Good bye! "—I was not able to speak.