ne leg,
with a long cord to the table, for stone-throwing; but Tuttu and Tutti
were incorrigible.

They wept loudly, embraced their grandmother, made all kinds of
promises--and the next day went off to do just the same things all
over again.

There was only one person who had any influence over them, Father
Giacomo, the priest of the little Church of Sancta Maria del Fiore,
close by. He had known them from the time they were helpless babies in
swaddling clothes, till they grew to be mischievous creatures in
homespun trousers; and in every stage of character and clothing he had
borne with them, taught them, played with them, and loved them, until
the _Padre_ had become their idea of all that was wise and good, and
they would do more for the sake of pleasing him than for anyone in the
world, not even excepting their grandmother.

Every Sunday afternoon Father Giacomo called to take them for a walk,
the one only sure way of keeping them out of mischief; and sometimes
to their great delight they would go along the olive-bordered road to
Siena, returning in the evening to the _Padre's_ house, in time to
have a good game with the two cats Neri and Bianca, who had lived
there since their infancy, as important members of the household.

On their eighth birthday, Tuttu and Tutti assured their grandmother
that they really intended to reform. They promised faithfully to give
up tree climbing, fishing in the pond, and many other favourite
sports, and commenced to dig in the piece of kitchen garden under
their grandmother's direction. In fact so zealous did Tuttu become
that he borrowed a knife from one of the farm labourers who was vine
pruning, and cut the whole of the branches off a vine near the house,
ending with a terrible gash in his own thumb, which necessitated his
being carried in an ox-cart to the hospital in Siena, supported in his
grandmother's arms; while Tutti walked behind weeping bitterly, under
the impression that the doctor would certainly kill Tuttu this time
for his carelessness.

Tuttu was not killed, however. The cut was sewn up, while the ox-cart
with its good-natured driver waited outside, and the depressed party
returned home, grandmother Maddalena clasping her little earthen pot
full of hot wood ashes, which even in the excitement of the accident
she had not forgotten to take with her, for it was a cold day in early
springtime.[A]

[A] A _scaldino_, carried about by all the Siennese women, and used