it, as though it had been a peach; Crossi, the son of
the vegetable-vendor, filled his satchel with it; and the little mason
made us burst with laughter, when my father invited him to come to our
house to-morrow. He had his mouth full of snow, and, not daring either
to spit it out or to swallow it, he stood there choking and staring at
us, and made no answer. Even the schoolmistress came out of school on a
run, laughing; and my mistress of the first upper class, poor little
thing! ran through the drizzling snow, covering her face with her green
veil, and coughing; and meanwhile, hundreds of girls from the
neighboring schoolhouse passed by, screaming and frolicking on that
white carpet; and the masters and the beadles and the policemen shouted,
"Home! home!" swallowing flakes of snow, and whitening their moustaches
and beards. But they, too, laughed at this wild hilarity of the
scholars, as they celebrated the winter.

You hail the arrival of winter; but there are boys who have neither
clothes nor shoes nor fire. There are thousands of them, who
descend to their villages, over a long road, carrying in hands
bleeding from chilblains a bit of wood to warm the schoolroom.
There are hundreds of schools almost buried in the snow, bare and
dismal as caves, where the boys suffocate with smoke or chatter
their teeth with cold as they gaze in terror at the white flakes
which descend unceasingly, which pile up without cessation on their
distant cabins threatened by avalanches. You rejoice in the winter,
boys. Think of the thousands of creatures to whom winter brings
misery and death.

THY FATHER.

THE LITTLE MASON.

Sunday, 11th.

The little mason came to-day, in a hunting-jacket, entirely dressed in
the cast-off clothes of his father, which were still white with lime and
plaster. My father was even more anxious than I that he should come. How
much pleasure he gives us! No sooner had he entered than he pulled off
his ragged cap, which was all soaked with snow, and thrust it into one
of his pockets; then he advanced with his listless gait, like a weary
workman, turning his face, as smooth as an apple, with its ball-like
nose, from side to side; and when he entered the dining-room, he cast a
glance round at the furniture and fixed his eyes on a small picture of
Rigoletto, a hunchbacked jester, and made a "hare's face."

It is impossible to refrain from laughing