ight his father stopped writing, and quitted his workroom
to go to his bedroom; he had heard him several times: as soon as the
twelve strokes of the clock had sounded, he had heard the sound of a
chair drawn back, and the slow step of his father. One night he waited
until the latter was in bed, then dressed himself very, very softly, and
felt his way to the little workroom, lighted the petroleum lamp again,
seated himself at the writing-table, where lay a pile of white wrappers
and the list of addresses, and began to write, imitating exactly his
father's handwriting. And he wrote with a will, gladly, a little in
fear, and the wrappers piled up, and from time to time he dropped the
pen to rub his hands, and then began again with increased alacrity,
listening and smiling. He wrote a hundred and sixty--one lira! Then he
stopped, placed the pen where he had found it, extinguished the light,
and went back to bed on tiptoe.

At noon that day his father sat down to the table in a good humor. He
had perceived nothing. He performed the work mechanically, measuring it
by the hour, and thinking of something else, and only counted the
wrappers he had written on the following day. He seated himself at the
table in a fine humor, and slapping his son on one shoulder, he said to
him:--

"Eh, Giulio! Your father is even a better workman than you thought. In
two hours I did a good third more work than usual last night. My hand is
still nimble, and my eyes still do their duty." And Giulio, silent but
content, said to himself, "Poor daddy, besides the money, I am giving
him some satisfaction in the thought that he has grown young again.
Well, courage!"

Encouraged by these good results, when night came and twelve o'clock
struck, he rose once more, and set to work. And this he did for several
nights. And his father noticed nothing; only once, at supper, he uttered
this exclamation, "It is strange how much oil has been used in this
house lately!" This was a shock to Giulio; but the conversation ceased
there, and the nocturnal labor proceeded.

However, by dint of thus breaking his sleep every night, Giulio did not
get sufficient rest: he rose in the morning fatigued, and when he was
doing his school work in the evening, he had difficulty in keeping his
eyes open. One evening, for the first time in his life, he fell asleep
over his copy-book.

"Courage! courage!" cried his father, clapping his hands; "to work!"

He shook himself and se