t to work again. But the next evening, and on the
days following, the same thing occurred, and worse: he dozed over his
books, he rose later than usual, he studied his lessons in a languid
way, he seemed disgusted with study. His father began to observe him,
then to reflect seriously, and at last to reprove him. He should never
have done it!

"Giulio," he said to him one morning, "you put me quite beside myself;
you are no longer as you used to be. I don't like it. Take care; all the
hopes of your family rest on you. I am dissatisfied; do you understand?"

At this reproof, the first severe one, in truth, which he had ever
received, the boy grew troubled.

"Yes," he said to himself, "it is true; it cannot go on so; this deceit
must come to an end."

But at dinner, on the evening of that very same day, his father said
with much cheerfulness, "Do you know that this month I have earned
thirty-two lire more at addressing those wrappers than last month!" and
so saying, he drew from under the table a paper package of sweets which
he had bought, that he might celebrate with his children this
extraordinary profit, and they all hailed it with clapping of hands.
Then Giulio took heart again, courage again, and said in his heart, "No,
poor papa, I will not cease to deceive you; I will make greater efforts
to work during the day, but I shall continue to work at night for you
and for the rest." And his father added, "Thirty-two lire more! I am
satisfied. But that boy there," pointing at Giulio, "is the one who
displeases me." And Giulio received the reprimand in silence, forcing
back two tears which tried to flow; but at the same time he felt a great
pleasure in his heart.

And he continued to work by main force; but fatigue added to fatigue
rendered it ever more difficult for him to resist. Thus things went on
for two months. The father continued to reproach his son, and to gaze at
him with eyes which grew constantly more wrathful. One day he went to
make inquiries of the teacher, and the teacher said to him: "Yes, he
gets along, he gets along, because he is intelligent; but he no longer
has the good will which he had at first. He is drowsy, he yawns, his
mind is distracted. He writes short compositions, scribbled down in all
haste, in bad chirography. Oh, he could do a great deal, a great deal
more."

That evening the father took the son aside, and spoke to him words which
were graver than any the latter had ever heard. "Giu