bars
with those long, thin hands of his, than many of them began to laugh and
to sing; but Garrone crossed his big arms on his breast, and darted
round a glance which was so expressive, which so clearly said that he
did not mind dealing out half a dozen punches, even in the master's
presence, that they all ceased laughing on the instant. Nelli began to
climb. He tried hard, poor little fellow; his face grew purple, he
breathed with difficulty, and the perspiration poured from his brow. The
master said, "Come down!" But he would not. He strove and persisted. I
expected every moment to see him fall headlong, half dead. Poor Nelli! I
thought, what if I had been like him, and my mother had seen me! How she
would have suffered, poor mother! And as I thought of that I felt so
tenderly towards Nelli that I could have given, I know not what, to be
able, for the sake of having him climb those bars, to give him a push
from below without being seen.

Meanwhile Garrone, Derossi, and Coretti were saying: "Up with you,
Nelli, up with you!" "Try--one effort more--courage!" And Nelli made one
more violent effort, uttering a groan as he did so, and found himself
within two spans of the plank.

"Bravo!" shouted the others. "Courage--one dash more!" and behold Nelli
clinging to the plank.

All clapped their hands. "Bravo!" said the master. "But that will do
now. Come down."

But Nelli wished to ascend to the top like the rest, and after a little
exertion he succeeded in getting his elbows on the plank, then his
knees, then his feet; at last he stood upright, panting and smiling, and
gazed at us.

We began to clap again, and then he looked into the street. I turned in
that direction, and through the plants which cover the iron railing of
the garden I caught sight of his mother, passing along the sidewalk
without daring to look. Nelli descended, and we all made much of him. He
was excited and rosy, his eyes sparkled, and he no longer seemed like
the same boy.

Then, at the close of school, when his mother came to meet him, and
inquired with some anxiety, as she embraced him, "Well, my poor son, how
did it go? how did it go?" all his comrades replied, in concert, "He did
well--he climbed like the rest of us--he's strong, you know--he's
active--he does exactly like the others."

And then the joy of that woman was a sight to see. She tried to thank
us, and could not; she shook hands with three or four, bestowed a caress
on Garrone, a