ing at you;
and then he makes an effort, and weary and sad as he is, he returns
to his labor; and neither do you know that he often seeks you and
remains with you because he has a bitterness in his heart, sorrows
which attack all men in the world, and he seeks you as a friend, to
obtain consolation himself and forgetfulness, and he feels the need
of taking refuge in your affection, to recover his serenity and his
courage: think, then, what must be his sorrow, when instead of
finding in you affection, he finds coldness and disrespect! Never
again stain yourself with this horrible ingratitude! Reflect, that
were you as good as a saint, you could never repay him sufficiently
for what he has done and for what he is constantly doing for you.
And reflect, also, we cannot count on life; a misfortune might
remove your father while you are still a boy,--in two years, in
three months, to-morrow.

Ah, my poor Enrico, when you see all about you changing, how empty,
how desolate the house will appear, with your poor mother clothed
in black! Go, my son, go to your father; he is in his room at work;
go on tiptoe, so that he may not hear you enter; go and lay your
forehead on his knees, and beseech him to pardon and to bless you.

THY MOTHER.

IN THE COUNTRY.

Monday, 19th.

My good father forgave me, even on this occasion, and allowed me to go
on an expedition to the country, which had been arranged on Wednesday,
with the father of Coretti, the wood-peddler.

We were all in need of a mouthful of hill air. It was a festival day.
We met yesterday at two o'clock in the place of the Statuto, Derossi,
Garrone, Garoffi, Precossi, Coretti, father and son, and I, with our
provisions of fruit, sausages, and hard-boiled eggs; we had also leather
bottles and tin cups. Garrone carried a gourd filled with white wine;
Coretti, his father's soldier-canteen, full of red wine; and little
Precossi, in the blacksmith's blouse, held under his arm a
two-kilogramme loaf.

We went in the omnibus as far as Gran Madre di Dio, and then off, as
briskly as possible, to the hills. How green, how shady, how fresh it
was! We rolled over and over in the grass, we dipped our faces in the
rivulets, we leaped the hedges. The elder Coretti followed us at a
distance, with his jacket thrown over his shoulders, smoking his clay
pipe, and from time to time threa