a, that my boy has lost his pen? How does it happen that mine
learns nothing? Why is not my boy mentioned honorably, when he knows so
much? Why don't you have that nail which tore my Piero's trousers, taken
out of the bench?"

Sometimes my brother's teacher gets into a rage with the boys; and when
she can resist no longer, she bites her finger, to keep herself from
dealing a blow; she loses patience, and then she repents, and caresses
the child whom she has scolded; she sends a little rogue out of school,
and then swallows her tears, and flies into a rage with parents who make
the little ones fast by way of punishment. Schoolmistress Delcati is
young and tall, well-dressed, brown of complexion, and restless; she
does everything vivaciously, as though on springs, is affected by a mere
trifle, and at such times speaks with great tenderness.

"But the children become attached to you, surely," my mother said to
her.

"Many do," she replied; "but at the end of the year the majority of them
pay no further heed to us. When they are with the masters, they are
almost ashamed of having been with us--with a woman teacher. After two
years of cares, after having loved a child so much, it makes us feel sad
to part from him; but we say to ourselves, 'Oh, I am sure of that one;
he is fond of me.' But the vacation over, he comes back to school. I run
to meet him; 'Oh, my child, my child!' And he turns his head away." Here
the teacher interrupted herself. "But you will not do so, little one?"
she said, raising her humid eyes, and kissing my brother. "You will not
turn aside your head, will you? You will not deny your poor friend?"

MY MOTHER.

Thursday, November 10th.

In the presence of your brother's teacher you failed in respect to
your mother! Let this never happen again, my Enrico, never again!
Your irreverent word pierced my heart like a point of steel. I
thought of your mother when, years ago, she bent the whole of one
night over your little bed, measuring your breathing, weeping blood
in her anguish, and with her teeth chattering with terror, because
she thought that she had lost you, and I feared that she would lose
her reason; and at this thought I felt a sentiment of horror at
you. You, to offend your mother! your mother, who would give a year
of happiness to spare you one hour of pain, who would beg for you,
who would allow herself to be killed to save your li