he took out of his hands the monthly story, Daddy's Nurse, which the teacher had given him to copy out, in order that he might copy it for him; he gave him pens, and stroked his shoulder, and made me promise on my honor that I would say nothing to any one; and when we left school, he said to me hastily:—
“His father came to get him yesterday; he will be here again this morning: do as I do.”
We went into the street. Crossi's father was there, a little to one side: a man with a black beard sprinkled with gray, badly dressed, and with a colorless, thoughtful face. Derossi shook Crossi's hand, in a way to attract attention, and said to him in a loud tone, “Farewell until we meet again, Crossi,”—and passed his hand under his chin. I did the same. But as he did so, Derossi turned crimson, and so did I; and Crossi's father gazed straight at us, with a kindly glance; but through it shone a look of distrust and doubt which made our hearts grow cold.
DADDY'S NURSE
(Monthly Story.)
One morning, on a rainy day in March, a lad dressed like a country boy, all wet and muddy, with a bundle of clothes under his arm, came up to the porter of the great hospital at Naples, and, presenting a letter, asked for his father. He had a fine, oval face, of a pale brown hue, thoughtful eyes, and two thick lips, always half open, which displayed extremely white teeth. He came from a village in the neighborhood of Naples. His father, who had left home a year previously to
