Then he laid it aside, and thrust another into the fire.
“That was very well made, indeed,” my father said to him. And he added, “So you are working eh?—You have returned to good habits?”
“Yes, I have returned,” replied the workman, wiping away the perspiration, and reddening a little. “And do you know who made me return to them?” My father pretended not to understand. “This brave boy,” said the blacksmith, indicating his son with his finger; “the boy who studied and did honor to his father, while his father rioted, and treated him like a dog. When I saw that medal—Ah! thou little lad of mine, no bigger than a soldo[1] of cheese, come here, that I may get a good look at you!”
The boy ran to him instantly; the smith took him and put him on the anvil, holding him under the arms, and said to him:
“Scrub off the front of this big beast of a daddy of yours a little!”
And then Precossi covered his father's black face with kisses, until he was all black himself.
“That's the way to do it,” said the smith, and he set him on the ground again.
“That really is the way, Precossi!” exclaimed my father delighted. And bidding the smith and his son good day, he led me away. As I was going out, little Precossi said to me, “Excuse me,” and thrust a packet of nails into my pocket. I invited him to come and view the Carnival from my house.
“You gave him your railway train,” my father
- ↑ The Twentieth part of a cubit; Florentine measure.
