Well, I knew him as a boy, and he began as you are doing. Reflect that you will reduce your father and mother to the same end as his.”
Ferruccio held his peace. He was not bad at heart; quite the reverse. His pranks arose rather from an overflow of life and boldness than from an evil mind. And his father had managed him badly just here, for he gave him great liberty, because he knew him to be good-hearted and capable, at bottom, of the finest sentiments; so he left the bridle loose upon the boy's neck, and waited for him to acquire judgment for himself. The lad was good rather than perverse, but stubborn; and it was hard for him, even when his heart was repentant, to allow those good words which win pardon to escape his lips, “If I have done wrong, I will do so no more; I promise it. Forgive me.” His soul was full of tenderness at times; but pride would not permit it to show itself.
“Ah, Ferruccio,” continued his grandmother, seeing that he was silent, “not a word of penitence to me! You see to what a condition I am reduced, so that I am as good as actually buried. You ought not to have the heart to make me suffer so, to make the mother of your mother, who is so old and so near her last day, weep; the poor grandmother who has always loved you so, who rocked you all night long, night after night, when you were a baby a few months old, and who did not eat in order to play with you,—you do not know that! I always said, ‘This boy will be my consolation!’ And now you are killing me! I would willingly give the little life that remains to me if I could see you become a good boy, and an obedient boy,
