mother—to my father—to Luigina—Good-bye, grandmother.”
“In the name of Heaven, what is the matter with you?” shrieked the old woman, feeling the boy's head anxiously, as it lay upon her knees; and then with all the power of voice of which her throat was capable, and in desperation: “Ferruccio! Ferruccio! Ferruccio! My child! My love! Angels of Paradise, come to my aid!”
But Ferruccio made no reply. The little hero, the savior of the mother of his mother, stabbed in the back by a blow from a knife, had given up his noble, daring soul to God.
THE LITTLE MASON ON HIS SICK-BED
Tuesday, 18th.
Poor “Muratorino” is seriously ill; the master told us to go and see him; and Garrone, Derossi, and I agreed to go together. Stardi would have come also, but the teacher had assigned us the description of The Monument to Cavour, he told us that he must go and see the monument, in order that his description might be more exact. So, by way of experiment, we invited that puffed-up-fellow, Nobis, who replied “No,” and nothing more. Votini also excused himself, perhaps because he was afraid of soiling his clothes with plaster.
We went there when we came out of school at four o'clock. It was raining in torrents. On the street Garrone halted, and said, with his mouth full of bread:—
“What shall I buy?” and he rattled a couple of soldi
