speak to mamma, and do you agree, and promise her on your honor that you will do everything that I shall say.”
So saying, she took me by the hand and led me to our mother, who was sewing, lost in thought. I sat down on one end of the sofa, Sylvia on the other, and she immediately began:—
“Listen, mamma, I have something to say to you. Both of us have something to say to you.” Mamma stared at us in surprise, and Sylvia began:—
“Papa has no money, has he?”
“What do you mean?” replied mamma, turning crimson. “Has he not indeed! What do you know about it? Who has told you?”
“I know it,” said Sylvia, resolutely. “Well, then, listen, mamma; we must make some sacrifices, too. You promised me a fan at the end of May, and Enrico was expecting his box of paints. We don't want anything now; we don't want to waste a soldo; we shall be just as well pleased, you know.”
Mamma tried to speak; but Sylvia said: “No; it must be this way. We have decided. And until papa has money again, we don't want any fruit or anything else; broth will be enough for us, and we will eat bread in the morning for breakfast: so we shall spend less on the table, for we already spend too much. And we promise you that you will always find us perfectly contented. Is it not so, Enrico?”
I replied that it was.
“Always as contented,” repeated Sylvia, closing mamma's mouth with one hand. “And if there are any other sacrifices to be made, either in the matter of
