day, on his return from Greece, after working on the railway there for the last three years. He had a big bundle in his arms. He has grown a little older, but his face is still red and jolly. My father asked him in; but he refused, and suddenly inquired, assuming a serious look: “How is my family? How is Gigia?”
“She was well a few days ago,” replied my mother.
Giorgio uttered a deep sigh.
“Oh, God be praised! I did not have the courage to present myself at the Deaf-mute Institution until I had heard about her. I will leave my bundle here, and run to get her. It is three years since I have seen my poor little daughter! Three years since I have seen any of my people!”
My father told me to go with him.
“Excuse me; one word more,” said the gardener, from the landing.
My father interrupted him, “How are your affairs?”
“All right,” the other replied. “Thanks to God, I have brought back a few soldi. But I wanted to inquire. Tell me how the education of the little dumb-girl is getting on. When I left her, she was like a little animal, poor thing! I don't put much faith in those colleges. Has she learned how to make signs? My wife did write to me, to be sure, ‘She is learning to speak; she is making progress.’ But I said to myself, What is the use of her learning to talk if I don't know how to make signs myself? How shall we manage to understand each other, poor child! It is well enough for them to understand each other, one
