the street in their impatience. There was Precossi's father, in his blue blouse, who had deserted his shop, with his face still quite black. There was Crossi's mother, the vegetable-vendor; and Nelli's mother, dressed in black, who could not stand still.
A little before midday, my father arrived and raised his eyes to my window; my dear father! At noon we had all finished. And it was a sight at the close of school! Every one ran to meet the boys, to ask questions, to turn over the leaves of the copy-books to compare them with the work of their comrades.
“How many sums? What is the total? And subtraction? And the answer? And the marking off of decimals?”
All the masters were running about, summoned in a hundred directions.
My father took from my hand the rough copy, looked at it, and said, “Very well, indeed.”
Beside us was the blacksmith, Precossi, who was also inspecting his son's work, but rather uneasily, and not comprehending it. He turned to my father:—
“Will you do me the favor to tell me the total?”
My father read the number. The other gazed and reckoned. “Brave little one!” he exclaimed, in perfect content. And my father and he looked at each other for a moment with a kindly smile, like two friends. My father offered his hand, and the other shook it; and they parted, saying, “Until the oral examination.” “Until the oral examination.”
After walking a few paces, we heard a falsetto voice which made us turn our heads. It was the blacksmith singing.
