made a menacing gesture at him. But the master said to the father:—
“No, sir, excuse me; it is not always the boy's fault; it is often his misfortune. And that is the case here.” Then he read:—
“Nelli, promoted, sixty-two seventieths.” His mother sent him a kiss from her fan. Stardi, promoted, with sixty-seven seventieths! but, at hearing this fine fate, he did not smile, or remove his fists from his temples. The last was Votini, who had come very finely dressed and brushed,—promoted. After reading the last name, the master rose and said:—
“Boys, this is the last time that we shall find ourselves assembled together in this room. We have been together a year, and now we part good friends, do we not? I am sorry to part from you, my dear boys.” He interrupted himself, then he resumed: “If I have sometimes failed in patience, if sometimes, without intending it, I have been unjust, or too severe, forgive me.”
“No, no!” cried the parents and many of the scholars,—“You have ever been kind!”
“Forgive me,” repeated the master, “and think well of me. Next year you will not be with me; but I shall see you again, and you will always abide in my heart. Farewell until we meet again, boys!”
So saying, he stepped forward among us, and we all offered him our hands, as we stood up on the seats, and grasped him by the arms, and by the skirts of his coat. Many kissed him; fifty voices cried:—
“Farewell until we meet again, teacher!—We thank
