supporting him as though he had been a sick man. The people saw, and instantly understood, and several persons ran up with their fists raised; but Garrone thrust himself between, crying:—
“Do ten men of you set on one boy?”
Then they ceased, and a policeman seized Garoffi by the hand and led him, pushing aside the crowd as he went, to a pastry-cook's shop, where the wounded man had been carried. On catching sight of him, I suddenly recognized him as the old employee who lives on the fourth floor of our house with his grandnephew. He was stretched out on a chair, with a handkerchief over his eyes.
“I did not do it on purpose!” sobbed Garoffi, half dead with terror; “I did not do it on purpose!”
Two or three persons thrust him violently into the shop, crying: “Down to the earth! Beg his pardon!” and they threw him to the ground. But all at once two vigorous arms set him on his feet again, and a resolute voice said:—
“No, gentlemen!” It was our principal, who had seen it all. “Since he has had the courage to give himself up,” he added, “no one has the right to humiliate him.” All stood silent. “Ask his forgiveness,” said the principal to Garofrl. Garofrl, bursting into tears, embraced the old man's knees, and the latter, having felt for the boy's head with his hand, caressed his hair. Then all said:—
“Go, boy! go, return home.”
And my father drew me out of the crowd, and said as we passed along the street, “Enrico, would you have
