“He worked from five until seven carrying faggots.” The teacher allowed him to sleep on, and continued with the lesson for half an hour. Then he went to Coretti’s seat, and wakened him very, very gently, by blowing in his face. On beholding the master in front of him, he started back in alarm. But the master took his head in his hands, and said, as he kissed him on the hair:—
“I am not reproving you, my son. Your sleep is not at all that of laziness; it is the sleep of fatigue.”
MY FATHER.
Saturday, 17th.
Surely, neither your comrade Coretti nor Garrone would ever have answered their fathers as you answered yours this afternoon. Enrico! How is it possible? You must promise me solemnly that this shall never happen again so long as I live. Every time that an impertinent reply flies to yo
