near me. I dared not look at him. He drew out his copy-books and his books, which he had not opened for many days, and as he opened the reading-book at a place where there was a cut representing a mother leading her son by the hand, he burst out crying again, and laid his head on his arm. The master made us a sign to leave him thus, and began the lesson. I should have liked to say something to him, but I did not know what. I laid one hand on his arm, and whispered in his ear:—
“Don't cry, Garrone.”
He made no reply, and without raising his head from the bench he laid his hand on mine and kept it there a while. At the close of school, no one spoke to him; all hovered round him respectfully, and in silence. I saw my mother waiting for me, and ran to embrace her; but she held me back, and gazed at Garrone. For the moment I could not understand why; but then I saw that Garrone was standing apart by himself and looking at me; and he had a look of indescribable sadness, which seemed to say: “You are embracing your mother, and I shall never embrace mine again! You still have a mother, and mine is dead!” And then I knew why my mother had thrust me back, and I went out without taking her hand.
GIUSEPPE MAZZINI
This morning, also, Garrone came to school with a pale face and his eyes swollen with weeping, and he
