she sent home a handsome sum every three months, with which her husband,
who was a man of honor, gradually paid off their most urgent debts, and
thus regained his good reputation. And in the meantime, he worked away
and was satisfied with the state of his affairs, since he also cherished
the hope that his wife would shortly return; for the house seemed empty
without her, and the younger son in particular, who was extremely
attached to his mother, was very much depressed, and could not resign
himself to having her so far away.

But a year had elapsed since they had parted; after a brief letter, in
which she said that her health was not very good, they heard nothing
more. They wrote twice to the cousin; the cousin did not reply. They
wrote to the Argentine family where the woman was at service; but it is
possible that the letter never reached them, for they had distorted the
name in addressing it: they received no answer. Fearing a misfortune,
they wrote to the Italian Consulate at Buenos Ayres to have inquiries
made, and after a lapse of three months they received a response from
the consul, that in spite of advertisements in the newspapers no one had
presented herself nor sent any word. And it could not have happened
otherwise, for this reason if for no other: that with the idea of
sparing the good name of her family, which she fancied she was
discrediting by becoming a servant, the good woman had not given her
real name to the Argentine family.

Several months more passed by; no news. The father and sons were in
consternation; the youngest was oppressed by a melancholy which he could
not conquer. What was to be done? To whom should they have recourse? The
father's first thought had been to set out, to go to America in search
of his wife. But his work? Who would support his sons? And neither could
the eldest son go, for he had just then begun to earn something, and he
was necessary to the family. And in this anxiety they lived, repeating
each day the same sad speeches, or gazing at each other in silence;
when, one evening, Marco, the youngest, declared with decision, "I am
going to America to look for my mother."

His father shook his head sadly and made no reply. It was an
affectionate thought, but an impossible thing. To make a journey to
America, which required a month, alone, at the age of thirteen! But the
boy patiently insisted. He persisted that day, the day after, every
day, with great calmness, reasoning wit