may not hear.--Marco, my love, it is nothing. I
will tell you about it. One more kiss. Go!--Here I am, doctor."

Marco was taken away. The master, mistress, and women retired in haste;
the surgeon and his assistant remained behind, and closed the door.

Signor Mequinez attempted to lead Marco to a distant room, but it was
impossible; he seemed rooted to the pavement.

"What is it?" he asked. "What is the matter with my mother? What are
they doing to her?"

And then Mequinez said softly, still trying to draw him away: "Here!
Listen to me. I will tell you now. Your mother is ill; she must undergo
a little operation; I will explain it all to you: come with me."

"No," replied the lad, resisting; "I want to stay here. Explain it to me
here."

The engineer heaped words on words, as he drew him away; the boy began
to grow terrified and to tremble.

Suddenly an acute cry, like that of one wounded to the death, rang
through the whole house.

The boy responded with another desperate shriek, "My mother is dead!"

The doctor appeared on the threshold and said, "Your mother is saved."

The boy gazed at him for a moment, and then flung himself at his feet,
sobbing, "Thanks, doctor!"

But the doctor raised him with a gesture, saying: "Rise! It is you, you
heroic child, who have saved your mother!"

SUMMER.

Wednesday, 24th.

Marco, the Genoese, is the last little hero but one whose acquaintance
we shall make this year; only one remains for the month of June. There
are only two more monthly examinations, twenty-six days of lessons, six
Thursdays, and five Sundays. The air of the end of the year is already
perceptible. The trees of the garden, leafy and in blossom, cast a fine
shade on the gymnastic apparatus. The scholars are already dressed in
summer clothes. And it is beautiful, at the close of school and the exit
of the classes, to see how different everything is from what it was in
the months that are past. The long locks which touched the shoulders
have disappeared; all heads are closely shorn; bare legs and throats are
to be seen; little straw hats of every shape, with ribbons that descend
even on the backs of the wearers; shirts and neckties of every hue; all
the little children with something red or blue about them, a facing, a
border, a tassel, a scrap of some vivid color tacked on somewhere by the
mother, so that even the poorest may make a good figure; and many come
to school without any hats, as thou