"It is all Italian," said he.

"No, no," was the answer; "it is in French and Italian, and was
printed at Paris. But what wouldst thou with a grammar, my child?"

The boy blushed as if he had been caught stealing, and said hastily--

"I _must_ read those poems, and I cannot if I do not learn the
language."

"And thou wouldst read Petrarch with a grammar," shouted the
bookseller; "ho! ho! ho!"

"And a dictionary," said Friedrich; "why not?"

"Why not?" repeated the other, with renewed laughter. "Why not?
Because to learn a language, my Friedrich, one must have a master, and
exercises, and a phrase-book, and progressive reading-lessons with
vocabulary; and, in short, one must learn a language in the way
everybody else learns it; that is why not, my Friedrich."

"Everybody is nobody," said Friedrich, hotly; "at least nobody worth
caring for. If I had a grammar and a dictionary, I would read those
beautiful poems."

"Hear him!" said the cheerful little bookseller. "He will read
Petrarch. He! If my volumes stop in the shelves till thou canst read
them, my child--ho! ho! ho!" and he rubbed his brushy little beard
with glee.

Friedrich's temper was not by nature of the calmest, and this
conversation rubbed its tenderest points. He answered almost
fiercely--

"Take care of your volumes. If I live, and they _do_ stop in the
shelves, I will buy them of you some day. Remember!" and he turned
sharply round to hide the tears which had begun to fall.

For a moment the good shopkeeper's little mouth became as round as his
round little eyes and his round little face; then he laid his hands on
the counter, and jumping neatly over flung his dead weight on to
Friedrich, and embraced him heartily.

"My poor child! (a kiss)--would that it had pleased Heaven to make
thee the son of a nobleman--(another kiss). But hear me. A man in
Berlin is now compiling an Italian grammar. It is to be out in a month
or two. I shall have a copy, and thou shalt see it; and if ever thou
canst read Petrarch I will give thee my volumes--(a volley of kisses).
And now, as thou hast stayed so long, come into the little room and
dine with me." With which invitation the kind-hearted German released
his young friend and led him into the back room, where they buried the
memory of Petrarch in a mess of vegetables and melted butter.

It may be added here, that the Petrarchs remained on the shelf, and
that years afterwards the round-faced little books