ignora, I know our Lord said there was no
marrying or giving in marriage in heaven; La Mamma knows it too; but we
shall know each other, you know, up there, and our Blessed Lord is
merciful, and won't part those who love each other. La Mamma says so;
and I hope so, too. If ever I gain the rest of Paradise,--may our
Blessed Lord and the Madonna and all the saints grant it!--I want to
find my Luigi there too. Well, but I promised to tell the signora how
the Mamma brought us all up on only a franc a day. As I said already,
Babbo was a carrier. He did well, and sent Marc Antonio and Fausta and
Flavia to school, and me to a _balia_ in the country, and put something
by besides. La Mamma was a silk-weaver,--one of the best in Florence
then,--and she put by something too; for she worked hard every day.
Everything went well with them until the day that I came home from the
_baliatico_ (period of nursing in the country). I was well weaned, and a
strong, fine baby, and the _balia_ was proud of me; and Babbo was so
pleased to find me so well and lively that he gave the _balia_ two
francs more than he had agreed to do. But Babbo was always generous.
Well, the next day La Mamma took me in her arms and went to the
silk-shop where she had been at work, to see about selling her loom; for
the master of the shop was old and was giving up his business and
selling everything: it was just at that time that the silk-trade began
to go down in Florence. When the loom was sold, La Mamma put the money
in her purse, and then she went to put it in the bank, and then home.
When she got into the Borgo degli Santi Apostoli she saw several people
standing before our door; but she thought nothing of that, for we lived
on the top floor, and there were several other families in the house.
But when La Mamma came up to the door, she saw old Martia, her aunt, and
Miniato, her brother, there. They were both crying.

"Oh, _poverina, poverina_! here she is," says Miniato.

"_Madonna santissima_! how shall we ever tell her?" says Aunt Martia.

"For the love of God, tell me what it is!" said poor mamma, and her
heart died in her.

Well, in a few minutes, _adagio, adagio_, little by little, they told
her how it was. Near the Porta San Niccolo a heavy load of bricks had
been overturned, and poor Babbo, who was passing at the time, had been
badly hurt. His fine gray mule Giannetta was killed. So two troubles
came together. After a little the Misericordia brought