CHAPTER IV
WE turn with pleasure from Piedro the Cunning to Francisco the Honest.Francisco continued the happy and useful course of his life. By hisunremitting perseverance, he improved himself rapidly under theinstructions of his master and friend, Signor Camillo; his friend, wesay, for the fair and open character of Francisco won, or rather earned,the friendship of this benevolent artist. The English gentleman seemedto take a pride in our hero’s success and good conduct. He was not oneof those patrons who think that they have done enough when they havegiven five guineas. His servant Arthur always considered every generousaction of his master’s as his own, and was particularly pleased wheneverthis generosity was directed towards Francisco.
As for Carlo and the little Rosetta, they were the companions of all thepleasant walks which Francisco used to take in the cool of the evening,after he had been shut up all day at his work. And the old carpenter,delighted with the gratitude of his pupil, frequently repeated—“that hewas proud to have given the first instructions to such a _genius_; andthat he had always prophesied Francisco would be a _great_ man.”
“And a good man, papa,” said Rosetta; “for though he has grown so great,and though he goes into palaces now, to say nothing of that placeunderground, where he has leave to go, yet, notwithstanding all this, henever forgets my brother Carlo and you.”
“That’s the way to have good friends,” said the carpenter. “And I likehis way; he does more than he says. Facts are masculine, and words arefeminine.” {337}
These goods friends seemed to make Francisco happier than Piedro could bemade by his stolen diamonds.
One morning, Francisco was sent to finish a sketch of the front of anancient temple, amongst the ruins of Herculaneum. He had just reachedthe pit, and the men were about to let him down with cords, in the usualmanner, when his attention was caught by the shrill sound of a scoldingwoman’s voice. He looked, and saw at some paces distant this femalefury, who stood guarding the windlass of a well, to which, withthreatening gestures and most voluble menaces, she forbade all access.The peasants—men, women and children, who had come with their pitchers todraw water at this well—were held at bay by the enraged female. Not onedared to be the first to advance; whilst she grasped with one hand thehandle of the windlass, and, with the other tanned muscular arm extended,governed the populace, bidding them remember that she was padrona, ormistress of the well. They retired, in hopes of finding a more gentlepadrona at some other well in the neighbourhood; and the fury, when theywere out of sight, divided the long black hair which hung over her face,and, turning to one of the spectators, appealed to them in a sober voice,and asked if she was not right in what she had done? “I, that am padronaof the well,” said she, addressing herself to Francisco, who, with greatattention, was contemplating her with the eye of a painter—“I, that ampadrona of the well, must in times of scarcity do strict justice, andpreserve for ourselves alone the water of our well. There is scarcelyenough even for ourselves. I have been obliged to make my husbandlengthen the ropes every day for this week past. If things go on at thisrate, there will soon be not one drop of water left in my well.”
“Nor in any of the wells of the neighbourhood,” added one of the workmen,who was standing by; and he mentioned several in which the water hadlately suddenly decreased; and a miller affirmed that his mill hadstopped for want of water.
Francisco was struck by these remarks. They brought to his recollectionsimilar facts, which he had often heard his father mention in hischildhood, as having been observed previous to the last eruption of MountVesuvius. {338a} He had also heard from his father, in his childhood,that it is better to trust to prudence than to fortune; and therefore,though the peasants and workmen, to whom he mentioned his fears, laughed,and said, “That as the burning mountain had been favourable to them forso many years, they would trust to it and St. Januarius one day longer,”yet Francisco immediately gave up all thoughts of spending this dayamidst the ruins of Herculaneum. After having inquired sufficiently,after having seen several wells, in which the water had evidentlydecreased, and after having seen the mill-wheels that were standing stillfor want of their usual supply, he hastened home to his father andmother, reported what he had heard and seen, and begged of them toremove, and to take what things of value they could to some distance fromthe dangerous spot where they now resided.
Some of the inhabitants of Resina, whom he questioned, declared that theyhad heard strange rumbling noises underground; and a peasant and his son,who had been at work the preceding day in a vineyard, a little above thevillage, related that they had seen a sudden puff of smoke come out ofthe earth, close to them; and that they had, at the same time, heard anoise like the going off of a pistol. {338b}
The villagers listened with large eyes and open ears to these relations;yet such was their habitual attachment to the spot they lived upon, orsuch the security in their own good fortune, that few of them wouldbelieve that there could be any necessity for removing.—“We’ll see whatwill happen to-morrow; we shall be safe here one day longer,” said they.
Francisco’s father and mother, more prudent than the generality of theirneighbours, went to the house of a relation, at some miles’ distance fromVesuvius, and carried with them all their effects.
In the meantime, Francisco went to the villa where his English friendsresided. The villa was in a most dangerous situation, near Terre delGreco—a town that stands at the foot of Mount Vesuvius. He related allthe facts that he had heard to Arthur, who, not having been, like theinhabitants of Resina, familiarized to the idea of living in the vicinityof a burning mountain, and habituated to trust in St. Januarius, wassufficiently alarmed by Francisco’s representations. He ran to hismaster’s apartment, and communicated all that he had just heard. TheCount de Flora and his lady, who were at this time in the house,ridiculed the fears of Arthur, and could not be prevailed upon to removeeven as far as Naples. The lady was intent upon preparations for herbirthday, which was to be celebrated in a few days with greatmagnificence at their villa; and she observed that it would be a pity toreturn to town before that day, and they had everything arranged for thefestival. The prudent Englishman had not the gallantry to appear to beconvinced by these arguments, and he left the place of danger. He leftit not too soon, for the next morning exhibited a scene—a scene which weshall not attempt to describe.
We refer our young readers to the account of this dreadful eruption ofMount Vesuvius, published by Sir W. Hamilton in the “PhilosophicalTransactions.” It is sufficient here to say that, in the space of aboutfive hours, the wretched inhabitants of Torre del Greco saw their townutterly destroyed by the streams of burning lava which poured from themountain. The villa of Count de Flora, with some others, which were at alittle distance from the town, escaped; but they were absolutelysurrounded by the lava. The count and countess were obliged to fly fromtheir house with the utmost precipitation in the night-time; and they hadnot time to remove any of their furniture, their plate, clothes, orjewels.
A few days after the eruption, the surface of the lava became so coolthat people could walk upon it, though several feet beneath the surfaceit was still exceedingly hot. Numbers of those who had been forced fromtheir houses now returned to the ruins to try to save whatever theycould. But these unfortunate persons frequently found their houses hadbeen pillaged by robbers, who, in these moments of general confusion,enrich themselves with the spoils of their fellow-creatures.
“Has the count abandoned his villa? and is there no one to take care ofhis plate and furniture? The house will certainly be ransacked beforemorning,” said the old carpenter to Francisco, who was at his housegiving him an account of their flight. Francisco immediately went to thecount’s house in warn him of his danger. The first person he saw wasArthur, who, with a face of terror, said to him, “Do you know what hashappened? It is all over with Resina!”
“All over with Resina! What, has there been a fresh eruption? Has thelava reached Resi
na?”
“No; but it will inevitably be blown up. There,” said Arthur, pointingto a thin figure of an Italian, who stood pale and trembling, and lookingup to heaven as he crossed himself repeatedly. “There,” said Arthur, “isa man who has left a parcel of his cursed rockets and fireworks, with Idon’t know how much gunpowder, in the count’s house, from which we havejust fled. The wind blows that way. One spark of fire, and the whole isblown up.”
Francisco waited not to hear more; but instantly, without explaining hisintentions to anyone, set out for the count’s villa, and, with a bucketof water in his hand, crossed the beds of lava with which the house wasencompassed; when, reaching the hall where the rockets and gunpowder wereleft, he plunged them into the water, and returned with them in safetyover the lava, yet warm under his feet.
What was the surprise and joy of the poor firework-maker when he sawFrancisco return from this dangerous expedition! He could scarcelybelieve his eyes, when he saw the rockets and the gunpowder all safe.
The count, who had given up the hopes of saving his palace, was inadmiration when he heard of this instance of intrepidity, which properlysaved not only his villa, but the whole village of Resina, fromdestruction. These fireworks had been prepared for the celebration ofthe countess’ birthday, and were forgotten in the hurry of the night onwhich the inhabitants fled from Torre del Greco.
“Brave young man!” said the count to Francisco, “I thank you, and shallnot limit my gratitude to thanks. You tell me that there is danger of myvilla being pillaged by robbers. It is from this moment your interest,as well as mine, to prevent their depredations; for (trust to myliberality) a portion of all that is saved of mine shall be yours.”
“Bravo! bravissimo!” exclaimed one, who started from a recessed window inthe hall where all this passed. “Bravo! bravissimo!”—Francisco thoughthe knew the voice and the countenance of this man, who exclaimed with somuch enthusiasm. He remembered to have seen him before, but when, orwhere, he could not recollect. As soon as the count left the hall, thestranger came up to Francisco. “Is it possible,” said he, “that youdon’t know me? It is scarcely a twelvemonth since I drew tears from youreyes.”
“Tears from my eyes?” repeated Francisco, smiling; “I have shed but fewtears. I have had but few misfortunes in my life.” The strangeranswered him by two extempore Italian lines, which conveyed nearly thesame idea that has been so well expressed by an English poet:—
“To each their sufferings—all are men Condemn’d alike to groan; The feeling for another’s woes, Th’ unfeeling for his own.”
“I know you now perfectly well,” cried Francisco; “you are theImprovisatore who, one fine moonlight night last summer, told us thestory of Cornaro the Turk.”
“The same,” said the Improvisatore; “the same, though in a better dress,which I should not have thought would have made so much difference inyour eyes, though it makes all the difference between man and man in theeyes of the stupid vulgar. My genius has broken through the clouds ofmisfortune of late. A few happy impromptu verses I made on the Count deFlora’s fall from his horse attracted attention. The count patronizesme. I am here now to learn the fate of an ode I have just composed forhis lady’s birthday. My ode was to have been set to music, and to havebeen performed at his villa near Torre del Greco, if these troubles hadnot intervened. Now that the mountain is quiet again, people will returnto their senses. I expect to be munificently rewarded. But, perhaps, Idetain you. Go; I shall not forget to celebrate the heroic action youhave performed this day. I still amuse myself amongst the populace in mytattered garb late in the evenings, and I shall sound your praisesthrough Naples in a poem I mean to recite on the late eruption of MountVesuvius. Adieu.”
The Improvisatore was as good as his word. That evening, with more thanhis usual enthusiasm, he recited his verses to a great crowd of people inone of the public squares. Amongst the crowd were several to whom thename of Francisco was well known, and by whom he was well beloved. Thesewere his young companions, who remembered him as a fruit-seller amongstthe little merchants. They rejoiced to hear his praises, and repeatedthe lines with shouts of applause.
“Let us pass. What is all this disturbance in the streets?” said a man,pushing his way through the crowd. A lad who held by his arm stoppedsuddenly on hearing the name of Francisco, which the people wererepeating with so much enthusiasm.
“Ha! I have found at last a story that interests you more than that ofCornaro the Turk,” cried the Improvisatore, looking in the face of theyouth, who had stopped so suddenly. “You are the young man who, lastsummer, had liked to have tricked me out of my new hat. Promise me youwon’t touch it now,” said he, throwing down the hat at his feet, “or youhear not one word I have to say. Not one word of the heroic actionperformed at the villa of the Count de Flora, near Torre del Greco, thismorning, by Signor Francisco.”
“_Signor_ Francisco!” repeated the lad with disdain. “Well, let us hearwhat you have to tell of him,” added he. “Your hat is very safe, Ipromise you; I shall not touch it. What of _Signor_ Francisco?”
“_Signor_ Francisco I may, without impropriety, call him,” said theImprovisatore, “for he is likely to become rich enough to command thetitle from those who might not otherwise respect his merit.”
“Likely to become rich! how?” said the lad, whom our readers haveprobably before this time discovered to be Piedro. “How, pray, is helikely to become rich enough to be a signor?”
“The Count de Flora has promised him a liberal portion of all the finefurniture, plate and jewels that can be saved from his villa at Torre delGreco. Francisco is gone down hither now with some of the count’sdomestics to protect the valuable goods against those villainousplunderers, who robbed their fellow-creatures of what even the flames ofVesuvius would spare.”
“Come, we have had enough of this stuff,” cried the man whose arm Piedroheld. “Come away,” and he hurried forwards.
This man was one of the villains against whom the honest orator expressedsuch indignation. He was one of those with whom Piedro got acquaintedduring the time that he was living extravagantly upon the money he gainedby the sale of the stolen diamond cross. That robbery was notdiscovered; and his success, as he called it, hardened him in guilt. Hewas both unwilling and unable to withdraw himself from the bad companywith whom his ill gotten wealth connected him. He did not consider thatbad company leads to the gallows. {342}
The universal confusion which followed the eruption of Mount Vesuvius wasto these villains a time of rejoicing. No sooner did Piedro’s companionhear of the rich furniture, plate, etc., which the imprudent orator haddescribed as belonging to the Count de Flora’s villa, than he longed tomake himself master of the whole.
“It is a pity,” said Piedro, “that the count has sent Francisco, with hisservants down to guard it.”
“And who is this Francisco of whom you seem to stand in so much awe?”
“A boy, a young lad only, of about my own age; but I know him to besturdily honest. The servants we might corrupt; but even the old proverbof ‘Angle with a silver hook,’ {343} won’t hold good with him.”
“And if he cannot be won by fair means, he must be conquered by foul,”said the desperate villain; “but if we offer him rather more than thecount has already promised for his share of the booty, of course he willconsult at once his safety and his interest.”
“No,” said Piedro; “that is not his nature. I know him from a child, andwe had better think of some other house for to-night’s business.”
“None other; none but this,” cried his companion, with an oath. “My mindis determined upon this, and you must obey your leader: recollect thefate of him who failed me yesterday.”
The person to whom he alluded was one of the gang of robbers who had beenassassinated by his companions for hesitating to commit some crimesuggested by their leader. No tyranny is so dreadful as that which isexercised by villains over their
young accomplices, who become theirslaves. Piedro, who was of a cowardly nature, trembled at thethreatening countenance of his captain, and promised submission.
In the course of the morning, inquiries were made secretly amongst thecount’s servants; and the two men who were engaged to sit up at the villathat night along with Francisco, were bribed to second the views of thisgang of thieves. It was agreed that about midnight the robbers should belet into the house; that Francisco should be tied hand and foot, whilstthey carried off their booty. “He is a stubborn chap, though so young, Iunderstand,” said the captain of the robbers to his men; “but we carryponiards, and know how to use them. Piedro, you look pale. You don’trequire to be reminded of what I said to you when we were alone justnow?”
Piedro’s voice failed, and some of his comrades observed that he wasyoung and new to the business. The captain, who, from being hispretended friend during his wealthy days, had of late become his tyrant,cast a stern look at Piedro, and bid him be sure to be at the old Jew’s,which was the place of meeting, in the dusk of the evening. After sayingthis he departed.
Piedro, when he was alone, tried to collect his thoughts—all his thoughtswere full of horror. “Where am I?” said he to himself; “what am I about?Did I understand rightly what he said about poniards? Francisco; oh,Francisco! Excellent, kind, generous Francisco! Yes, I recollect yourlook when you held the bunch of grapes to my lips, as I sat by thesea-shore deserted by all the world; and now, what friends have I.Robbers and—” The word _murderers_ he could not utter. He againrecollected what had been said about poniards, and the longer his mindfixed upon the words, and the look that accompanied them, the more he wasshocked. He could not doubt but that it was the serious intention of hisaccomplices to murder Francisco, if he should make any resistance.
Piedro had at this moment no friend in the world to whom he could applyfor advice or assistance. His wretched father died some weeks beforethis time, in a fit of intoxication. Piedro walked up and down thestreet, scarcely capable of thinking, much less of coming to any rationalresolution.
The hours passed away, the shadows of the houses lengthened under hisfootsteps, the evening came on, and when it grew dusk, after hesitatingin great agony of mind for some time, his fear of the robbers’ vengeanceprevailed over every other feeling, and he went at the appointed hour tothe place of meeting.
The place of meeting was at the house of that Jew to whom he, severalmonths before, sold the diamond cross. That cross which he thoughthimself so lucky to have stolen, and to have disposed of undetected, was,in fact, the cause of his being in his present dreadful situation. Itwas at the Jew’s that he connected himself with this gang of robbers, towhom he was now become an absolute slave.
“Oh, that I dared to disobey!” said he to himself, with a deep sigh, ashe knocked softly at the back door of the Jew’s house. The back dooropened into a narrow, unfrequented street, and some small rooms at thisside of the house were set apart for the reception of guests who desiredto have their business kept secret. These rooms were separated by a darkpassage from the rest of the house, and numbers of people came to theshop in the front of the house, which looked into a creditable street,without knowing anything more, from the ostensible appearance of theshop, than that it was a kind of pawnbroker’s, where old clothes, oldiron, and all sorts of refuse goods, might be disposed of conveniently.
At the moment Piedro knocked at the back door, the front shop was full ofcustomers; and the Jew’s boy, whose office it was to attend to thesesignals, let Piedro in, told him that none of his comrades were yet come,and left him in a room by himself.
He was pale and trembling, and felt a cold dew spread over him. He had aleaden image of Saint Januarius tied round his neck, which, in the midstof his wickedness, he superstitiously preserved as a sort of charm, andon this he kept his eyes stupidly fixed, as he sat alone in this gloomyplace.
He listened from time to time, but he heard no noise at the side of thehouse where he was. His accomplices did not arrive, and, in a sort ofimpatient terror, the attendant upon an evil conscience, he flung openthe door of his cell, and groped his way through the passage which heknew led to the public shop. He longed to hear some noise, and to mixwith the living. The Jew, when Piedro entered the shop, was bargainingwith a poor, thin-looking man about some gunpowder.
“I don’t deny that it has been wet,” said the man, “but since it was inthe bucket of water, it has been carefully dried. I tell you the simpletruth, that so soon after the grand eruption of Mount Vesuvius, thepeople of Naples will not relish fireworks. My poor little rockets, andeven my Catherine-wheels, will have no effect. I am glad to part withall I have in this line of business. A few days ago I had fine things inreadiness for the Countess de Flora’s birthday, which was to have beencelebrated at the count’s villa.”
“Why do you fix your eyes on me, friend? What is your discourse to me?”said Piedro, who imagined that the man fixed his eyes upon him as hementioned the name of the count’s villa.
“I did not know that I fixed my eyes upon you; I was thinking of myfireworks,” said the poor man, simply. “But now that I do look at youand hear your voice, I recollect having had the pleasure of seeing youbefore.”
“When? where?” said Piedro.
“A great while ago; no wonder you have forgotten me,” said the man; “butI can recall the night to your recollection. You were in the street withme the night I let off that unlucky rocket, which frightened the horses,and was the cause of overturning a lady’s coach. Don’t you remember thecircumstance?”
“I have a confused recollection of some such thing,” said Piedro, ingreat embarrassment; and he looked suspiciously at this man, in doubtwhether he was cunning, and wanted to sound him, or whether he was sosimple as he appeared.
“You did not, perhaps, hear, then,” continued the man, “that there was agreat search made, after the overturn, for a fine diamond cross,belonging to the lady in the carriage? That lady, though I did not knowit till lately, was the Countess de Flora.”
“I know nothing of the matter,” interrupted Piedro, in great agitation.His confusion was so marked, that the firework-maker could not avoidtaking notice of it; and a silence of some moments ensued. The Jew, morepractised in dissimulation than Piedro, endeavoured to turn the man’sattention back to his rockets and his gunpowder—agreed to take thegunpowder—paid for it in haste, and was, though apparently unconcerned,eager to get rid of him. But this was not so easily done. The man’scuriosity was excited, and his suspicions of Piedro were increased everymoment by all the dark changes of his countenance. Piedro, overpoweredwith the sense of guilt, surprised at the unexpected mention of thediamond cross, and of the Count de Flora’s villa, stood like oneconvicted, and seemed fixed to the spot, without power of motion.
“I want to look at the old cambric that you said you had—that would dofor making—that you could let me have cheap for artificial flowers,” saidthe firework-maker to the Jew; and as he spoke, his eye from time to timelooked towards Piedro.
Piedro felt for the leaden image of the saint, which he wore round hisneck. The string which held it cracked, and broke with the pull he gaveit. This slight circumstance affected his terrified and superstitiousmind more than all the rest. He imagined that at this moment his fatewas decided; that Saint Januarius deserted him, and that he was undone.He precipitately followed the firework-man the instant he left the shop,and seizing hold of his arm, whispered, “I must speak to you.”
“Speak, then,” said the man, astonished.
“Not here; this way,” said he, drawing him towards the dark passage:“what I have to say must not be overheard. You are going to the Count deFlora’s, are not you?”
“I am,” said the man. He was going there to speak to the countess aboutsome artificial flowers; but Piedro thought he was going to speak to herabout the diamond cross.
“You are going to give information against me? Nay, hear me, I confessthat I pur
loined that diamond cross; but I can do the count a greatservice, upon condition that he pardons me. His villa is to be attackedthis night by four well armed men. They will set out five hours hence.I am compelled, under the threat of assassination, to accompany them; butI shall do no more. I throw myself upon the count’s mercy. Hasten tohim—we have no time to lose.”
The poor man, who heard this confession, escaped from Piedro the momenthe loosed his arm. With all possible expedition he ran to the count’spalace in Naples, and related to him all that had been said by Piedro.Some of the count’s servants, on whom he could most depend, were at adistant part of the city attending their mistress, but the Englishgentleman offered the services of his man Arthur. Arthur no sooner heardthe business, and understood that Francisco was in danger, than he armedhimself without saying one word, saddled his English horse, and was readyto depart before anyone else had finished their exclamations andconjectures.
“But we are not to set out yet,” said the servant; “it is but four milesto Torre del Greco; the sbirri (officers of justice) are summoned—theyare to go with us—we must wait for them.”
They waited, much against Arthur’s inclination, a considerable time forthese sbirri. At length they set out, and just as they reached thevilla, the flash of the pistol was seen from one of the apartments in thehouse. The robbers were there. This pistol was snapped by their captainat poor Francisco, who had bravely asserted that he would, as long as hehad life, defend the property committed to his care. The pistol missedfire, for it was charged with some of the damaged powder which the Jewhad bought that evening from the firework maker, and which he had sold asexcellent immediately afterwards to his favourite customers—the robberswho met at his house.
Arthur, as soon as he perceived the flash of the piece, pressed forwardthrough all the apartments, followed by the count’s servants and theofficers of justice. At the sudden appearance of so many armed men, therobbers stood dismayed. Arthur eagerly shook Francisco’s hand,congratulating him upon his safety, and did not perceive, till he hadgiven him several rough friendly shakes, that his arm was wounded, andthat he was pale with the loss of blood.
“It is not much—only a slight wound,” said Francisco; “one that I shouldhave escaped, if I had been upon my guard; but the sight of a face that Ilittle expected to see in such company took from me all presence of mind;and one of the ruffians stabbed me here in the arm, whilst I stood instupid astonishment.”
“Oh! take me to prison! take me to prison—I am weary of life—I am awretch not fit to live!” cried Piedro, holding his hands to be tied bythe sbirri.
The next morning Piedro was conveyed to prison; and as he passed throughthe streets of Naples he was met by several of those who had known himwhen he was a child. “Ay,” said they, as he went by, “his fatherencouraged him in cheating when he was _but a child_; and see what he iscome to, now he is a man!” He was ordered to remain twelve months insolitary confinement. His captain and his accomplices were sent to thegalleys, and the Jew was banished from Naples.
And now, having got these villains out of the way, let us return tohonest Francisco. His wound was soon healed. Arthur was no bad surgeon,for he let his patient get well as fast as he pleased; and Carlo andRosetta nursed him with so much kindness, that he was almost sorry tofind himself perfectly recovered.
“Now that you are able to go out,” said Francisco’s father to him, “youmust come and look at my new house, my dear son.”
“Your new house, father?”
“Yes, son, and a charming one it is, and a handsome piece of land nearit—all at a safe distance, too, from Mount Vesuvius; and can you guesshow I came by it?—it was given to me for having a good son.”
“Yes,” cried Carlo; “the inhabitants of Resina, and several who hadproperty near Terre del Greco, and whose houses and lives were saved byyour intrepidity in carrying the materials for the fireworks and thegunpowder out of this dangerous place, went in a body to the duke, andrequested that he would mention your name and these facts to the king,who, amongst the grants he has made to the sufferers by the late eruptionof Mount Vesuvius, has been pleased to say that he gives this house andgarden to your father, because you have saved the property and lives ofmany of his subjects.”
The value of a handsome portion of furniture, plate, etc., in the Countde Flora’s villa, was, according to the count’s promise, given to him;and this money he divided between his own family and that of the goodcarpenter who first put a pencil into his hands. Arthur would not acceptof any present from him. To Mr. Lee, the English gentleman, he offeredone of his own drawings—a fruit-piece.
“I like this very well,” said Arthur, as he examined the drawing, “but Ishould like this melon better if it was a little bruised. It is nowthree years ago since I was going to buy that bruised melon from you; youshowed me your honest nature then, though you were but a boy; and I havefound you the same ever since. A good beginning makes a good ending—anhonest boy will make an honest man; and honesty is the best policy, asyou have proved to all who wanted the proof, I hope.”
“Yes,” added Francisco’s father, “I think it is pretty plain that Piedrothe Cunning has not managed quite so well as Francisco the Honest.”