get this boy straightened out. Just look at the way he is clutching the
piano in his trouble. He ought to be off. Kurt is right."

The mother, sitting down on the piano-stool, took the little boy's hand
and pulled him towards her.

"Come, Lippo, there is nothing to cry about," she said calmly. "Listen
while I explain this. It is a splendid thing to finish anything one has
begun, but there are things that cannot be finished all at once. Then
one divides these things into separate parts and finishes part first with
the resolution to do another part the next day, and so on till it is
done. We shall say now our song has twelve stanzas and we'll sing two of
them every morning; in that way we can finish it on the sixth day and we
have not left it unfinished at all. Can you understand, Lippo? Are you
quiet now?"

"Yes," said the little boy, looking up to his mother with an expression
of perfect satisfaction.

The leave-taking from the uncle had to be cut extremely short. "Come
soon again," sounded three times more from the steps, and then the
children started off.

The mother, looking through the window, followed them with her eyes. She
was afraid that Kurt and Mea would leave the little one far behind on
account of having been kept too long already, and it happened as she
feared. She saw Lippo trudging on behind with an extraordinarily full
school-bag on his back.

"Can you see what Lippo is carrying?" she asked her brother.