that slapped me; and there was a little man-why, it was Pantalon,
wasn't it? Did Pantalon eat some cake that I-no, that some one gave
him? Oh! I don't know; and I am so tired! I guess I'll go see mammy
now, and lie down on the bed."

Giovanni did not try to detain the child, but, after closing the
door behind her, remained looking at it as if he still saw the
object of his thoughts, while an expression of perplexity and doubt
clouded the careless good-humor of his face. Presently, however, it
cleared; and, with a significant gesture of the head, he muttered,--

"What then? Is it my business or my fault? Come, Pantalon: we shall
sup."

When Cherry appeared the next day in Giovanni's room, it was with as
gay and untroubled a face as if no haunting memories had ever vexed
her; and Giovanni, who liked her sunny mood much the best, was
careful not to awaken any other. He played for her to dance; he sang
with her; he told her stories of Italy, and the merry life he had
lived there with his wife and child.

"And my little Julietta, like you, loved music and dancing, and sang
like the angels," said he, smoothing Cherry's shining curls.

"Did she? Then she sings in heaven, and is happy: and by and by,
when we go there, we'll see her; won't we?"

The Italian shook his head.

"You may, picciola; but the good God, if he takes me to heaven, must