Lenny walked away. He had been called "the scum of the earth,"--by a
foreigner too! He had again been ill-treated for doing what he conceived
his duty. He was again feeling the distinction between rich and poor,
and he now fancied that that distinction involved deadly warfare, for he
had read from beginning to end those two damnable tracts which the tinker
had presented to him. But in the midst of all the angry disturbance of
his mind, he felt the soft touch of the infant's hand, the soothing
influence of her conciliating words, and he was half ashamed that he had
spoken so roughly to a child.

Still, not trusting himself to speak, he walked away, and sat down at a
distance: "I don't see," thought he, "why there should be rich and poor,
master and servant." Lenny, be it remembered, had not heard the Parson's
Political Sermon.

An hour after, having composed himself, Lenny returned to his work.
Jackeymo was no longer in the garden: he had gone to the fields; but
Riccabocca was standing by the celerybed, and holding the red silk
umbrella over Violante as she sat on the ground, looking up at her father
with those eyes already so full of intelligence and love and soul.

"Lenny," said Riccabocca, "my young lady has been telling me that she has
been very naughty, and Giacomo very unjust to you. Forgive them both."

Lenny's sullenness melted in an instant: the reminiscences of tracts Nos.
1 and 2,--

"Like the baseless fabric of a vision,
Left not a wreck behind."