The Telegraph-courier. [volume] (Kenosha, Wis.) 1888-1946, 1904-11-10

on him. From it, could it once be
reached, one might sail a craft to any
point. How Pietro longed to be on it!
Then came the venture If one walked
on the plank that stretched from the
doorstep one might jump to the fat top
Of the stump. From the stump-but
Pietro hesitated no longer. From
stump to log, from log to stone, from
stone to barrel, and then splash. The
! barrel was not secure. Into the smiling
water Pietro fell with gasp Of terror,
to emerge shrieking Justify. But his
fright passed. The sun was warm.
What cared he for the chill Of the wa
ter? Grandpa Sabbano might be angry
when he learned. But why need he
learn?
Bravely now did Pietro wade out to
the enchanted island. All, it was worth
the venture. East and west and north
and south voyaged the little boat that
was rugged as they rig boats in the bay
of Napon. What thought he of drip
ping clothing then? 1t was not until
the chill afternoon wind blew on him
that little Pietro began to be sorry that
he had disobeyed.
It was nightfall before Grandfather
Sabbano returned. He found a little
boy whose big brown eyes were very
big and bright indeed, whose cheeks
were flaming red and whose teeth
chartered Also he found that the lit
tie boys clothing was soggy with
dampness.
I'll was sailing the boat, and I fell
into the little lake." confessed Pietro,
sobbing.
"Well, well, it is too bad," said Sab
bano gently. But never mind. We
will put thee in bed, and thee shall get
warm"
But warm little Pietro did not get,
though Sabbano piled on the little cot
all the ragged bedclothing in the shan
ty, though he made the small stove
roar, though he urged Pietro to drink
the steaming broth he had made. Still
Pietro sh1vered under the covers. while
his flaming cheeks were so hot as al
most to burn the hand.
'Now Pietro must go quietly to
Sleep" pleaded Grandfather Sabbano.
Sleep, however, was not for Pietro's
eyes. He talked rapidly, continuously
Of the little lake and the boat Over
and over again he made the voyage
from the plank to the stump, from the
stump to the barrel that would not
stand still. Wildly he talked on and on,
restlessly waving his little hands and
beating them on the covers. And ever
did old Sabbano urge him to cease and
to sleep.
Thus passed all the night and an in
terminable day that followed 1t was
not until in the heart Of the second
night that the little Pietro, breaking a
brief silence, said weakly: 81 think l
am going-going to sleep-now, grand
pa. And tomorrow-you will take me
Out-out to my little island-won't you,
grandpa? This last very family.
Eyes, little Pietro. Yes, it shall be as
you say"
Then there was silence The old
Sabbano, worn out by his long vigil,
bent forward in his chair, laid his head
on the little cot and slept And when
he awoke it was to find that the little
hand in his was cold, icy cold.
All day he sat there staring at the
little face which had famed so scarlet,
but which was now so white that the
black curls about it seemed to frame a
face Of snow. Dolo, the yellow and
white cat, purred plaintively and rub
bed about his legs unheeded. Nizzi,
having begged in vain for his scraps
Of bone, whined despairingly.
A very old man was Sabbano and
very simple. The little he knew about