love education

Chapter 20 February (2)
The teacher was quite annoyed by this, "Your father will tell you that you are wrong, and his reaction to similar things has always been the same. Moreover, in school, teachers have the power to criticize and punish students."

Afterwards, the teacher changed his calm tone and said to him:

"Come on, Nobis, change the way you do things, be kind to your fellows, be courteous to them. You see, we have workers' children here, and we have gentlemen's children, and there are children at home Wealthy, some families are poor, but they can love each other, like brothers. All the students are like this, why don’t you treat others well? Wanting others to like yourself will not bring you more No trouble, but it will make you happier than before. Well, don't you want to say something to me?" Nobis listened to the teacher all the time, with the habitual contemptuous smile on his face, coldly replied:
"No, nothing to say, sir."

"Sit down." The class teacher said to him, "I feel sorry for you, you are a child without a heart."

It seems that there is nothing to say when the matter develops here, but the little mason sitting in the first row turned his round face and made an extremely absurd grimace at Nobis sitting in the last row, so , the whole class laughed together.The teacher in charge scolded him a few words, and he couldn't help laughing himself. Even Nobis laughed along with him. Of course, his smile was still so annoying.

Work injury
Monday 15th
Nobis and Franty, these two hateful guys, are simply a match made in heaven.This afternoon, the students witnessed a tragedy, but the two of them remained indifferent.

After school, when I walked out of the school gate and went home with my father, I saw the group of naughty children in the third grade kneeling on the ground, skating with hats and capes on their knees. At that time, a group of people appeared at the end of the street and walked very far. Anxious, everyone looked dignified, as if they were frightened by something, and talked in low voices from time to time.Three of the group were policemen, followed by two men carrying a stretcher.At this time, the boys were rushing here from all directions, and the group of people was coming towards us.The person on the stretcher was as pale as a dead man, with his head tilted to one shoulder, his hair tangled together, stained with blood, and blood was constantly flowing from his mouth and ears.Walking next to the stretcher was a mother holding a baby. She seemed a little out of her mind, and screamed a few times from time to time:

"He's dead! Dead! He's dead!"

Behind the woman was a little boy with a schoolbag under his arm, who was also crying non-stop.

"What happened?" my father asked.A neighbor told my father that the man on the stretcher was a mason who had fallen from the fourth floor while he was working.The stretcher bearers stopped for a short while, at this moment, many people turned their faces away, afraid to see the horrible scene.I saw that the female teacher with the red feather was supporting my second grade teacher, and she was so frightened that she was about to pass out.At that moment, I felt someone touch my elbow. It was the little mason. His face was pale and he was shaking all over. He must have thought of his father, and I was thinking about it too. What about his father.

I could at least go to school and read with peace of mind, knowing that my father was at home, sitting at his desk, away from any danger.However, how many of my classmates’ fathers are working in extremely dangerous environments. They are either working on very high bridges, or standing next to the gears of high-speed rotating machines. will kill them.The fathers of these poor fellows are like soldiers who fight bravely in the field of battle.The little mason looked and looked, and trembled even more, and my father noticed this, and said to him:

"Go home, my dear boy, and return to your father, and you will find him safe and at peace. Go quickly!"

The little mason walked away, but looked back at every step, when the crowd began to move again, and the woman screamed, almost crying her heart out, "He's dead , How can he die! He can't die!"

"No, it can't be like this, he is not dead!" Everyone around said to her.However, she ignored those people and kept grabbing her hair with her hands.Afterwards, I heard an angry voice shout:

"Why are you laughing?"

Just then I saw a bearded man staring into Franty's face and yelling, the man knocked Franty's hat over with his stick, and said:
"When a person who was injured at work passed by you, you not only did not take off your hat to salute, but laughed, you are too uneducated." At this time, the crowd had already left, and a long bloodstain was still left in the middle of the road .

prisoner
Friday the 17th

This is the worst thing that happened to me this year, we are not going to Gilley this year.Yesterday morning, my father took me to the outskirts of Moncari, where I wanted to find a villa, which I planned to rent for this summer.It turned out later that it was the owner's secretary, a former teacher who gave us the keys, who showed us around the house and eventually led us to his own room and got us some drinks.

On his desk were many pairs of spectacles, and among them was a conical wooden inkwell, carved in a peculiar manner.The teacher, noticing my father's interest in the inkwell, said to him:
"This ink bottle is very precious to me. If you know the origin of this ink bottle, you will understand."

So he tells us:

Many years ago, he was a teacher in Turin. One winter, he would go to the small auditorium of the court prison to give lectures to the prisoners.It was a round-domed building, surrounded by high bare walls, with many small square windows, and each window had two crossed iron bars. Obviously, each small window corresponded to a cell.

The teacher paced up and down the dark, bleak little auditorium while giving lectures to the prisoners.And his students stood behind the windows one by one, putting their books on the bars of the cell door, only showing pale, frowning faces, gray and shaggy beards and unkempt hair in the dark .These students were either murderers or thieves, most of them stared blankly in a daze.

Among such a group of people, there is one very special person, prisoner No. 78. He not only listens more seriously than others, but also loves to study. He looks at the teacher with reverence and gratitude.He was young, with a black beard, and he was more unfortunate than vicious: he was a carpenter.His master had persecuted him, abused him for a long time, and left him with a permanent scar on his head.In a fit of rage, he threw a planing knife at his master and stabbed him, for which the young man was sentenced to several years in prison.But in the first three months he learned to read and write, and he often found books to read to, and the more he learned, the better his temper became, and the more he regretted his crime.

One day, at the end of the lesson, he beckoned the teacher to come closer, saying that he was leaving Turin the next day to go to the prison in Venice to atone for his crimes, and he bade his teacher good-bye in a very The humble and emotional voice begged the teacher, hoping to touch the teacher's hand.The teacher held out his hand to him, and he kissed it, saying:

"Thank you, thank you!" Then he stepped back, and the teacher withdrew his hand, which was soaked with tears.After that, he never saw that man again.

Six years on, "I've been so busy with other things in my life that I've forgotten about the poor man."

The teacher said, "Until one day, a stranger came to my house. He had a big black beard mixed with gray beard, and his clothes were not so well-dressed. He asked ' Are you Teacher So-and-so, sir?'

"'Who are you?' I asked him.

'I am Prisoner No. 70, No. [-],' he replied, 'six years ago, you taught me to read and write, and if you remember, you gave me your hand when you gave me the last lesson. I.I have now been released from prison.I came to your house today to ask you to do me a little favor by accepting a souvenir from me, a gadget I made in prison, and you would accept my gift, forever remember me?dear sir. '

"I stood there speechless, thinking I didn't want to accept this gift, looking at me as if to ask, 'Six years of suffering aren't enough to wash my hands?' He stared at me His expression was so sharp, it was very painful. I immediately stretched out my hand to take the little gift in his hand, which is this ink bottle."

Our curiosity was immediately hooked up, and we carefully observed the ink bottle.It looked as if it had been carefully carved out of nails, and on the cap was carved an exercise book with a pen lying across it.There are also two lines of words engraved around the painting, the above line reads: Dedicated to my teacher, a souvenir from prisoner No. 70 No. [-], six years in prison!There is also a line of small characters engraved below, which reads: learning and hope.

The teacher said nothing more, we put down the ink bottle, said goodbye to him and left.On the way back to Turin from Moncari, I kept thinking about this scene, the prisoner standing behind that little window, saying goodbye to the teacher, the improvised inkwell made in prison, all this All the miraculous stories are constantly being told to me.I've been dreaming about them all night, and I'm still thinking about it this morning, my thoughts wandering so far away that I don't even anticipate the surprise that awaits me at school!

I sat in my new seat next to Dross, and as soon as I finished my arithmetic problems in the monthly exam, I began to tell my friends the story of the prisoner and his ink bottle, and I told them how the ink bottle was. Did it, described the picture of the pen lying on the exercise book and the words engraved around it, "Six years!" Dross exclaimed, he looked first at me, then at Cross, that is the greengrocer His son, who was sitting in the row in front of us, with his back to us, was completely engrossed in the problem he was trying to solve.

"Hush!" whispered Dross, grabbing my arm. "Don't you know? Cross mentioned to me the day before yesterday that he saw an inkwell in his father's hand. His father just came back from the United States, it was a round ink bottle, handmade, with a pen and an exercise book engraved on it, it was the ink bottle you said! Six years! He said that he His father is in the US, not in prison. Cross was a kid when the crime happened and he doesn't remember it at all. His mother must have lied to him. He doesn't know anything now. Never mind Don't let him know!"

I couldn't say a word, and my eyes were still fixed on Cross.After a while, Dross finished the topic and passed a stack of papers to Cross from under the table. Cross took the monthly story, which was called "Father's Nurse", and the teacher asked Dross to make a copy.Dross handed the stack of papers to Cross and patted him on the shoulder.Afterwards, he made me pledge on my honor not to speak of it to anyone.As we were leaving school together, he said to me suddenly and hastily:
"His father came to pick him up from school yesterday, and he will definitely come this morning. Watch what I do."

We came to the street, and there stood Cross's father, leaning slightly to one side, with a black beard mixed with gray and white, poorly dressed, and a bloodless, pensive face. s face.Dross shook hands with Cross, trying to get his attention, and then said loudly to him:
"See you next time, Cross."

Dross also squeezed Cross's chin lightly with his hand, and I did the same.But Dross blushed when he did so, and I was no different.Cross's father looked at us with such concern, his eyes were so kind, but there was still a trace of uneasiness and distrust in his expression, which cooled our enthusiasm.

Father's Nurse (Story of the Month)

It was a rainy morning in March, and a youth dressed in country clothes, splashed with mud and wet from the rain, with a bundle of clothes under his arm, appeared at a well-known hospital in Naples. in front of the door.He took out a letter and said that he wanted to find his father. He has a beautiful oval face, light brown skin, deep and calm eyes, and two thick lips, which are always parted, making it easy for people to notice to his white teeth.He is from a small village near Naples, his father went to France a year ago to find a job, and he just came back to Italy not long ago, he just got back to Naples a few days ago and fell ill, so he hasn't had time to write yet Informed the family that he had returned to China, and failed to inform the family in time that he was now hospitalized.When his wife knew all this, she was in despair, unable to leave the house because she had a sick child who was still in its infancy, so she sent her eldest son to Naples.And so, with a few coppers in his pocket, the boy trekked ten miles to the hospital, wanting to help his sick father, as others had done.

The porter glanced at the contents of the letter and called a nurse to take him to his father.

"Which father?"

The nurse asked, the boy was afraid that he would hear bad news, and trembling with fear, he told the nurse his father's name, but the nurse couldn't remember such a person.

"Is he a very old worker who just came back from abroad?" the concierge asked him, "Yes, a worker." The boy replied that such a question made him even more worried, "not very Old... yes, he just came back from abroad."

"When was he admitted to the hospital?" The nurse asked again, and the boy read the letter again and told her:
"I think it was about five days ago." The nurse stood there thinking for a while, and suddenly seemed to remember that person. "Ah!" she said, "the bed in the innermost part of the fourth ward."

(End of this chapter)