“We can’t do that,” Lippo wailed.  “This is a morning song and we can’t sing it at night.  We must finish it now.  Wait, Kurt!” he cried aloud, when he saw that the boy was taking up his school-bag.

“What can we do?  Where is your mother?  Why does she run away at such a moment?” Uncle Philip cried out helplessly.  “Call for your mother!  You mustn’t go on like that.”

Lippo had run back to the piano and, leaning against it, was crying bitterly.  Kurt, after opening the door, called loudly for his mother in a voice that was meant to bring her from a distance.  This exertion proved unnecessary, as she was standing immediately behind the door.  Bruno, in order to question her about something, had drawn her out with him.

“Oh, mother, come in!” Kurt cried in milder accents.  “Come and teach our two-legged law-paragraph here to get some sense.  School is going to start in five minutes.”

The mother entered.

“Maxa, where did you go?” the brother accosted her.  “It is high time to 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.

The lid of the bag was thrust open and a thick unwieldy object which did not fit into it was protruding.

“What is he carrying along, I wonder?  Can you see what it is?”

“I can only see a round object wrapped up in a gray paper,” her brother replied.  “I am sure it must be something harmless.  I have to say that Lippo is a wonderfully obedient and good boy and full of the best sense.  As soon as one says the right word to him, he comes ’round.  Why did you wait so long though, Maxa, before saying it to him?” was Uncle Philip’s rather reproachful question.  “Why did you run away and leave him crying and moaning?  He needed your help.  What he wanted was perfectly correct but was not just suitable at that moment, and he needed an explanation.  How could you calmly run away?”