"Where?"
"I don't know. No matter where, you'd be better than here."
The door opened and a child came into the room. He carried a violin under his arm and a big piece of wood in his hand.
"Give me that bit of wood," said Mattia, going up to the child.
But the little fellow held the piece of wood behind his back.
"No," he said.
"Give it me for the fire; the soup'll be better."
"Do you think I brought it for the soup? I've only made thirty-six sous to-day and I thought this bit of wood might save me a beating. It's to make up for the four sous I'm short."
"You'll have to pay. Each in his turn."
Mattia said this mechanically, as though the thought of the boy being punished gave him satisfaction. I was surprised to see a hard look come into his soft, sad eyes. I knew later that if you live with wicked people you get to be like them in time.