"Here's a pair of stockings," I said; "you've made a thief of my dog. I thought you took him out to amuse people."
I was trembling so I could scarcely speak, and yet I never felt more determined.
"And if it was not for amusement," demanded my father, "what would you do, I'd like to know?"
"I'd tie a cord round Capi's neck, and although I love him dearly, I'd drown him. I don't want Capi to become a thief any more than I want to be one myself, and if I thought that I ever should become a thief, I'd drown myself at once with my dog."
My father looked me full in the face. I thought he was going to strike me. His eyes gleamed. I did not flinch.
"Oh, very well, then," said he, recovering himself; "so that it shall not happen again, you may take Capi out with you in the future."
I showed my fist to the two boys. I could not speak to them, but they saw by my manner that if they dared have anything more to do with my dog, they would have me to reckon with. I was willing to fight them both to protect Capi.
From that day every one in my family openly showed their dislike for me. My grandfather continued to spit angrily when I approached him. The boys and my eldest sister played every trick they possibly could upon me. My father and mother ignored me, only demanding of me my money every evening. Out of the whole family, for whom I had felt so much affection when I had landed in England, there was only baby Kate who would let me fondle her, and she turned from me coldly if I had not candy or an orange in my pocket for her.
Although I would not listen to what Mattia had said at first, gradually, little by little, I began to wonder if I did really belong to this family. I had done nothing for them to be so unkind to me. Mattia, seeing me so greatly worried, would say as though to himself: "I am just wondering what kind of clothes Mother Barberin will tell us you wore...."
At last the letter came. The priest had written it for her. It read: