That was the day of the "my" and "your" struggle.
"Do you see the hat?" the Maestro had asked.
"Yiss, I ssee dde hhett," staccattoed the class in answer.
"My hat," said the Maestro, pointing to his cap; "your hat," he said, pointing to the reduced version of a dilapidated nipa roof which served to cover Carnota's head. "Now, [pointing to his own], do you see my hat?"
"Yiss, I sse my hett," answered the urchin confidently.
"No, no," said the Maestro. "This is my hat, not your hat; it is my hat. Do you see my hat, my, my hat?"
"Yiss, I see my, my hhett," answered Carnota, his eyes alight with sweet obedience.
The Maestro paused and wiped his brow with his handkerchief.
"Now, let us begin again," he went on with determination in his eye. "My hat, your hat; your hat, my hat. This is my hat; this is your hat. Now, show me your hat."
"Your hat," said Carnota, pointing to his own.