“Oh! take me to prison! take me to prison—I am weary of life—I am a wretch not fit to live!” cried Piedro, holding his hands to be tied by the sbirri.
The next morning Piedro was conveyed to prison; and as he passed through the streets of Naples he was met by several of those who had known him when he was a child. “Ay,” said they, as he went by, “his father encouraged him in cheating when he was but a child; and see what he is come to, now he is a man!” He was ordered to remain twelve months in solitary confinement. His captain and his accomplices were sent to the galleys, and the Jew was banished from Naples.
And now, having got these villains out of the way, let us return to honest Francisco. His wound was soon healed. Arthur was no bad surgeon, for he let his patient get well as fast as he pleased; and Carlo and Rosetta nursed him with so much kindness, that he was almost sorry to find himself perfectly recovered.
“Now that you are able to go out,” said Francisco’s father to him, “you must come and look at my new house, my dear son.”
“Your new house, father?”
“Yes, son, and a charming one it is, and a handsome piece of land near it—all at a safe distance, too, from Mount Vesuvius; and can you guess how I came by it?—it was given to me for having a good son.”
“Yes,” cried Carlo; “the inhabitants of Resina, and several who had property near Terre del Greco, and whose houses and lives were saved by your intrepidity in carrying the materials for the fireworks and the gunpowder out of this dangerous place, went in a body to the duke, and requested that he would mention your name and these facts to the king, who, amongst the grants he has made to the sufferers by the late eruption of Mount Vesuvius, has been pleased to say that he gives this house and garden to your father, because you have saved the property and lives of many of his subjects.”
The value of a handsome portion of furniture, plate, etc., in the Count de Flora’s villa, was, according to the count’s promise, given to him; and this money he divided between his own family and that of the good carpenter who first put a pencil into his hands. Arthur would not accept of any present from him. To Mr. Lee, the English gentleman, he offered one of his own drawings—a fruit-piece.
“I like this very well,” said Arthur, as he examined the drawing, “but I should like this melon better if it was a little bruised. It is now three years ago since I was going to buy that bruised melon from you; you showed me your honest nature then, though you were but a boy; and I have found you the same ever since. A good beginning makes a good ending—an honest boy will make an honest man; and honesty is the best policy, as you have proved to all who wanted the proof, I hope.”
“Yes,” added Francisco’s father, “I think it is pretty plain that Piedro the Cunning has not managed quite so well as Francisco the Honest.”