'Rain, my God,
I ask it from my heart.
Have pity on me,
For I am little, and I ask for bread.'"
"Enough, enough," cried Rita, "you are as noisy as two cicadas, and more tiresome than frogs."
"May we play a game, mother?" said the boy.
"Play with the cat's tail," responded Rita.
"Mamma Maria," said the girl, "I will say the catechism to you, if you will tell us a story. Now hear me: 'The enemies of the soul are three, the devil, the world, and the flesh.'"
"I like that enemy," said the boy.
"Hush, little one; it don't mean the flesh in the stew."
"What then?" asked the boy.
"Learn the words now," answered his grandmother, "and when you know more, apply what you have learned. For the present, I will tell you that your flesh, that is to say, your appetite, tempts you to be so gluttonous, and that gluttony is a mortal sin."
"They are seven," said the girl quickly, and recited them.