Coleridge was the last to go, and when about to descend the stair, he again clasped the hand of his host with a warm and fervent pressure. "I am fond of them all," he said slowly, indicating those whose footfalls still sounded in the passage below; "I am fond of them all: Southey, Wordsworth, Lovell, and the rest; but you, Charles Lamb, you are to me as though you had been born my younger brother." THE LION THAT HELPED [CANOVA] "Tonin, Tonin, come out with us to the River! Luigi has built a raft, and we're going to pole it down to the second bridge." Five boys, bareheaded, barefooted, dirty-faced, and joyful, grouped themselves before a mud-walled Alpine cabin, the last of a quaint village row, while Pablo, their leader, hailed some one within. Instantly there appeared in the doorway a boy of their own age, clad as roughly and lightly as themselves. His blouse was loosened comfortably at the throat, his trousers were rolled well above the knee, and over these cool garments he wore a hempen working-apron which was held in place by a stout cord attached to its upper corners and passing about his neck. In one hand he held a small steel hammer, in the other a chisel. "Come on, Tonin," repeated Pablo, pointing excitedly toward the brook. The lad in the doorway shook his head and lifted his chisel meaningly, as though no additional explanation were needed. "Oh, do, do!" urged the new-comers. "Leave your old stone-chipping for an hour and come with us. We'll let you pole all the time if you will." "I can't," returned the other briefly. "Please come! Come along!" insisted four alluring voices, but Pablo turned away impatiently. "Leave that sullen Tonin alone! He'd rather bang away at his grandfather's stones than go with us on the jolliest jaunt we could name. Come on, and let him stay by himself." Thereupon the boys ran swiftly down the adjoining slope, and Tonin Canova stepped into the house with a shrug, as though glad to be rid of them and their invitations. He did not tarry in the cleanly sunlit cabin, but hurried out to the rear garden, where an old man wearing an apron similar to his was busily tapping and chipping at a block of stone erected upon wooden supports. "Why didn't you go with the others?" inquired the stone-cutter, looking up from his work. "You needn't have come back, because I have finished the urn for the terrace of the Villa d'Asolo, and it is too late in the afternoon to begin on the Monfumo altar ornaments. Besides, you have stood by your work pretty hard lately, and I think every boy needs a holiday once in a way." "I don't want a holiday, grandfather." "Bless us! What are you talking about? Who ever heard of a boy who didn't want a holiday every day in the week, if he could get it?" "I'd like to be free from working on your things, of course, but I don't want to pole a raft. I'd rather carve my cherries, if you can do without me the rest of the afternoon."