I shall be fifteen in a month." "So old!" Tato laughed merrily.
"Ah, you might well say 'so young,' amico mia! To be grown up is much nicer; do you not think so?
And then I shall not look such a baby as now, and have people scold me when I get in the way, as they do little bambini." "But when you are grown you cannot wear boys' clothing, either." Tato sighed.
"We have a saying in Sicily that 'each year has its sunshine and rain,' which means its sorrow and its joy," she answered.

"Perhaps I sometimes think more of the tears than of the laughter, although I know that is wrong.

Not always shall I be a mountaineer, and then the soft dresses of the young girls shall be my portion.

Will I like them better?
I do not know.

But I must go now, instead of chattering here.