There were two leaves now, and the plant was
much stronger and greener than it was the day before. He staid by it a
long time, looking at all its parts.
Every morning after that, Charney went at once to his little plant. He
wanted to see if it had been chilled by the cold, or scorched by the
sun. He wanted to see how much it had grown.
One day as he was looking from his window, he saw the jailer go across
the yard. The man brushed so close to the little plant, that it seemed
as though he would crush it. Charney trembled from head to foot.
"O my Pic-cio-la!" he cried.
When the jailer came to bring his food, he begged the grim fellow to
spare his little plant. He expected that the man would laugh at him;
but al-though a jailer, he had a kind heart.
"Do you think that I would hurt your little plant?" he said. "No,
indeed! It would have been dead long ago, if I had not seen that you
thought so much of it."
"That is very good of you, indeed," said Char-ney. He felt half
ashamed at having thought the jailer unkind.
Every day he watched Pic-cio-la, as he had named the plant. Every day
it grew larger and more beautiful. But once it was almost broken by
the huge feet of the jailer's dog. Charney's heart sank within him.
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