Home again over the four lovely miles, the Bernado children passed by great houses behind handsome wrought-iron gates; by stone walls over which April had thrown cascades of blossoming vines; by broad meadows carpeted with flowers; by stone pines and dark, pointed cypresses; across little streams over the round arches of ancient bridges; and at last reached the farm.

Now their work began in earnest. The silkworm eggs, which all winter had been kept in a cool place, now were put in a warm place to hatch, which they did in a few days. At this Tino hurried off to the hill and brought back a basketful of the youngest and tenderest of the mulberry leaves. At once the tiny jaws began to eat, and the worms grew so fast that one could almost see them growing. Could their skins stand the strain? No, they couldn’t. Twice they shed their too-tight skins, but not for long were the new ones loose and baggy; the little gluttons soon filled them up. The sound of their many little mouths chewing was like the sound of scratching on silk.