him spend his time in idleness."

So Phil, having already his fiddle under his arm, entered the room where
Giacomo lay. The other occupants of the room had risen, and the little
boy was lying on a hard pallet in the corner. His eyes lighted up with
joy as he saw Phil enter.

"I am glad it is you, Filippo," he said; "I thought it was the padrone,
come to make me get up."

"How do you feel this morning, Giacomo?"

"I do not feel well, Filippo. My back is sore, and I am so weak."

His eyes were very bright with the fever that had now control, and his
cheeks were hot and flushed. Phil put his hand upon them.

"Your cheeks are very hot, Giacomo," he said. "You are going to be
sick."

"I know it, Filippo," said the little boy. "I may be very sick."

"I hope not, Giacomo."

"Lean over, Filippo," said Giacomo. "I want to tell you something."

Phil leaned over until his ear was close to the mouth of his little
comrade.

"I think I am going to die, Filippo," whispered Giacomo.

Phil started in dismay.

"No, no, Giacomo," he said; "that is nonsense. You will live a great
many years."

"I think you will, Filippo. You are strong. But I have always been weak,
and lately I am tired all the time. I don't care to live--very much. It
is hard to live;" and the little boy sighed as he spoke.

"You are too young to die, Giacomo. It is only because you are sick that
you think of it. You will soon be better."

"I do not think so, Filippo. I should like to live for one thing."

"What is that?" asked Phil, gazing with strange wonder at the patient,
sad face of the little sufferer, who seemed so ready to part with the
life which, in spite of his privations and hardships, seemed so bright
to him.

"I should like to go back to my home in Italy, and see my mother again
before I die. She loved me."

The almost unconscious emphasis which he laid on the word "she" showed
that in his own mind he was comparing her with his father, who had sold
him into such cruel slavery.

"If you live, Giacomo, you will go back and see her some day."

"I shall never see her again, Filippo," said the little boy, sadly. "If
you ever go back to Italy--when you are older--will you go and see her,
and tell her that--that I thought of her when I was sick, and wanted to
see her?"

"Yes, Giacomo," said Phil, affected by his little companion's manner.

"Filippo!" called Pietro, in harsh tones.

"I must go," said Phil, starting to his feet.

"Ki