"
"I can play more," said Phil, "but I know not the words."
"Then play some tunes."
Thereupon the little Italian struck up "Yankee Doodle," which he
played with spirit and evident enjoyment.
"Do you know the name of that?" asked Henry.
Phil shook his head.
"It is 'Yankee Doodle.' "
Phil tried to pronounce it, but the words in his mouth had a
droll sound, and made them laugh.
"How old are you?" asked Henry.
"Twelve years."
"Then you are quite as old as I am."
"I wish you were as well and strong as he seems to be," said Mrs.
Leigh, sighing, as she looked at Henry's pale face.
That was little likely to be. Always a delicate child, Henry had
a year previous contracted a cold, which had attacked his lungs,
and had gradually increased until there seemed little doubt that
in the long struggle with disease nature must succumb, and early
death ensue.
"How long have you been in this country?"
"Un anno."
"How long is that?"
"A year," said Henry. "I know that, because 'annus' means a year
in Latin."
"Si, signor, a year," said Phil.
"And where do you come from?"
"Da Napoli."
"That means from Naples, I suppose."
"Si, signor."
Most of the little Italian musicians to be found in our streets
are brought from Calabria, the southern portion of Italy, where
they are purchased from their parents, for a fixed sum, or rate
of annual payment.
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