"
"I am afraid the padrone will beat me to-night."
"He has not beat me for a week."
"Have you had dinner, Filippo?"
"Yes, I had some bread and cheese, and an apple."
"Did you buy the apple?"
"No; one of the schoolboys gave it to me. It was very good,"
said Phil, in a tone of enjoyment. "I had not eaten one for a
long time."
"Nor I. Do you remember, Filippo, the oranges we had in Italy?"
"I remember them well."
"I was happy then," said Giacomo, sighing. "There was no padrone
to beat me, and I could run about and play. Now I have to sing
and play all day. I am so tired sometimes,--so tired, Filippo."
"You are not so strong as I, Giacomo," said Phil, looking with
some complacency at his own stout limbs.
"Don't you get tired, Filippo?"
"Yes, often; but I don't care so much for that. But I don't like
the winter."
"I thought I should die with cold sometimes last winter," said
Giacomo, shuddering. "Do you ever expect to go back to Italy,
Filippo?"
"Sometime."
"I wish I could go now. I should like to see my dear mother and
my sisters."
"And your father?"
"I don't want to see him," said Giacomo, bitterly. "He sold me
to the padrone.
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