"There you go again with your envy and jealousy," said Paul, in
an injured tone. "Others appreciate me better."
"Sing something, and we will judge of your merits," said his
mother.
"Not now," said Paul, shaking his head. "My feelings are too
deeply injured. But if he has time, Phil will favor us with
another song."
So the little fiddler once more touched the strings of his
violin, and sang the hymn of Garibaldi.
"He has a beautiful voice," said Mrs. Hoffman to Paul.
"Yes, Phil sings much better than most of his class. Shall I
bring him up here again?"
"Any time, Paul. We shall always be glad to see him."
Here Phil took his cap and prepared to depart.
"Good-by," he said in English. "I thank you all for your
kindness."
"Will you come again?" said Mrs. Hoffman. "We shall be glad to
have you."
"Do come," pleaded Jimmy, who had taken a fancy to the dark-eyed
Italian boy, whose brilliant brown complexion contrasted strongly
with his own pale face and blue eyes.
These words gave Phil a strange pleasure. Since his arrival in
America he had become accustomed to harsh words and blows; but
words of kindness were strangers to his ears.
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