But
to the two Italian boys it was indeed a feast. The coffee, which
was hot, warmed their stomachs, and seemed to them like nectar,
while the meat was as palatable as the epicure finds his choicest
dishes. While eating, even Giacomo forgot that he was engaged in
something unlawful, and his face was lighted up with rare
satisfaction.
"It is good," said Phil, briefly, as he laid down his knife and
fork, after disposing of the last morsel upon his plate.
"I wish I could have such a supper every day," said Giacomo.
"I will when I am a man," said Phil.
"I don't think I shall ever be a man," said Giacomo, shaking his
head.
"Why not?" asked Phil, regarding him with surprise.
"I do not think I shall live."
"What makes you think so, Giacomo?" said Phil, startled.
"I am not strong, Filippo," said the little boy, "I think I get
weaker every day. I long so much to go back to Italy. If I
could see my mother once more, I would be willing to die then."
"You must not think of such things, Giacomo," said Phil, who,
like most healthy boys, did not like to think of death. "You
will get strong when summer comes. The weather is bad now, of
course.
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