"
"I don't think I shall, Filippo. Do you remember Matteo?"
"Yes, I remember him."
Matteo was a comrade who had died six months before. He was a
young boy, about the size and age of Giacomo.
"I dreamed of him last night, Filippo. He held out his hand to
me."
"Well?"
"I think I am going to die, like him."
"Don't be foolish, Giacomo," said Phil. But, though he said
this, even he was startled by what Giacomo had told him. He was
ignorant, and the ignorant are prone to superstition; so he felt
uncomfortable, but did not like to acknowledge it.
"You must not think of this, Giacomo," he said. "You will be an
old man some day."
"That's for you, Filippo. It isn't for me," said the little boy.
"Come, let us go," said Phil, desirous of dropping the subject.
He went up to the desk, and paid for both, the sum of thirty
cents.
"Now, come," he said.
Giacomo followed him out, and they turned down the street,
feeling refreshed by the supper they had eaten. But
unfortunately they had been observed. As they left the
restaurant, they attracted the attention of Pietro, whom chance
had brought thither at an unfortunate time. His sinister face
lighted up with joy as he realized the discovery he had made.
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