Phil drew it on over his bleeding back and resumed his place
among his comrades.
"Now!" said the padrone, beckoning to Giacomo.
The little boy approached shivering, not so much with cold as
with the fever that had already begun to prey upon him.
Phil turned pale and sick as he looked at the padrone preparing
to inflict punishment. He would gladly have left the room, but
he knew that it would not be permitted.
The first blow descended heavily upon the shrinking form of the
little victim. It was followed by a shriek of pain and terror.
"What are you howling at?" muttered the padrone, between his
teeth. "I will whip you the harder."
Giacomo would have been less able to bear the cruel punishment
than Phil if he had been well, but being sick, it was all the
more terrible to him. The second blow likewise was followed by a
shriek of anguish. Phil looked on with pale face, set teeth, and
blazing eyes, as he saw the barbarous punishment of his comrade.
He felt that he hated the padrone with a fierce hatred. Had his
strength been equal to the attempt, he would have flung himself
upon the padrone. As it was, he looked at his comrades, half
wishing that they would combine with him against their joint
oppressor.
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