"
"I think you will, Filippo. You are strong. But I have always
been weak, and lately I am tired all the time. I don't care to
live--very much. It is hard to live;" and the little boy sighed
as he spoke.
"You are too young to die, Giacomo. It is only because you are
sick that you think of it. You will soon be better."
"I do not think so, Filippo. I should like to live for one
thing."
"What is that?" asked Phil, gazing with strange wonder at the
patient, sad face of the little sufferer, who seemed so ready to
part with the life which, in spite of his privations and
hardships, seemed so bright to him.
"I should like to go back to my home in Italy, and see my mother
again before I die. She loved me."
The almost unconscious emphasis which he laid on the word "she"
showed that in his own mind he was comparing her with his father,
who had sold him into such cruel slavery.
"If you live, Giacomo, you will go back and see her some day."
"I shall never see her again, Filippo," said the little boy,
sadly. "If you ever go back to Italy-- when you are older--will
you go and see her, and tell her that--that I thought of her when
I was sick, and wanted to see her?"
"Yes, Giacomo," said Phil, affected by his little companion's
manner.
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