"Lucia!" he called, eagerly approaching the pair.
The girl turned quickly, and, seeing the young fiddler, let fall
her tambourine in surprise.
"Filippo!" she exclaimed, her eyes lighting up with the joy with
which we greet a friend's face in a strange land.
"Why did you drop your tambourine, scelerata?" demanded the man,
harshly.
Lucia, a pretty, brown-faced girl, did not lose her joyful look
even at this rebuke. She stooped and picked up the tambourine,
and began to play mechanically, but continued to speak to
Filippo.
"How long are you in the city?" asked Phil, speaking, of course,
in his native language.
"Only two weeks," answered Lucia. "I am so glad to see you,
Filippo."
"When did you come from Italy?"
"I cannot tell. I think it is somewhere about two months."
"And did you see my mother before you came away?" asked Phil,
eagerly.
"Yes, Filippo, I saw her. She told me if I saw you to say that
she longed for her dear boy to return; that she thought of him
day and night."
"Did she say that, Lucia?"
"Yes, Filippo."
"And is my mother well?" asked Phil, anxiously, for he had a
strong love for his mother.
"She is well, Filippo--she is not sick, but she is thin, and she
looks sad.
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