"
"When he does," said the padrone, frowning, "I will beat him for
being so late. Is there any boy that he would be likely to tell,
if he meant to run away?"
"Yes," said Pietro, with a sudden thought, "there is Giacomo."
"The sick boy?"
"Yes. Filippo went in this morning to speak to him. He might
have told him then."
"That is true. I will go and ask him."
Giacomo still lay upon his hard pallet, receiving very little
attention. His fever had increased, and he was quite sick. He
rolled from one side to the other in his restlessness. He needed
medical attention, but the padrone was indifferent, and none of
the boys would have dared to call a doctor without his
permission. As he lay upon his bed, the padrone entered the room
with a hurried step.
"Where is Giacomo?" he demanded, harshly.
"Here I am, signore padrone," answered the little boy, trembling,
as he always did when addressed by the tyrant.
"Did Filippo come and speak with you this morning, before he went
out?"
"Si, signore."
"What did he say?"
"He asked me how I felt."
"What did you tell him?"
"I told him I felt sick."
"Nothing more?"
"I told him I thought I should die.
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