“You will see her again some day, Phil. You will get rich in America, and go back to sunny Italy.”
“The padrone takes all my money.”
“You’ll get away from the old rascal some day. Keep up good courage, Phil, and all will come right. But here we are. Follow me upstairs, and I will introduce you to my mother and Giacomo,” said Paul, laughing at the Italian name he had given his little brother.
Mrs. Hoffman and Jimmy looked with some surprise at the little fiddler as he entered with Paul.
“Mother,” said Paul, “this is one of my friends, whom I have invited to take supper with us.”
“He is welcome,” said Mrs. Hoffman, kindly. “Have you ever spoken to us of him?”
“I am not sure. His name is Phil—Phil the fiddler, we call him.”
“Filippo,” said the young musician.
“We will call you Phil; it is easier to speak,” said Paul. “This is my little brother Jimmy. He is a great artist.”
“Now you are laughing at me, Paul,” said the little boy.