“Then you are quite as old as I am.”
“I wish you were as well and strong as he seems to be,” said Mrs. Leigh, sighing, as she looked at Henry’s pale face.
That was little likely to be. Always a delicate child, Henry had a year previous contracted a cold, which had attacked his lungs, and had gradually increased until there seemed little doubt that in the long struggle with disease nature must succumb, and early death ensue.
“How long have you been in this country?”
“Un anno.”
“How long is that?”
“A year,” said Henry. “I know that, because ‘annus’ means a year in Latin.”
“Si, signor, a year,” said Phil.
“And where do you come from?”
“Da Napoli.”