So Phil, having already his fiddle under his arm, entered the room where Giacomo lay. The other occupants of the room had risen, and the little boy was lying on a hard pallet in the corner. His eyes lighted up with joy as he saw Phil enter.
“I am glad it is you, Filippo,” he said; “I thought it was the padrone, come to make me get up.”
“How do you feel this morning, Giacomo?”
“I do not feel well, Filippo. My back is sore, and I am so weak.”
His eyes were very bright with the fever that had now control, and his cheeks were hot and flushed. Phil put his hand upon them.
“Your cheeks are very hot, Giacomo,” he said. “You are going to be sick.”
“I know it, Filippo,” said the little boy. “I may be very sick.”
“I hope not, Giacomo.”
“Lean over, Filippo,” said Giacomo. “I want to tell you something.”
Phil leaned over until his ear was close to the mouth of his little comrade.