Part 19 (2/2)
”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.”
”I will go and see her some day,” said Phil. ”I wish I could see her now.”
”When will you go?”
”I don't know; when I am older.”
”But where is your fiddle, Filippo?” asked Lucia. ”Do you not play?”
Filippo glanced at the organ-grinder, whom he did not dare to take into his confidence. So he answered, evasively:
”Another boy took it. I shall get another this afternoon.”
”Are you with the padrone?”
”Yes.”
”Come, Lucia,” said the man, roughly, ceasing to play, ”we must go on.”
Lucia followed her companion obediently, reluctant to leave Phil, with whom she desired to converse longer; but the latter saw that her guardian did not wish the conversation to continue, and so did not follow.
This unexpected meeting with Lucia gave him much to think of. It carried back his thoughts to his humble, but still dear, Italian home, and the mother from whom he had never met with anything but kindness, and a longing to see both made him for the moment almost sad. But he was naturally of a joyous temperament, and hope soon returned.
”I will save money enough to go home,” he said to himself. ”It will not take very much--not more than fifty dollars. I can get it soon if I do not have to pay money to the padrone.”
As may be inferred, Phil did not expect to return home in style. A first-cla.s.s ticket on a Cunarder was far above his expectations. He would be content to go by steerage all the way, and that could probably be done for the sum he named. So his sadness was but brief, and be soon became hopeful again.
He was aroused from his thoughts of home by a hand laid familiarly on his shoulder. Turning, he saw a bootblack, whose adventures have been chronicled in the volume called ”Ragged d.i.c.k.” They had become acquainted some three months before, d.i.c.k having acted as a protector to Phil against some rough boys of his own cla.s.s.
”Been buyin' stocks?” asked d.i.c.k.
”I don't know what they are,” said Phil, innocently.
”You're a green one,” said d.i.c.k. ”I shall have to take you into my bankin' house and give you some training in business.”
”Have you got a bankin' house?” asked Phil, in surprise.
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