r America, spend some weeks, or months, in the French metropolis, it is common to find them able to speak the language somewhat. Phil, however, was an exception, and could manage to speak English a little, though not as well as he could understand it.
"What for I go?" he asked, a little distrustfully.
"My young master wants to hear you play on your fiddle," said the servant. "He's sick, and can't come out."
"All right!" said Phil, using one of the first English phrases he had caught. "I will go."
"Come along, then."
Phil followed his guide into the basement, thence up two flight of stairs, and along a handsome hall into a chamber. The little fiddler, who had never before been invited into a fine house, looked with admiration at the handsome furniture, and especially at the pictures upon the wall, for, like most of his nation, he had a love for whatever was beautiful, whether in nature or art.
The chamber had two occupants. One, a boy of twelve years, was lying in a be
I really like it
Rather twee and worthy tale of a young Italin boy sold to a US "padrone" and forced to earn his keep by playing the fiddle on the streets of New York for money. The boy himself is full of life and the characters he encounters are nicely drawn, just skim over the "woe for the poor beggars" asides and the rather dated view of foreign climes. Sweet and engaging all the same, mind.