Phil should be the witness of his humiliation.

"Will you, thin?" demanded Pat. "Thin the sooner you do it the
betther. Open the window, Phil!"

Phil obeyed, not knowing why the request was made. He was soon
enlightened. The Irishman seized the padrone, and, lifting him

from the floor, carried him to the window, despite his struggles,
and, thrusting him out, let him drop. It was only the second

story, and there was no danger of serious injury. The padrone
picked himself up, only to meet with another disaster. A passing

policeman had heard Mrs. McGuire's cries, and on hearing her
account had arrested Pietro, and was just in time to arrest the

padrone also, on the charge of forcibly entering the house. As
the guardian of the peace marched off with Pietro on one side and

the padrone on the other, Mrs. McGuire sat down on a chair and
laughed till she cried.

"Shure, they won't come for you again in a hurry, Phil, darlint!"
she said. "They've got all they want, I'm thinkin'."

I may add that the pair were confined in the station-house over
night, and the next day were brought before a justice,

reprimanded and fined.
CHAPTER XXIV

THE DEATH OF GIACOMO
Great was the astonishment at the Italian lodging-house that

night when neither the padrone nor Pietro made his appearance.
Great was the joy, too, for the nightly punishments were also

necessarily omitted, and the boys had no one to pay their money
to. There was another circumstance not so agreeable. All the

provisions were locked up, and there was no supper for the hungry
children. Finally, at half-past eleven, three boys, bolder than

the rest, went out, and at last succeeded in obtaining some bread
and crackers at an oystersaloon, in sufficient quantities to

supply all their comrades. After eating heartily they went to
bed, and for one night the establishment ran itself much more

satisfactorily to the boys than if the padrone had been present.
The next morning the boys went out as usual, having again bought

their breakfast and dispersed themselves about the city and
vicinity, heartily hoping that this state of things might

continue. But it was too good to last. When they returned at
evening they found their old enemy in command. He looked more

ill-tempered and sour than ever, but gave no explanation of his
and Pietro's absence, except to say that he had been out of the

city on business. He called for the boys' earnings of the day
previous, but to their surprise made no inquiries about how they

had supplied themselves with supper or breakfast. He felt that
his influence over the boys, and the terror which he delighted to

inspire in them, would be lessened if they should learn that he
had been arrested and punished. The boys were accustomed to look

upon him as possessed of absolute power over them, and almost
regarded him as above law.

Pietro, too, was silent, partly for the same reasons which
influenced the padrone, partly because he was afraid of offending

his uncle.
Meanwhile poor Giacomo remained sick. If he had been as robust

and strong as Phil, he would have recovered, but he was naturally
delicate, and exposure and insufficient food had done their work

only too well.
Four days afterward (to advance the story a little) one of the

boys came to the padrone in the morning, saying: "Signore
padrone, Giacomo is much worse. I think he is going to die."

"Nonsense!" said the padrone, angrily. "He is only pretending
to be sick, so that he need not work. I have lost enough by him

already."
Nevertheless he went to the little boy's bedside.

Giacomo was breathing faintly. His face was painfully thin, his
eyes preternaturally bright. He spoke faintly, but his mind

seemed to be wandering.
"Where is Filippo?" he said. "I want to see Filippo."

In this wish the padrone heartily concurred. He, too, would have
been glad to see Filippo, but the pleasure would not have been

mutual.
"Why do you want to see Filippo?" he demanded, in his customary

harsh tone.
Giacomo heard and answered, though unconscious who spoke to him.

"I want to kiss him before I die," he said.
"What makes you think you are going to die?" said the tyrant,

struck by the boy's appearance.
"I am so weak," murmured Giacomo. "Stoop down, Filippo. I want

to tell you something in your ear."
Moved by curiosity rather than humanity, the padrone stooped

over, and Giacomo whispered:
"When you go back to Italy, dear Filippo, go and tell my mother

how I died. Tell her not to let my father sell my little brother
to a padrone, or he may die far away, as I am dying. Promise me,

Filippo."
There was no answer. The padrone did indeed feel a slight

emotion of pity, but it was, unhappily, transient. Giacomo did
not observe that the question was not answered.

"Kiss me, Filippo," said the dying boy.
One of the boys who stood nearby, with tears in his eyes, bent

over and kissed him.
Giacomo smiled. He thought it was Filippo. With that smile on

his face, he gave one quick gasp and died--a victim of the
padrone's tyranny and his father's cupidity.[1]

[1] It is the testimony of an eminent Neapolitan physician
(I quote from Signor Casali, editor of L'Eco d'Italia) that

of one hundred Italian children who are sold by their parents
into this white slavery, but twenty ever return home; thirty grow

up and adopt various occupations abroad, and fifty succumb to
maladies produced by privation and exposure.

Death came to Giacomo as a friend. No longer could he be forced
out into the streets to suffer cold and fatigue, and at night

inhuman treatment and abuse. His slavery was at an end.
We go back now to Phil. Though he and his friends had again

gained a victory over Pietro and the padrone, he thought it would
not be prudent to remain in Newark any longer. He knew the

revengeful spirit of his tyrants, and dreaded the chance of again
falling into their hands. He must, of course, be exposed to the

risk of capture while plying his vocation in the public streets.
Therefore he resisted the invitation of his warm-hearted

protectors to make his home with them, and decided to wander
farther away from New York.

The next day, therefore, he went to the railway station and
bought a ticket for a place ten miles further on. This he

decided would be far enough to be safe.
Getting out of the train, he found himself in a village of

moderate size. Phil looked around him with interest. He had the
fondness, natural to his age, for seeing new places. He soon

came to a schoolhouse. It was only a quarter of nine, and some
of the boys were playing outside. Phil leaned against a tree and

looked on.
Though he was at an age when boys enjoy play better than work or

study, he had no opportunity to join in their games.
One of the boys, observing him, came up and said frankly, "Do you

want to play with us?"
"Yes," said Phil, brightening up, "I should like to."

"Come on, then."
Phil looked at his fiddle and hesitated.