an't be hungry any more, and there'll be no more
beatings. And they do say that when we die we go up and live with God.
Then, if I'm up there, I can look down on Mamma and Christina, and I
can ask God not to let my little sister be unhappy. Also, if they send
me to the Hospital, I shall be pleased."

The Hospital! No matter how sick I felt while tramping across the
country, if I thought I might be sent to the hospital I always found
strength to go on.

"I'm quite ill now, but not ill enough to be in Garofoli's way," he went
on in his weak, drawling voice, "but I'm getting weaker. Garofoli,
fortunately, hasn't given up beating me entirely. He beat me on the head
eight days ago and, look, it's all swelled out now. You see here, this
big bump? He told me yesterday it was a tumor, and the way that he spoke
I believe that it's something serious. It hurts awful. I'm so giddy at
night when I put my head on the pillow I moan and cry. So I think in two
or three days he'll decide to send me to the hospital. I was in the
hospital once, and the Sisters speak so kind to you. They say, 'Put out
your tongue, little boy,' and 'There's a good boy,' every time you do
anything they tell you to do. I think I am almost had enough now to be
sent there."

He came and stood quite close to me, fixing his great eyes on me. Even
though I had not the same reason for hiding the truth from him, I did
not like to tell him how terrible he looked with his great glittering
eyes, his hollow cheeks, and his bloodless lips.

"I should think you're ill enough to go to the hospital," I said.

"At last!"

With dragging limbs he went slowly over to the table and began to wipe
it.

"Garofoli will be here shortly," he said; "we mustn't talk any more."

Wearily he went round the table, placing the plates and spoons. I
counted twenty plates. So Garofoli had twenty boys. As I only saw twelve
beds, they evidently slept, some of them, two in a bed. What beds! what
sheets! the coverlets must have been brought from the stables when they
were too old and not warm enough for the horses!

"Don't you come here," said the boy, "Try to get somewhere else."

"Where?"

"I don't know. No matter where, you'd be better than here."

The door opened and a child came into the room. He carried a violin
under his arm and a big piece of wood in his hand.

"Give me that bit of wood," said Mattia, going up to the child.

But the little fellow held the piece of wood behin