.

"He will have some roast beef, too. Will you have some coffee, Giacomo?"

"If you have it," answered the smaller boy.

So Phil gave the double order, and very soon the coffee and meat were
placed before them. I suspect that few of my readers would have regarded
these articles with any relish. One need not be fastidious to find fault
with the dark-hued beverage, which was only a poor imitation of coffee,
and the dark fragments of meat, which might have been horseflesh so far
as appearance went. But to the two Italian boys it was indeed a feast.
The coffee, which was hot, warmed their stomachs, and seemed to them
like nectar, while the meat was as palatable as the epicure finds his
choicest dishes. While eating, even Giacomo forgot that he was
engaged in something unlawful, and his face was lighted up with rare
satisfaction.

"It is good," said Phil, briefly, as he laid down his knife and fork,
after disposing of the last morsel upon his plate.

"I wish I could have such a supper every day," said Giacomo.

"I will when I am a man," said Phil.

"I don't think I shall ever be a man," said Giacomo, shaking his head.

"Why not?" asked Phil, regarding him with surprise.

"I do not think I shall live."

"What makes you think so, Giacomo?" said Phil, startled.

"I am not strong, Filippo," said the little boy, "I think I get weaker
every day. I long so much to go back to Italy. If I could see my mother
once more, I would be willing to die then."

"You must not think of such things, Giacomo," said Phil, who, like most
healthy boys, did not like to think of death. "You will get strong when
summer comes. The weather is bad now, of course."

"I don't think I shall, Filippo. Do you remember Matteo?"

"Yes, I remember him."

Matteo was a comrade who had died six months before. He was a young boy,
about the size and age of Giacomo.

"I dreamed of him last night, Filippo. He held out his hand to me."

"Well?"

"I think I am going to die, like him."

"Don't be foolish, Giacomo," said Phil. But, though he said this, even
he was startled by what Giacomo had told him. He was ignorant, and the
ignorant are prone to superstition; so he felt uncomfortable, but did
not like to acknowledge it.

"You must not think of this, Giacomo," he said. "You will be an old man
some day."

"That's for you, Filippo. It isn't for me," said the little boy.

"Come, let us go," said Phil, desirous of dropping the subject.

He went u