"Supper is ready, Paul," said his mother, when all was finished.

"Here, Phil, you may sit here at my right hand," said Paul. "I will put
your violin where it will not be injured."

Phil sat down as directed, not without feeling a little awkward, yet
with a sense of anticipated pleasure. Accustomed to bread and cheese
alone, the modest repast before him seemed like a royal feast. The meat
especially attracted him, for he had not tasted any for months, indeed
seldom in his life, for in Italy it is seldom eaten by the class to
which Phil's parents belonged.

"Let me give you some meat, Phil," said Paul. "Now, shall we drink the
health of the padrone in coffee?"

"I will not drink his health," said Phil. "He is a bad man."

"Who is the padrone?" asked Jimmy, curiously.

"He is my master. He sends me out to play for money."

"And must you give all the money you make to him?"

"Yes; if I do not bring much money, he will beat me."

"Then he must be a bad man. Why do you live with him?"

"He bought me from my father."

"He bought you?" repeated Jimmy, puzzled.