"You sing about as well as you draw," said the little boy.

"There you go again with your envy and jealousy," said Paul, in an
injured tone. "Others appreciate me better."

"Sing something, and we will judge of your merits," said his mother.

"Not now," said Paul, shaking his head. "My feelings are too deeply
injured. But if he has time, Phil will favor us with another song."

So the little fiddler once more touched the strings of his violin, and
sang the hymn of Garibaldi.

"He has a beautiful voice," said Mrs. Hoffman to Paul.

"Yes, Phil sings much better than most of his class. Shall I bring him
up here again?"

"Any time, Paul. We shall always be glad to see him."

Here Phil took his cap and prepared to depart.

"Good-by," he said in English. "I thank you all for your kindness."

"Will you come again?" said Mrs. Hoffman. "We shall be glad to have
you."

"Do come," pleaded Jimmy, who had taken a fancy to the dark-eyed Italian
boy, whose brilliant brown complexion contrasted strongly with his own