"Yours is a hard life.
I hope some time you will be in a better position." Phil fixed his dark eyes upon the stranger, grateful for his words of sympathy.
"Thank you," he said.
"Good-night," said the stranger, kindly.
"Good-night, signore." An hour passed.

The City Hall clock near by struck eleven.

The time had come for returning to their mercenary guardian.

Phil shook the sleeping form of Giacomo.

The little boy stirred in his sleep, and murmured, "Madre." He had been dreaming of his mother and his far-off Italian home.