Giacomo did not observe that the question was not answered.
"Kiss me, Filippo," said the dying boy.
One of the boys who stood nearby, with tears in his eyes, bent over and kissed him.
Giacomo smiled.

He thought it was Filippo.

With that smile on his face, he gave one quick gasp and died--a victim of the padrone's tyranny and his father's cupidity.( 1) (1) It is the testimony of an eminent Neapolitan physician (I quote from Signor Casali, editor of L'Eco d'Italia) that of one hundred Italian children who are sold by their parents into this white slavery, but twenty ever return home; thirty grow up and adopt various occupations abroad, and fifty succumb to maladies produced by privation and exposure.
Death came to Giacomo as a friend.

No longer could he be forced out into the streets to suffer cold and fatigue, and at night inhuman treatment and abuse.

His slavery was at an end.
We go back now to Phil.