and on through every one of the stanzas. Stineli was brimming over with fun.

"Come," she said, "let's make some more rhymes. How will this do?

This made them laugh, and they sang the verses two or three times. "More, Stineli!" cried Rico, encouragingly, and Stineli went on:

They laughed again and sang their verses over several times. "I wish we had some more," said Rico; so Stineli added two more stanzas:

Then they began from the beginning and sang all the verses over and over again, and the more they sang them the better they liked their song. They tried to sing other songs during the afternoon, but every little while they would go back to what Rico called "Stineli's song," but what she called "our own song."

Once while they were singing, Stineli stopped abruptly and clapped her hands for joy. "I have just thought of a way to get to your pretty lake without money," she said exultantly.

Rico looked inquiringly at his companion.

"Don't you see?" she added hastily. "Now that you have a violin and know a song, it is very simple. You can stop at the door of the inns to play and sing; then the people will give you something to eat and let you sleep there, for they will know that you are not a beggar. You can keep on going until you get there, and you can come back in the same way."

They were still discussing the plan when they noticed that it was growing dark. They had not heard the vesper bell. Running down the hill, they found the grandmother out looking for them.

They ran joyfully to her, taking it for granted that she knew they would have come earlier had they been aware of the time. "Oh, grandmother!" exclaimed Stineli; "you will be astonished to find how well Rico can play. We have a song all our own that we want to sing to you."

The grandmother smiled. It was a pleasure to her to see the children together. "I can see that you have enjoyed the afternoon," she said when the song was ended. "I wonder, Rico," she continued, "if you can play my favorite tune, 'With heart and voice to Thee I sing.' We will all sing if you can play for us."

The grandmother sang softly the first verses of the hymn and Rico took it up readily, for it proved to be familiar. Then the three joined in the singing, the grandmother speaking each verse before they began:

"There, that was a real benediction," said the grandmother. "You may go to rest in peace, children."

"And I believe I like the violin just as well as Rico does," said Stineli. "Aren't you glad he can play so well? And it's so nice here, wouldn't you like to have him play some more?"

"I am very glad, dear," said the grandmother, "but we will not play or sing any more to-night. We'll let Rico go now, and let us all keep in our hearts the thought of the last song. Remember the Father will care for his own. Good night."

CHAPTER IX

The following evening, when the neighboring household had gathered about the table for supper, the aunt surprised them by coming to the door to inquire for Rico. She had not seen him that day.

"Don't worry," said Stineli's father, cheerfully; "he'll come when he's hungry."

As soon as the aunt saw that the boy had not taken refuge at the neighbor's, she went on to explain that in the early morning she had found the door unbolted. At first she had supposed that her trouble with Rico had made her forget to fasten it, but when she saw that he was not in his room and that his bed had not been slept in, she concluded that he had run away.

"If that is the case, something has surely happened to him," said the father. "He may have fallen into a crevasse on the mountain. A boy climbing about in the dark might easily break his neck. You were wrong not to speak of it sooner, for how is any one to find him, now that the daylight is gone?"

"Of course everybody will blame me for it," the aunt retorted. "That is the way when a person is uncomplaining. No one will believe" (and here she told the truth) "what a stubborn, malicious, deceitful child he has been, nor how he has made my life miserable all through these long, long years. He will never be anything but an idle tramp."

The grandmother could bear no more in silence. She rose from the table, her eyes flashing with indignation.

"Stop, neighbor, for pity's sake!" she protested. "I know Rico very well. Ever since the father brought him here I have seen him almost constantly. Instead of saying harsh things about the child remember what danger he may be in this very minute. Don't you suppose that he may also have some reason to complain?"

The aunt had been thinking all day of Rico's words, "I will take myself out of your way," and trying to justify her own position. Now the grandmother's rebuke made her ashamed. "I will go back," she said, as she stepped out into the dark field. "Rico may have come home while I have been standing here." In her heart she knew that she would be glad to find this true, but the little house was empty and still.

Early the next morning the neighbors set forth to search carefully in the ravines and along the approaches to the glacier. When Stineli's father noticed that she had followed the others he said, "That is right, Stineli; you can get into places where bigger folk could not go."

"But, father," said Stineli, "if Rico went up the road he couldn't have fallen into any such place, could he?"

"Of course he could!" said the father. "He was such a dreamer that it would have been easy enough for him to lose his way. He probably paid no attention to where he was going, and wandered off toward the mountains."

A great fear entered Stineli's heart when she heard this. For days she could scarcely eat or sleep and she went listlessly about her work as if she did not know what she was doing.

No one could be found who had seen Rico since the night he left home. As time went on he was given up for dead. The neighbors tried to console one another by saying: "He is better off as it is. The child had no one to look after him properly."

CHAPTER X

A great load seemed to fall from the grandmother as she heard these words. She had given Rico up for lost, for she could not otherwise account for his complete disappearance. A strong hope of his safety now came to her.

"Tell me, child," she said, "all that you know about his going to the lake."

Stineli told of Rico's longing to see the pretty lake he remembered, and how she had advised him to make the trip. "I am sure," she said, "that Rico started for the lake, but father says that he would get killed anyway."

"We have a right to hope for something better," said the grandmother. "Have you forgotten the song we sang the last night that Rico was with us?

Of course it was wrong of you to advise Rico without consulting your parents, but you did it thoughtlessly and meant no harm, so you may dare to hope that there will be a happy ending to Rico's going to the lake. I feel satisfied now that the child is alive and that he will be taken care of."

From that time on Stineli began to be her old self. To be sure, she missed her friend, but she cherished a secret hope that he would return to her. Day by day she looked up the road to see if he might not possibly be coming down the Maloja Pass, but the seasons came and went and nothing was heard from the missing boy.

CHAPTER XI

His uncomfortable position awakened him at last. The violin still lay in his lap, and as he felt it his plan came to his mind. The room was still as dark as when he had entered in the early evening. He was glad that he was wearing his best suit. He put on his hat and, going softly down the stairs, he quietly pushed back the bolt and let himself out into the brisk morning air.

Over the hills he could see the first glimmer of morning. Soon he heard the cocks announcing the break of day, and he increased his pace so that he might get beyond the town before it was light enough for him to be recognized. He very much enjoyed the walk, combined with the feeling of freedom, as soon as he got to the open country. It was familiar to him, for he and the father had many times walked there together. He had no idea of the distance to the top of the Maloja, but after he had walked steadily for two hours, it began to seem like a long way.

Bright daylight came at last, and after another hour of brisk walking he reached the summit of the mountain, where he and the father had so often stood looking at the scenery about them. A sunny morning was spread over the hills. The evergreen tops shimmered in the distance as if sprinkled with gold. Rico sat down by the roadside, a very tired and hungry boy, and well he might be, for he had eaten nothing since Sunday noon. Perhaps, he thought, he should find it much easier now that his way would be going downhill, and possibly it would not be much farther to the lake.

As Rico sat by the roadside, lost in thought, the large stagecoach came rumbling by. Rico had often seen it and envied the coachman on that high seat where he could look about him so well and have control of those fine large horses. The coach halted in the driveway leading to the inn at the summit. Rico came closer and watched the driver as he came out of the inn; he had remained but a moment, and he was now carrying a huge slice of black bread and a large piece of cheese. He cut these into strips and began to eat them, occasionally giving a bite to the horses. While they were contentedly eating, the driver noticed Rico's interested attention.

"Well, little musician," he said, "will you eat with us? Come nearer and I will give you some."

Rico had not realized how hungry he was until he saw the bread and cheese, but he quickly stepped forward at the invitation. The coachman cut such a large piece of bread and put such a thick slice of cheese on it that Rico had to find a place to lay his violin in order to have both hands free to hold his liberal portion. It pleased the man to see the way in which Rico attacked his breakfast, and he took the occasion to ask him a few questions.

"You are a very young musician. Can you play anything?"

"Yes, two new songs, and a few others."

"Is that so! And where do you expect your little legs to take you?"

"To Peschiera on Lake Garda," was Rico's prompt reply.

The coachman laughed so heartily at this that Rico was puzzled.

"That is great!" said he. "Don't you know that a little one like you could wear out the soles of his shoes, and his feet too, before he would see a drop of water from Lake Garda? Who sends you down there?"

"I go of my own accord," said Rico.

"Bless me, did you ever see such a child! Where is your home?"

"I don't know; maybe it is at Lake Garda," said Rico, earnestly.

The coachman looked thoughtfully at the boy. He did not look like a runaway, neither did he have the appearance of neglect. His black curly hair hanging over his Sunday frock was very pretty and childlike. His attractive appearance and honest looks gained the man's sympathy.

"You carry your passport in your face, my lad," he said. "It is all right, even if you don't know where your home is. What will you give me if I put you on the high seat beside me and take you a long way on your journey?"

Rico stared in amazement. To think of sitting on that high seat and riding down the valley! How he longed for the experience, but what had he to pay? "I haven't anything to give but my violin, and I couldn't part with that," he said at last.

"Well," said the coachman, laughing, "I shouldn't know what to do with that if I had it, so you may keep it. Come, we will get on now, and you can play for me anyway."

Rico scarcely dared believe that the man meant what he said, but it was true, and he was hoisted up to the seat. The passengers were inside the coach, with the windows down, as the morning was cool. The driver took up the reins and they started down the hill that Rico had wanted to pass over for so long a time. In what a remarkable way was his desire fulfilled! He felt as if he were sailing between heaven and earth, and wondered how it had all come about.

"Tell me, little traveler," began the coachman, "where is your father?"

"He is dead," answered Rico.

"Is that so! Where is your mother?"

"She is dead, too," came the answer.

"That is too bad! How about grandfather and grandmother?"

"They are dead."

"Well, well!" exclaimed the man. "But you must have brother or sister?"

"They are dead," was again Rico's sad reply.

"What was your father's name?"

"Enrico Trevillo from Peschiera on Lake Garda."

This made the coachman conclude that the boy belonged rightfully to Peschiera and that possibly he had been kidnapped by a mountaineer. However that might be, he determined to help the boy to get back to where he evidently belonged, and so he dismissed the matter from his mind.

After they had descended the first hill and were riding along on a comparatively level stretch of road, the driver said, "Now, little musician, play us a lively piece of music."

Rico tuned his instrument, and feeling very grateful to the good man for letting him ride, he not only began to play but to sing with all the strength of his bell-like voice, "Come down, little lambs, from the sunniest height."

It so happened that there were on the coach three students who were taking a vacation trip in the hills. To them the music was most welcome, and Stineli's verses appealed to their sense of humor. Rico was asked again and again to sing the song, and they joined in the singing as soon as they had learned the words. Sometimes they laughed so hard that they had to go back to the beginning.

Thus the journey progressed merrily. If Rico stopped playing, they asked him for more, and threw him pieces of silver until he had quite a sum in his hat which he held safely between his knees.

All the windows were now open, and some of the passengers were leaning out, trying to get a glimpse of the musician. The fun did not cease until the noon hour brought them to an inn, where they were to stop for dinner. The driver helped Rico transfer the money from his hat to his pockets, saying, "I am glad that you have that, for now you can buy your dinner."

The students had not been able to see Rico from their position on the coach, and were much surprised to find such a little boy. Their good humor increased, and they took him in their midst, giving him a place at their table and waiting upon him as upon an honored guest. Rico could not remember of ever having seen so pretty a table or of ever having eaten so good a dinner.

"From whom did you learn that song?" asked one.

"From Stineli; it is her song, because she made it herself," answered Rico.

"That was clever of Stineli," said another. "Let us drink to her health and happiness, since her song has so richly entertained us this morning!"

The noon hour was gone all too soon. As the passengers began taking their places in the coach, a large, heavily built man, clad in a brown worsted suit and carrying a heavy cane, came to Rico and said: "See here, little man, you sang very well this morning. I heard you from my window, and I want to tell you that I am in the business of buying and selling sheep, so I want to give you something, because you sang to us about the little lambs." Then he pressed a large piece of silver into Rico's hand.

The man entered the coach, and the sturdy driver tossed Rico to his seat as if he were but a toy in his hands. A moment later they were speeding down the valley.

Later in the afternoon Rico played again for them. He went over all the tunes he knew and finally played the melody and sang the song that he had learned from the grandmother the previous evening. This dreamy air must have lulled the students to sleep, for he heard nothing more from them. He put away his violin and watched the daylight fade and the stars begin to twinkle. The evening breeze was cooling the air. Rico thought of Stineli and the grandmother, and wondered what they were doing. In imagination he heard the vesper bells, and then he wondered no longer. He seemed to be with them as he folded his hands and, looking up to the star-sprinkled heaven, prayed as they had taught him.

CHAPTER XII

The next moment found Rico standing in the darkness, without any idea as to where he was or what he should do. It occurred to him that he had not thanked the coachman for having taken him so far, and he wanted to do so before going away. The man and the horses had disappeared, and it was too dark to see where they were. Soon Rico detected a faint glimmer to his left; this proved to be the light from the lantern in the barn, and he could dimly see the horses being led through the door into the stable. Rico hurried to the place, and finding that the large man who carried the cane was standing in the doorway, apparently waiting for the driver, the boy waited there also.

The sheep buyer could not have noticed Rico at first, for suddenly he exclaimed: "What, you still here, little one? Where are you going to spend the night?"

"I don't know where," answered Rico.

"You don't know where! at eleven o'clock at night—a little one like you! What does this mean?" the man's breath nearly failed him in his astonishment, but he had no chance to finish his exclamation, for the coachman came out just at that moment, and Rico immediately stepped up to him, saying, "I forgot to thank you for bringing me so far, and I wanted to."

"Good that you did!" said the driver. "I was busy with the horses and forgot that I meant to hand you over to a friend." The coachman turned to the other man, saying: "Here, good friend, I intended to ask you if you wouldn't take this child with you down the valley, since you were going that way. He wants to go to Lake Garda, and he seems to be all alone in the world—you know what I mean."

"Stolen, perhaps," said the large man as he cast a pitying glance at Rico. "I have little doubt of his belonging to those who would do well by him if they had him. Of course I will take him with me." He motioned Rico to follow him as he bade the coachman good night.

A short walk brought them to the door of an inn; they entered and took chairs at a small table in one corner of the room. "Let us count your money," said Rico's new friend. "We can tell then how far it will take you on your journey. Where is it that you wish to go?"

"To Peschiera on Lake Garda," answered Rico. He took all the money from his pockets and piled it on the table, putting the large piece of silver on top.

"Is that large piece the only one you have?" asked the friend.

"The only one. I got it from you," answered Rico.

It pleased the man to have Rico remember this, and he was glad to know that of all the listeners he had been the most liberal. It occurred to him to add another coin, but the supper he had ordered came in just then, so he said instead: "Very well, you may keep what you have for to-morrow. I will pay for the supper and lodging to-night."

Rico was so tired that he found it difficult to eat anything. The man noticed this and let him go straight to bed. He had scarcely touched the pillow before he was fast asleep.

Early the following morning Rico was aroused from a sound slumber by his friend, who stood before him, cane in hand, ready for the journey. A few moments later Rico joined him in the breakfast room, where their coffee was awaiting them. The man helped Rico to an abundant breakfast, telling him that they had a long journey before them, so that they must be fortified against hunger on the way. "A part of our trip to-day will be taken on the water, and that always sharpens a person's appetite," said he.

The breakfast over, the travelers started on their way. They walked a short distance and then turned a corner, where Rico caught his breath in surprise, for a beautiful lake lay before them. "Aren't we at Lake Garda?" he asked.

"No, no, we are a long way from it yet," replied his friend. "This is Lake Como, where we take a steamer."

They were soon at the steamship landing, where they entered a small vessel. The sunny shore seemed to speak a welcome to Rico. He and the man had taken chairs at a table. Rico took his largest piece of silver and laid it on the table in front of his friend, who was sitting with his hands resting on his cane.

"What is that for?" he asked. "Have you too much money to suit you?"

"You told me that I must pay to-day," said Rico.

"It is good of you to remember," said the man, "but you mustn't put your money on the table like that. Let me take it and I will settle the bill for you."

He went to the ticket agent, but when he saw how full his own purse was, he could not bear to use the only large piece the child possessed, so he gave it back to Rico with his ticket, saying: "There, you had better keep this; you may need it to-morrow. I am with you now, and there may be no one to look after you when I am gone. Who knows how much you may have occasion to use later! When you get to Peschiera have you some one to whom you can go?"

"I don't know of any one," answered Rico.

The man stifled his surprise, but he had a secret fear that all might not go well with the child. He resolved to find out more about the boy on his return trip, thinking that the coachman would be able to tell him, and so he asked Rico no more questions.

When the steamer had landed her passengers, the man said, "We must hurry across to the railway station to catch our train, Rico, and I am going to take you by the hand; then I shall be sure not to lose you."

Rico had all he could do to keep up with the man, who walked on rapidly. He wished for time to look about him, but he had to wait until they reached the train, which was the first one he had ever seen. He felt very strange in it, even with the man at his side. He was glad that he was near a window, where he could look out, as everything was of interest to him.

After about an hour's ride, Rico's friend said: "We are coming into Bergamo, where I shall have to leave you, Rico. All that you have to do is to sit still until the conductor comes to help you off, and then you will know that you are in Peschiera. He has promised me that he will tell you."

Rico very earnestly thanked his benefactor, and then he and the good man parted, each being sorry to leave the other.

Sitting in the corner of the car, Rico meditated upon all that had come to pass in the last few days of his life. No one in the compartment paid any attention to him, and he was glad to spend his time looking out of the window, thinking of whatever he wished. Three hours had passed before the conductor came to him and took his hand to help him down the steps. Then pointing toward the station he said, "Peschiera." The train started on, and Rico watched it move away until it was lost to view in the distance.

CHAPTER XIII

He sadly followed along the path between the trees until he came to a turn in the road which brought him to a sudden standstill, for before him lay the sky-blue lake, the water shimmering in the sunshine. Yonder were the towering hills in the distance, with the faint outlines of the white dwellings in the valleys. How familiar it seemed! Many a time he had stood just where he was at present. He recognized the trees, but where was the house? Oh, there should be a little white house near by, but it was gone! There was the street that led to it. How well he remembered it! There were the red flowers in the abundance he had been used to seeing. There ought to be a bridge a little farther down. In his eagerness to see it he ran toward it, and sure enough, it was there, just as memory had pictured it.

A flood of recollections overpowered him. It was here that a lovely, loving woman had held him by the hand,—his mother. In fancy he saw her face distinctly and heard the sweet words of her lips, and understood anew the love revealed in her youthful eyes. Throwing himself upon the grass, Rico wept bitterly.

The sun was setting before he dried his eyes and began to think of what he should do. The golden evening glow that his memory had cherished was on the water, the hills had taken the violet tints, and the fragrance of the roses perfumed the air. The beauty of the place comforted him, and he thought, "How I wish Stineli could see this!"

When Rico left the bridge, the sun had set and the light of day was fast fading away into darkness. It seemed more like a home than anything he had known for years, and he reluctantly left the place. His first purpose was to take a closer look at the red flowers that he had noticed in the garden. He found a path leading from the street, where he could obtain a good view of them. It seemed to Rico that there must be bushels of the buds among the trees, shrubs, and vines. Again he thought, "If only Stineli could see them!"

Rico could see a sturdy boy in the garden, cutting grapes from the vines. The side door of the attractive white house in front of the garden stood wide open. The young man noticed Rico and stopped his whistling to say, "Come here and play a tune if you can." This was said in Italian, and Rico wondered at his own understanding of the words, for he was sure that he could not speak like that. After the young man had asked some questions and discovered that Rico could not answer, he directed him to the house to play there.

Rico stopped at the door and played and sang Stineli's song from beginning to end. Through the open door he noticed a lady sitting beside a child's bed, sewing. When Rico was about to turn away, a little pale face was raised from the pillow and he heard a voice say, "Play some more, please."

Rico played another melody and again turned to go, but the child repeated, "Play some more."

So it happened time after time until Rico had played all the tunes he knew. When the little boy saw that Rico was really going away, he began to cry, begging Rico to come to him. The lady came out, offering a coin to Rico, who had played for the child with no thought of money. Then it occurred to him again that Stineli had said that people would give him something if he played for them, so he took it and put it into his pocket.

The lady asked where Rico came from and where he was going, but he could not answer.

"Have you parents here?" she continued, and Rico shook his head in reply, thus telling her that he could understand. Then she asked if he were all alone, and Rico nodded. "Then where will you go?" she questioned, and Rico shook his head with a little gesture to indicate that he did not know.

The lady called the young man from the garden, and Rico heard her direct him to take the child to the hotel for the night, and to tell the landlord that the bill for lodging and supper was to be sent to her. "Perhaps the people at the hotel can understand the language he speaks," she said. "He must have been away a long time to forget so much. He is too young to be out alone, and I want you to tell them to show him the way he wishes to go in the morning."

The little invalid was still crying, and the mother at last asked Rico if he would come to see him in the morning. As soon as he saw Rico nod his assent, the boy was satisfied.

It was about ten minutes' walk to the city proper. The young man led Rico directly to the landlady and explained his errand. In the meantime Rico noticed that the living room was filled with men who were smoking and talking. He heard the landlady dismiss the boy with, "Very well, I will do as you say."

She looked Rico over from head to foot as she asked him where he came from. He answered in German that he had come down the Maloja and could understand what the people said, although he could not speak in the same way. The landlord, who understood German, told Rico that he had been up to the mountains himself.

"We will talk about it later," he said, "if you will play for the guests a few moments first." They had called for music as soon as they saw the violin.

Rico was very tired, but he obediently played and sang, beginning as usual with Stineli's song. None of the guests understood German, and they talked and laughed during the song. As soon as he had finished, some one called for a lively tune, and Rico tried to think of something they might like. He had never heard the music of the dance halls, but he finally thought of

The men joined Rico in the singing, much to his surprise, and they made the strongest chorus he had ever heard. It was fine to lead so many voices, and he played through the whole number of verses.

When the song was ended, there was such a jubilee that Rico could not imagine what it meant. They surrounded him, shaking his hands and patting his shoulders, and then asked him to drink with them.

Rico was bewildered, for he could not understand their surprise that he, a stranger, should know their song,—the song that no one outside their locality would care to learn. Moreover, he had played it with feeling, like a loyal Peschieran; hence this hilarious gratitude and brotherly welcome.

Rico's supper, consisting of boiled rice with chicken, was brought in and put on a corner table, and the landlady rescued him from his embarrassment by explaining that the child must eat and rest. She led him to the table, remaining to serve him.

Rico was indeed hungry. It seemed as if a long time had elapsed since he had taken breakfast with his friend in the early morning, and he had tasted nothing since. He had scarcely finished eating when he found it almost impossible to keep awake. He had told them, in response to questions, that he had no home and that he was going nowhere.

"That is too bad," said the husband, kindly. "Don't worry about anything now, for you must go to bed and get a good sleep. Perhaps Mrs. Menotti, the lady that sent you here, will give you some work if you go to see her to-morrow morning. I have no doubt of her helping you, since you have no home." He did not notice that his wife was trying to keep him from saying this.

The guests called for another song, but Rico was sent to bed, the wife taking him up to an attic storeroom that contained a quantity of ear corn and had its walls decorated with harnesses. In one corner, however, stood a bed, and Rico was soon tucked away in it and asleep.

After the guests had departed, the woman said to her husband: "I don't want you to send the boy to Mrs. Menotti. I can make him useful myself. Didn't you notice how well he can play? They were all pleased with him, too. Mark my words that the boy will make a better player than any of the three that we now hire. He will learn the music easily, and we can soon get along by hiring only two men on dance days, for we shall have him for nothing, and we can hire him out besides. You would be more than foolish to let him go. I like his looks very much, and I say that we will keep him."

"Very well; I am quite willing," the husband said amiably. He could see how well she had reasoned.

CHAPTER XIV

The landlady stiffened, but tried to say pleasantly: "Yes, to be sure, if she is not in too much of a hurry. It so happens that the boy is still in bed, and I would rather let him have his sleep out. You can go back and tell Mrs. Menotti that I will send him over later, as he is not going any farther. I have taken him for good and all. He is a little neglected orphan, but I will see that he is provided for hereafter."

When Rico at last awoke, he felt as fresh as if he had not taken the long journey the day before. The landlady admired his neat appearance as he came down the stairway. She beckoned to him to come to the kitchen, where she served him his late breakfast.

"You may breakfast as well as this every morning, if you like, Rico," she said, as she seated herself opposite him at the little table. "We have a still better dinner and supper, for we cook for the guests then. You might pay me by helping with the work and playing for us when we want you to, but of course it remains for you to decide whether you will stay or not."

The landlady had spoken in Italian, but Rico had understood her, and he found words enough to say, "Yes, I will stay."

When Rico's breakfast was over, he was taken about the premises so that he might become familiar with the house, barn, chicken shed, and yard, and also the vegetable garden, for his help would be needed about them all. He was later sent to several places of business to get soap, oil, thread, and repaired shoes, and each time returned with his errand correctly done. It was therefore evident to the landlady that Rico knew the language well enough to be of great service to her. The afternoon was half over before she said to him, "You may take your violin over to Mrs. Menotti's and stay until night, if you would like to. She is expecting you."

Rico was delighted, for that would take him near the place he loved. As soon as he reached the lake, he went to the bridge and sat down. He recognized this quiet, fragrant spot as all that was left to him of his home, for it was still associated with the tender care of his mother as no other place could be. Its restfulness appealed to him, and the beauty of the scene was a feast after the years spent in the hills. He longed to remain for the rest of the afternoon, but he realized that his time belonged to those who had given him a home, and so he resumed his way to the sick boy.

The door was open at Mrs. Menotti's, and the little invalid heard Rico's step as soon as he entered the garden. Mrs. Menotti came down the path to meet him, and welcomed him so cordially and led him to the living room in such a motherly way that she won his affection immediately.

Rico noticed how pleasantly the room opened to the garden. Each night the boy's tiny bed was rolled into an adjoining room, where the mother slept. Early every morning it was taken back to the living room, where the morning sun and pleasant outlook gladdened the heart of the little sufferer. Beside the bed were the tiny crutches with which the mother at times assisted him to move about the room, for he was lame and had never been able to walk.

As soon as the little one heard Rico, he lifted himself to a sitting posture by means of a cord which hung suspended from the ceiling. He could not raise himself without help. Rico noticed the frail hands and arms, and the pinched look of the wan face. The little frame seemed too delicate to be that of a boy. The child had seen but few strangers, though he had often longed for company, and now his large blue eyes fastened eagerly upon Rico.

"What is your name?" he asked at the first opportunity.

"Rico," was the answer.

"Mine is Silvio. How old are you?"

"I am eleven."

"So am I," said the little one.

"Why, Silvio, you are forgetting!" broke in Mrs. Menotti. "You are not quite four, so Rico can see that you have made a mistake."

Silvio changed the subject. "Play something, Rico," he said.

Rico stepped some distance away from the bed before beginning to play. Mrs. Menotti sat in her accustomed place at the head of the bed. It was hard to tire Silvio by playing for him. Rico had exhausted his entire list of pieces, and yet the boy called for more. Mrs. Menotti tactfully brought in a plate of grapes and had Rico take her chair by the bed, where he and Silvio might enjoy them together. She slipped out of the room unnoticed by the children. She rejoiced to get out to the garden, for it had been days since Silvio would consent to her leaving him.