The children did not find it embarrassing to talk together. Rico could answer all the questions that Silvio asked, and was never at a loss to find a way of making himself understood where words failed him. The mother had time to take a long walk about the garden without Silvio's having once called for her.

It was getting dark when she returned. Rico rose to leave, but Silvio caught hold of his jacket and begged him to stay.

"Unless you promise to come to see me every day I will not let you go," he said.

"But, Silvio," said the mother, "you must remember that Rico cannot promise that, even if he would like to, for he must first ask the people with whom he is living. I will go to see them to-morrow, and perhaps we can arrange it so that Rico can come every day."

Silvio grasped Rico's hand lovingly as he said good-by. "I hope you won't forget to come every day," he said. Rico was sorry to leave them. He loved Silvio and his mother for being so good to him. A homelike atmosphere filled the place and made him wish that his work might be done for them instead of for the people at the hotel.

The next afternoon Mrs. Menotti called at the Golden Sun. The landlady was much flattered by this visit. She met her guest very cordially and led her to the parlor upstairs. Mrs. Menotti at once made her errand known, urging the landlady to let her have Rico at least a few evenings a week, saying that she should be glad to pay well for the favor.

The landlady had been thankful that Mrs. Menotti had not interfered with her keeping Rico, so she willingly promised to let him go any evening that he did not have to play for dances. She was willing, she said, to let Mrs. Menotti pay what she pleased.

It was agreed that Mrs. Menotti should clothe Rico in return for the time he would give her. This pleased the landlady immensely, for not only would she have all his help for nothing, but he would soon be earning something besides.

The days passed quickly for Rico. In a short time he was speaking Italian as if he had always known it. It came to him the more readily because he had once known it; then, too, he had a good ear, and caught the true Italian accent with wonderful ease.

The landlady found Rico much more useful than she had expected. She praised his neat way of doing his work by saying that she could not have done it better herself. If he were sent on an errand, he never failed to return promptly. He was industrious, patient, and good-tempered. When people questioned him about his past, he was very reticent. The landlady respected his silence and did not ask any questions. Thus he never gave his reason for coming to Peschiera. A story was told around the town, however, that Rico had run away from the people who had abused him in the mountains, that he had suffered many hardships on the long journey before he came to Peschiera, and that he had found the people there so kind-hearted that he had decided to go no farther. Whenever the landlady told the story, she always added that Rico deserved the good fortune of having found a home with them.

The first week of Rico's stay at the Golden Sun more people than usual assembled for the regular dance out of curiosity to see the little boy who had had such strange experiences, and to hear him play. In fact, so many came that the capacity of the house was taxed. The landlady flitted about among her guests as rosy as if she herself were the Golden Sun. Once, as she passed her husband, she whispered, "I told you that Rico would help out our dances."

Rico listened to the music as the pieces were played, and soon found no trouble in playing with the others. When the dancing ceased, he was asked to play the Peschiera song, and the dancers sang it enthusiastically as a fitting close to their evening of fun. It seemed to Rico that they had been boisterously happy all the evening. The noise had hurt his ears and racked his nerves so that he was thankful when it was over. The crowd dispersed after the song, and Rico hurried away to his attic bed, where he could at least have quiet.

Later that evening the landlady said to her husband: "You see how well my plan works? The next time Rico can take the place of one of the players, so that we need hire but two."

The husband smiled at his wife's sagacity and added: "Yes, and he ought to be a favorite with those who give tips. There is no question of his getting something in that way."

Only two days later there was a dance in Desenzano, and Rico was sent with the other players. The people there did not sing the Peschiera song, but they were as boisterous or worse than the Golden Sun crowd had been. The coarse laughter made Rico shudder, so that from beginning to end he thought, "If it were only over!" He carried home a pocketful of pennies, which he put uncounted into the landlady's lap. She praised him for doing this and prepared a good supper for him.

Rico had been promised for another dance in Riva the following week, and he was glad to go, for it would give him the opportunity to see closely what he had always looked at from a distance. Riva lies at the opposite end of the lake from Peschiera, and the white houses of the little towns built along the shore under the towering, rocky cliffs, had always seemed to throw him a glance of welcome.

The musicians crossed the lake in an open boat under a clear blue sky. Rico's thoughts were mostly with Stineli. He wished again that she might know how pretty the lake was, especially since she had at first doubted its existence. He knew how much she would enjoy the beautiful sight, and how much it would surprise her to see it. He meant to tell her all about it when he went back to her.

The boat landed at Riva all too soon, and a few moments later Rico was playing for the same kind of people that he had played for at the two preceding dances. It occurred to him that it was much pleasanter to look at the white houses and friendly rocks from his accustomed place on the opposite shore, or to amuse Silvio at Mrs. Menotti's, than to play amid the present tumult and applause. As they were returning to Peschiera that night he found no time to look about the town, though he had long wished to see the place.

When there were no dances Rico was allowed to go to Mrs. Menotti's every evening, for the landlady wished to prove herself grateful not only to Rico but to Mrs. Menotti as well. These evenings were Rico's greatest pleasure. He invariably went to the bridge for a short time on his way over. It always gave him fresh comfort, for he knew to a certainty that it was a place that had once been a part of his home. He had found the exact spot where his mother used to sit most frequently when she held and fondled him. He would sit there and think it over and over, actually living in the spirit of the past. Each time he had to force himself to realize that Silvio needed him and would be waiting. Though it was always a little hard to leave the place, his peace of mind was restored as soon as he came to Mrs. Menotti's, for she had endeared herself to him, and he realized that from her he received more affection than from any one else except Stineli.

Mrs. Menotti had heard the story about Rico's suffering in the hills, and she considered it wise to forbear asking questions, for fear of recalling to his mind painful scenes that had much better be forgotten. She longed to take Rico away from the hotel, for she knew that it was not the place for a sensitive nature such as his, but she saw that this would be an impossibility. Once she fondly put her hand on his head and said, "You poor little orphan, I do so wish I could keep you."

To Silvi, Rico became more and more necessary. He spoke of him at all times of the day and was always listening for his coming. Rico could speak fluently by this time, and it was Silvio's greatest comfort to listen to the stories he would tell him. One day Rico told him about Stineli. Silvio was so interested that Rico enjoyed telling him about her. He told of Stineli's seeing her brother Sam fall into the creek, and how she reached the place in time to catch one of his feet, holding on to him until the father, for whom she called as loudly as she could, should get to them. The frightened boy was in the meantime screaming with all his might. The father, taking it for granted that children are always noisy, did not trouble himself to go immediately, but when he had leisurely strolled across the field to find out why they called, he found Stineli still holding her brother.

Rico told how she drew pictures for Peter and made playthings for Urschli out of wood, moss, or rushes,—sometimes with all combined,—and how all the children wanted her when they were sick, because she could entertain them so well. He also told of the good times he and Stineli had enjoyed together, and he became so animated in the telling that one would scarcely have recognized the quiet, sober Rico. Silvio's delight in these stories made both boys forget to look at the clock in time for Rico to leave as early as usual. He was startled to see how late it was and hastily rose to go.

"Good night, Silvio," he said. "I am sorry that I cannot come to-morrow or the next day, but I must play for some dances."

This was too much for Silvio's patience, and he called to his mother, who hastily came from the garden in the greatest anxiety.

"Mother!" he cried, "Rico shall not go back to the hotel any more! I want him to stay here and I wish that you would make him. You will do it, won't you, Rico?"

"If I didn't have to help at the hotel, I would," answered Rico.

Mrs. Menotti had feared such a scene for some time, but was troubled to know how to meet it even now. She knew too well what Rico was worth to the landlady and her husband in dollars and cents to entertain the faintest hope of their letting him go from them. She tried to quiet Silvio as best she could, and affectionately drew Rico to her, saying "You poor little orphan! I wish it were so that you might stay with us."

"What is an orphan? I want to be one, too," said Silvio.

"I am afraid my little boy is naughty to-night," Mrs. Menotti admonished him. "An orphan is one who has neither father nor mother, and no place that he can call home. Don't ever wish that again."

Mrs. Menotti did not notice Rico's pathetic glance when she gave Silvio the meaning of the word. Later when she saw that Rico was gone, she supposed that he had slipped away without saying good night, for the sake of keeping Silvio quiet, and she gave it no further thought.

"Now, Silvio," she said, as she sat down by his bed, "I want to tell you something, so that you will never make such a fuss again. We have no more right to take Rico away from those people than they would have to take you away from me. How should you like never to see the garden again?"

"I would come right home if they took me," was Silvio's valiant answer, but the illustration had served to quiet him, and he was soon tucked in his little bed and willing to go to sleep.

It would be hard to tell just what passed in Rico's mind when he quietly left the house that night and went down to the bridge. "I know now that I am an orphan," he murmured, "and that there is no place that I can call home." He longed to stay on the bridge all night, for its sweet association with the past was his only comfort, but he knew that the landlady would become alarmed at his absence, so he forced himself away to his cheerless attic.

He did not need a candle to find his way to the bed, and he much preferred not to see his surroundings. An eager desire to see Stineli possessed him. He meant to tell her how it comforted him to know that she cared for him. It was late in the night before he could quiet his thoughts for sleep.

CHAPTER XV

Mrs. Menotti knew of whom they were speaking, for she had often heard Rico mention her during the years he had been with them. "Yes," she said, "it would be delightful if we could have her, but my little boy must not forget to be reasonable."

"But we can have her, mamma," broke in Silvio. "Rico knows where she is, and he can go to-morrow and bring her to us."

Mrs. Menotti had for some time secretly wished that Rico might find for her some one to assist in the care of Silvio, but she would not for a moment consider letting the boy go back to the perils from which he had so fortunately escaped. She sought to change the subject of conversation between the children, and endeavored to interest them in other things, but she failed to keep them from going back to the original subject. Silvio would invariably say, "Rico knows where she is and he must get her."

"Do you suppose that Rico will deliberately go among those wicked people to get her, when he can stay here in safety?" asked the mother.

"Will you?" said Silvio, fastening his large blue eyes upon Rico.

"Surely, I will go," said Rico enthusiastically.

"Rico, have you lost your senses?" exclaimed Mrs. Menotti. "What do you suppose I can do with you when you both begin to be unreasonable? You had better play something for Silvio, Rico, and I will go to the garden for a while. By the time I get back I shall hope to find two good, sensible boys."

The boys, however, did not care for music to-night, and they talked, instead, of possible ways of bringing Stineli to them and of how it would seem to have her there.

When she returned from the garden, where she had enjoyed the quiet evening, Mrs. Menotti had to remind Rico that it was time to go home. Silvio urged his mother for a promise that Rico might be allowed to go for Stineli, and both boys eagerly awaited her answer.

"You may feel differently about it in the morning, children," she said. "I want you to go to sleep in peace; possibly before the night is over I can think of a way to satisfy you."

Early the following morning Silvio raised himself in bed to see if his mother was awake and said, "Have you thought of a way, mamma?"

Mrs. Menotti could not say that she had, and again the child's discontent broke out. All that day and the next and for many days thereafter he would not be comforted. Mrs. Menotti thought it was only a fancy and would wear itself out, but the extra strain upon the boy began to tell upon his health to such an extent that the mother became alarmed. She was convinced that Silvio ought to have a companion, and she resolved to consult with some trustworthy person, to see if it were possible to get a child from the hills in safety. Mrs. Menotti understood that Rico had escaped from ill treatment in the hill country, and she avoided asking him questions about his past life, hoping that he was young enough to let silence efface all unpleasant memories. On this account she felt quite unwilling to let him undertake the journey, and even the consideration of such a possibility brought to her a fuller realization of how necessary he had become to their own happiness.

CHAPTER XVI

Instantly Silvio's head was out and he said, "Rico's Stineli."

"You must be seated, pastor," said Mrs. Menotti. "I will tell you what Silvio means, for I want your advice very much."

Mrs. Menotti recited in detail all that she knew about Stineli, the reason why they wished for her, and the obstacles in the way of getting her. "I have thought," she said, "that it might be a good thing for the girl to get away from those wicked people, and I wonder if you can think of a safe way to bring her here."

"I think," said the pastor, "that you have been misinformed about those people in the mountains. I am sure that there are kind-hearted men and women living there as well as here. People travel so much in these days that I am sure that it cannot be much of a task to get up there. One thing I am positive about is that the journey can be taken in absolute safety. I know some live-stock dealers who regularly make the trip from Bergamo to the mountains, and who will be able to tell me all about it. Since you are interested, I will see one of the men as soon as I go to Bergamo and I will let you know when I return."

Silvio's eyes had grown larger as the pastor spoke, and he began to feel a great respect for the man who could so ably take his part. When the pastor extended his hand to Silvio in parting, the boy fairly plunged his little palm into the larger one, as much as to say, "You deserve it now."

Weeks passed by as Mrs. Menotti waited to hear further news from the minister, but Silvio's patience did not again fail him. He felt sure that the good man would help him to get what he wished.

When Rico heard that there was hope of his being sent for Stineli, he forgot that he had ever been sad. The expectation of having her there to enjoy the beautiful scenes and to share his companionship fairly made the world over for him. His serious expression gave way to a happy one, and his purpose so animated him that it added a new charm to his manner. He went often to see Silvio, and took pleasure in entertaining him by relating incidents of his active life among the people with whom he lived. He stopped playing the dreamy airs and substituted those more suited to his present mood. He played so well by this time that Mrs. Menotti was proud of his ability, and she often gave up a walk in order to listen to him. It was here, with those who loved him, that Rico enjoyed the music he had learned. The only regret of the day came when he had to bid them good night and go away, for it always brought afresh the longing for a home of his own.

The change in Rico was noticed at the hotel where he lived. The landlady was much astonished one morning to have him ask her to hire some one else to care for the chickens and outbuildings. He thought that he had performed those duties as long as was necessary, and he preferred to be released also from blacking shoes and from similar work. The landlady remarked that he was indeed getting fastidious, but she was too wise to remonstrate, for she knew that there would still be enough for him to do.

Mrs. Menotti had liberally provided Rico with wearing apparel. She selected as carefully in material and workmanship as if he were her own child. The landlady said that he always went about looking like a little prince, and she meant to find no fault in regard to the work he chose to do. "I am sure," she said to her husband, "that since he brings so much money from the dances where he plays, I ought not to object to the slight expense of hiring a boy to do the menial work about the house and garden. Rico has been a credit to us so far."

The years had passed rapidly since Rico came to Peschiera. The vague, dreamy look in his eyes had given place to one of purpose and determination. He had the appearance of one much older than he was.

Another autumn was at hand. The purple grapes were temptingly ripe on the vines, and the oleander blossoms sparkled in the sunshine. One morning, about the usual time for Rico to arrive at Mrs. Menotti's, Silvio was listening for his step on the garden walk. He heard the gate open, but when he raised himself to look, there was the pastor instead of Rico! Silvio did not hide under the covers; instead, he clapped his hands, shouting, "Mamma, the pastor is here," and stretched his arms to him as soon as he entered the room.

This cordial welcome pleased the minister, and he went directly to Silvio's bed, although he had seen the mother gathering some figs in the garden. He took the little one in his arms and said, "How is our Silvio to-day?"

"Well, thank you. When can Rico go?"

The good man laughed. "To-morrow morning, my son; he is to go at five o'clock," he answered.

Later the pastor explained to Mrs. Menotti that he had just returned from Bergamo, where he had spent a few days. He had looked up a stock dealer, according to his promise, and found that the man had made regular trips to the mountains for the last thirty years; every bit of the way that Rico would have to go was familiar to him. It so happened that he had made his plans to go up again, and if they would send Rico on the early morning train, he would take him along and see that he was well cared for; moreover, he had said that as he was acquainted with all the coachmen and conductors on the way, he would arrange for a safe return trip, so that the young travelers could not possibly go astray.

"I wish that I could be certain that no harm would come to Rico," said Mrs. Menotti to the pastor, as she accompanied him to the gate on his departure that morning.

"You have no reasonable cause for worry," replied the pastor. "Let the child go in peace, and we will pray God to bless the journey."

Just at this moment Rico came in sight. Silvio saw him from the doorway and shouted: "Don't tell him! Please don't tell him! I want to tell him myself. Come, Rico; I have something wonderful to tell you."

Mrs. Menotti left the boys alone while she packed some things for the journey. In a large traveling bag she put a great piece of smoked ham, a loaf of fresh bread, a package of dried fruit, some figs fresh from the garden, and a bottle of her best fruit juice wrapped in a napkin; next came shirts, stockings, shoes, handkerchiefs, and various other things, so that one might suppose that Rico were going for a month's stay instead of a week.

"How much I have learned to care for that boy," she thought, as she looked about to make sure that nothing had been forgotten, and her heart sent up a silent prayer for a safe journey.

"I think you had better take this bag to the station now, Rico," she said to him when she came downstairs. "Silvio has told you that you are to go on the early train, and you will wish to explain matters to the landlady. You must ask her if it greatly inconveniences her to let you go so soon."

Rico was astonished to find that he was expected to take a traveling bag of such huge proportions, but knowing that loving hands had prepared it, he did not remonstrate, but took it gladly and did as he was directed.

When Rico told the landlady that the pastor had planned for him to go to the mountains in the morning to get Stineli, she took it for granted that the girl was his sister, and inferred that the sister would live with them. Rico's statement that Stineli was to live with Mrs. Menotti undeceived her. It was a disappointment, but she gave her consent, feeling thankful to Mrs. Menotti for not having tried to get Rico.

"It must be that Rico likes it here," said the landlady to some guests that evening, "because he is going back to get his sister." She meant to let those people in the hills know how good a place the boy had, so she packed a large basket with sausages, cheese, and boiled eggs, and spread a loaf of bread with fresh butter, saying: "You mustn't be hungry on the trip. If I put up more than you need, they will no doubt be glad to have some up there; besides, you must have something on the way back, for you will surely come back to me, won't you, Rico?"

"In a week I will be here again," said Rico. He took his violin and went over to bid Silvio and the mother good-by. He asked them to care for his violin, for he would not have dared to intrust it to any one else. Rico could not spend the evening with them, because he was expected to go to bed early. Mrs. Menotti's motherly farewell made his heart go out to her in gratitude, and Silvio's "Come back soon" rang in his ears again and again as he walked through the darkness to the hotel.

CHAPTER XVII

The stock dealer did not fail to join Rico at Bergamo, and they both enjoyed the lovely daylight sail on Lake Como. The boy recognized the place where they landed and also the inn where they took the stage. He looked especially for the door of the stable, where the lantern had shown him the way to the coachman on his former trip. He had not at that time been able to see his surroundings very clearly.

The sun had set when the stage left the inn, so Rico entered the coach with his companion. He fell asleep almost immediately and did not wake until morning, when the sun was shining over the mountain tops. To his great surprise and joy he found that they were going up the zigzag road of the Maloja, so familiar to him. He could, however, see nothing but the sharp angles in the road, until they arrived at the summit, where they alighted for breakfast and to give the horses a rest. After breakfast Rico looked for the place where he sat years ago, when he was a tired and hungry little boy. He remembered distinctly how he had watched the stage which later picked him up and took him down the valley. Everything about him was of interest now, and he said to the coachman, "Will it trouble you if I sit up there with you so that I can see better?"

"Certainly not," said the man; "come up if you want to."

The passengers had already taken their places in the coach, and it was but a moment later when they started at a lively pace down the long, sloping grade. Rico presently saw the lake, the island with its pine trees, and beyond, the white houses of Sils. Across the fields was Sils-Maria. The little church showed up most distinctly at that distance, but Rico's eyes were searching for something farther down the hill; soon he saw, as he had hoped, the two familiar houses.

Rico's heart began to beat wildly. Where and how would he find the little girl he had not seen for years? Suppose she should not be there any longer? Suppose she had forgotten him? It seemed but a moment before the stage stopped in Sils, and Rico alighted with his luggage.

Stineli had seen many hard days since Rico's disappearance. The children had grown older, so that they were less care, but the work, especially since the grandmother had died, had fallen more than ever upon her. The children were wont to say, "Stineli is the oldest, so she can do that," and the parents often said, "Stineli is young and strong, so she can do that"; thus the willing hands were kept busy. She sorely missed Rico and the grandmother, the only ones who had ever regarded her comfort, but she tried hard to keep her cheerful nature uppermost, although she often thought, "The world is not the same now that they are gone."

On this sunny Saturday morning Stineli came out of the granary with a bundle of straw which she intended to braid into a broom. As she reached the path leading to Sils, she let her eyes follow along the dry, smooth way until her glance was arrested by the appearance of a strange young man coming in her direction. She knew from his dress that he was not a Silsan. He came more rapidly as soon as he noticed her and when quite close, stopped and looked at her. She glanced inquiringly at his face and immediately recognized her long-lost friend. Dropping her bundle, she ran to him, exclaiming: "O Rico, you are not dead after all! How glad I am to see you! How very tall you have grown! I would never have known you if it had not been for your face; nobody else has a face like yours. O Rico, how glad I am that you are here again!"

Rico was pale,—the joy seemed too great,—and he had not been able to say one word. Stineli stood blushing in her pride of him, and waited for him to speak.

"You have grown, too, Stineli," he said at length; "otherwise you are the same as ever. The nearer I got to the house the more afraid I became that you would be different, so that it would not seem the same here."

"O Rico, if only grandmother could know!" said Stineli. "But I must take you to the others; they will all be so astonished to see you."

When Stineli took Rico into the house the children, unaccustomed to strangers, began to hide. The two older ones, Trudt and Sam, came in a moment later and shyly said "Good morning" in passing. The mother simply inquired if there was anything she could do for the stranger.

"Don't any of you know him?" inquired Stineli. "Why, mother, it is Rico."

They were just exclaiming in surprise when the father came in to breakfast. Rico advanced to shake hands cordially, but the man looked at him blankly and said: "Are you a relative? There are so many I may not know them all."

"Now father doesn't know him either!" exclaimed Stineli. "It is Rico, papa."

"Why, Rico, to be sure," the father said, gazing at him from head to foot. "You look prosperous, my boy; I suppose you have learned a good trade. Let us sit down to breakfast, and then you must tell us about yourself."

When Rico noticed that the grandmother did not come to breakfast, he asked for her. It was the father who answered that they had buried her beside the teacher a year ago. Rico said nothing, for the news came as a shock to him. He had counted upon the pleasure of seeing the dear old lady who had always shown him so much kindness.

Rico was immediately urged to tell about his wanderings and how he happened to go away. He began his story from the night he left, but he spoke in detail only when he told of Mrs. Menotti and of Silvio's home. This led him easily to tell them the object of his visit to the hills, and to beg them to let him take Stineli back with him when he returned.

Stineli opened her eyes wide in astonishment, for she had not even dreamed of such a possibility. How delightful it would be if she were allowed to go with Rico to that beautiful place! The best part of it, of course, would be to have him with her or near her again, and how she would love Silvio for sending Rico back to her! Thoughts like these kept surging through her brain while the father was considering the matter.

"It would, no doubt, be a good thing for Stineli," he said. "I should like to have her get out among people and learn their ways; but there is no use to talk about it, for she can't be spared. We could let Trudt go just as well as not."

"Yes," agreed the mother; "I couldn't possibly get along without Stineli. I am willing that Trudt should go if she wants to."

"Goody! goody! I am going and I am glad," and Trudt clapped her hands and danced about.

Stineli's face had clouded, but she made no protest, preferring to have Rico say what was needful.

"It so happens," said Rico, calmly, "that Silvio wants Stineli and no one else. If Trudt went down there, he would only send her away, so that is out of the question. Mrs. Menotti told me to tell you that if Stineli got along well with Silvio, she could send home two dollars and a half every month. I am just as sure that Stineli will get along with Silvio as if I had already seen them together."

Stineli's father pushed his chair away from the table and put on his cap,—a habit of his whenever he wished to think seriously about anything. The money was an important factor to him. How hard he had to work to earn a dollar, and here was an opportunity to get two dollars and a half every month without the least effort on his part! It was not long before he hung up his cap and said: "She can go if that is the case. I suppose one of the others can learn to do things here."

Stineli's face beamed, but the mother sighed as she realized what it would mean to her.

In a moment the father put his cap on again. "I had forgotten," he said, "that Stineli has not been confirmed; she will have to wait until after that."

"But, father," exclaimed Stineli, "I was not planning to be confirmed for two years. I can go now and come back when the two years are over."

This plan was at last approved, and the parents consoled themselves by thinking that they could then keep her at home if they wished.

"Just as soon as she gets back, I am going," said Trudt. They all laughed at this, while Rico and Stineli exchanged glances and were happy.

"Now, Stineli, I want to tell you something," said the father. "I know that pandemonium will reign here until you two are gone, so I say the sooner it is accomplished the better; then we can have peace and quiet." It was accordingly decided that they should leave the following Monday.

Rico realized how busy a day Stineli would have, so he asked Sam to accompany him about Sils-Maria and the neighborhood. They stopped first of all to look at the house across the way, that had at one time sheltered Rico. He was informed that strangers lived there, that the aunt had been gone several years, and that no one knew where she was.

Wherever Rico and Sam went that day they failed to find a single person who recognized the "foreign-looking young man," as they called him. On their return Rico wished to visit the grandmother's grave, but they could not find it.

It was evening before they came back to the house, carrying with them Rico's luggage from the station. They found Stineli at the well, scrubbing the pails used about the barn. "I can't believe yet that I am going, Rico," she said as they passed her.

"I can," said Rico; "but you haven't thought about it so long as I have."

Stineli was delighted with the change in Rico. "How well and forcibly he speaks," she thought. "He was timid and shy before he went away. He seems to inspire confidence, and he looks wonderfully strong and capable."

A bed was prepared for Rico in the attic. He did not unpack his lunch until the following morning, when it provided a real feast for the children. The figs were a novelty to them, and the abundance of good things assured the parents that Rico was among friends in the valley. They had no further fears about letting Stineli go with him.

CHAPTER XVIII

This was the first time that Rico and Stineli had been alone since he came back, and they were both glad of the opportunity to sit so cozily in the starry night and feel again the sweet companionship that they had given up long ago. They had so much to say that they slept but little during the night. They reached Lake Como in the morning, and arrived in Peschiera on the same train that had carried Rico when he came before. He led Stineli by a roundabout way in order to keep the view of the lake hidden by the trees until they came to his favorite place on the bridge.

Suddenly it burst upon them in all its beauty, as Rico had often wished to describe it, only it seemed much more beautiful to Rico now that Stineli was seeing it, too. He rejoiced to hear her say presently, "Oh, it is prettier than Lake Sils—ever so much prettier."

They sat down on the bridge, and for the first time Rico spoke to Stineli about his mother. He told her how well he remembered her, and how often they had been together on this bridge, and how much they had cared for each other.

"Then your home must have been here," said Stineli. "Where did you go when you left the bridge? Can't you remember that?"

"Yes, I know just where we went, but I can't find the house. Everything is just as it used to be until I get to the station; I never saw that until I came here by myself, and I think they must have taken the house away."

The sun was low in the heavens before they left the bridge. Rico was secretly rejoicing over the fact that their coming would be a surprise, for they were not expected for a week and here they were at the garden!

"What a lovely place!" exclaimed Stineli. "What gorgeous flowers!"

Silvio's sharp ears heard this exclamation. He pulled himself up in bed and called to his mother, "I do believe that Rico has come with Stineli."

Mrs. Menotti hastily ran to her son, fearing that he was ill, but just at that moment Rico appeared. How glad she was to see him safely back! Her surprise and warm welcome were more than Rico had anticipated. Before Rico had time to present Stineli the girl had gone directly to Silvio's bed, speaking to him so kindly that he put his arms around her neck and gave her the greatest hug his little arms were capable of giving. Mrs. Menotti told Rico that she was more than satisfied with the girl's appearance, and he had no fears about her conduct.

Although she spoke no Italian, Stineli found various ways in which she could immediately make herself useful. The Latin words she had learned in school helped her, and she tactfully used motions when Rico did not explain for her. She carried the tray with Silvio's supper to his bed and cut the food for him, propping him up comfortably with pillows before she joined the mother and Rico in the dining room. After supper Stineli made the others go to Silvio until she had finished the work, and then she joined them.

She began to amuse Silvio with a little gift that she had brought in her pocket so that it might be convenient when she wished to give it to him. It was simply a number of wooden figures, with faces and dresses gaily painted on them, and put together on a central piece so that they would dance comically when shaken out. This was Peter's handiwork, and it afforded Silvio unceasing amusement. Stineli also made the shapes of animals with her hands, and let Silvio watch the shadows on the wall. The mother could hear him say, "A rabbit! An animal with horns! A long-legged spider!"

The clock struck ten before they thought it could possibly be so late. Rico immediately arose, for it was his usual time to leave, but a dark cloud seemed to settle on his face as he said good night and went out.

Stineli noticed that something was wrong with Rico, so she followed him to the garden. She took his hand impulsively and said: "You have been so good to bring me here, Rico, that I shall be very sorry if you are not going to be happy. You can come over every day; don't you think we can be happy?"

"Yes, and every night, no matter how happy we are here, I have to go away and remember that I don't belong to anybody."

"But you must not think that, because you and I have always belonged to each other. If you only knew how I missed you all those long years that you were away! Many times I had to work so hard that I would rather not have lived at all, but I used to think that I would gladly bear it if I could just see you once more. Now that everything has turned out so beautifully, I am sure that we ought to be happy."

"Really, Stineli, I will try," said Rico, and the cloud vanished as they stood with clasped hands for a moment before he left the garden.

Stineli bade Silvio good night when she returned to the house, but he grasped her hand and begged her to stay with him.

"Very well," said the mother, "Stineli may stay, but to-morrow she will be ill, and you will have to do without her."

"Then go to sleep now, but come early in the morning," said the boy.

Mrs. Menotti had prepared a cozy room upstairs for Stineli. It overlooked the garden, and the outdoor fragrance greeted them as they entered. The girl went to sleep feeling assured that her new home would prove to be a happy one.

At first Stineli was handicapped in her new surroundings by her ignorance of Italian, but it was remarkable how well she and Silvio entertained each other. He was always obedient and cheerful in her presence, and complained of loneliness whenever she was gone. Mrs. Menotti noticed with gratitude how rapidly her son was gaining in strength. He enjoyed his meals more than ever before, for Stineli liked to arrange things prettily, and to plan surprises for him on his tray. Then, too, he slept better and longer than had been his custom.

Stineli was tireless in her efforts to please the sick child. She adapted everything at hand to his entertainment. Having always lived with children, she understood how to amuse them. In a remarkably short time she had learned all the Italian that Silvio used. She soon began to tell him stories, although some words failed her and others came with painful slowness for a time.

Now that Mrs. Menotti was freed from the care of Silvio, she formed the habit of going to meet Rico when she saw him coming. She was always eager to express her appreciation of Stineli.

"I hadn't supposed that a young girl could be so thoughtful," she said at one time. "She does things for Silvio from morning until night as if it were a real pleasure to her, and she knows as much about housekeeping as a woman. I feel as if it were Sunday every day." Rico never tired of hearing Stineli praised.

Any one seeing the group sitting so cozily together when Rico was there would have taken them to be a very happy family, and so they were until the hour arrived for Rico to leave them. His face darkened every night so that Stineli was worried, but Mrs. Menotti was too much absorbed in Silvio's happiness to notice it.

CHAPTER XIX

When Rico and Stineli came to the garden gate he said: "Go back, Stineli; you belong there and I belong to the street. I am only a poor, homeless orphan, so just let me go and don't worry."

"No, no, you shall not leave me while you feel in this way. Where can we go to talk a little while?"

"To the bridge," answered Rico, eagerly.

They walked on in silence, and after reaching their favorite place on the bridge, stood listening to the splash of the waves below them until Rico said, "Really, Stineli, if it were not for you, I wouldn't stay here any longer. I would go ever so far away, it would make little difference where, since there is no one that cares for me and I shall always have to live in hotels, and sleep in storerooms, and play for dances where people act as if they were crazy. Since I have seen you living with these good people, I have wished that my mother had thrown me into the lake before she died, so that I need not have come to be what I am."

"O Rico, how dare you think such wicked thoughts, much less express them! It must be that you have been neglecting the Lord's Prayer or you would not be so unhappy," said Stineli.

"It is true," said Rico; "I have not said it, and I am sure I have forgotten it altogether by this time."

"But how dare you live so?" asked Stineli. "Just think how grandmother would worry about you if she knew that! You must remember how she said to us, 'The one that forgets to pray will have a hard time.' You must learn the prayer again. Let us sit down here and I will teach it to you."