Part 8 (1/2)

”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.

The children did not find it embarra.s.sing 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 pa.s.sed 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 hards.h.i.+ps 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 a.s.sembled 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 pa.s.sed 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 coa.r.s.e 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 sh.o.r.e 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.