CHAPTER XIV
NEW FRIENDS
The next morning the landlady was standing in the doorway of the inn,observing the signs of the weather and planning the work of the day,when suddenly Mrs. Menotti's servant appeared. This young man wasmanager as well as servant. He understood his work thoroughly, and theplace prospered under his care. He had a habit of whistling whereverhe went, and people thought it was because his life was such a happy,contented one that he could not help expressing his satisfaction.
"If the boy I brought you last evening is still here," he began, "Mrs.Menotti requests that you will send him over to her. Silvio wishes tosee him again."
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 isstill in bed, and I would rather let him have his sleep out. You cango back and tell Mrs. Menotti that I will send him over later, as heis not going any farther. I have taken him for good and all. He is alittle neglected orphan, but I will see that he is provided forhereafter."
When Rico at last awoke, he felt as fresh as if he had not taken thelong journey the day before. The landlady admired his neat appearanceas he came down the stairway. She beckoned to him to come to thekitchen, 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. "Wehave a still better dinner and supper, for we cook for the gueststhen. You might pay me by helping with the work and playing for uswhen we want you to, but of course it remains for you to decidewhether you will stay or not."
The landlady had spoken in Italian, but Rico had understood her, andhe found words enough to say, "Yes, I will stay."
When Rico's breakfast was over, he was taken about the premises sothat he might become familiar with the house, barn, chicken shed, andyard, and also the vegetable garden, for his help would be neededabout them all. He was later sent to several places of business to getsoap, oil, thread, and repaired shoes, and each time returned with hiserrand correctly done. It was therefore evident to the landlady thatRico knew the language well enough to be of great service to her. Theafternoon was half over before she said to him, "You may take yourviolin over to Mrs. Menotti's and stay until night, if you would liketo. 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. Herecognized this quiet, fragrant spot as all that was left to him ofhis home, for it was still associated with the tender care of hismother 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 thehills. He longed to remain for the rest of the afternoon, but herealized that his time belonged to those who had given him a home, andso he resumed his way to the sick boy.
The door was open at Mrs. Menotti's, and the little invalid heardRico's step as soon as he entered the garden. Mrs. Menotti came downthe path to meet him, and welcomed him so cordially and led him to theliving room in such a motherly way that she won his affectionimmediately.
Rico noticed how pleasantly the room opened to the garden. Each nightthe boy's tiny bed was rolled into an adjoining room, where the motherslept. Early every morning it was taken back to the living room,where the morning sun and pleasant outlook gladdened the heart of thelittle sufferer. Beside the bed were the tiny crutches with which themother at times assisted him to move about the room, for he was lameand had never been able to walk.
As soon as the little one heard Rico, he lifted himself to a sittingposture by means of a cord which hung suspended from the ceiling. Hecould not raise himself without help. Rico noticed the frail hands andarms, and the pinched look of the wan face. The little frame seemedtoo delicate to be that of a boy. The child had seen but fewstrangers, though he had often longed for company, and now his largeblue 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 notquite 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 toplay. 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 hisentire list of pieces, and yet the boy called for more. Mrs. Menottitactfully brought in a plate of grapes and had Rico take her chair bythe bed, where he and Silvio might enjoy them together. She slippedout of the room unnoticed by the children. She rejoiced to get out tothe garden, for it had been days since Silvio would consent to herleaving him.
The children did not find it embarrassing to talk together. Rico couldanswer all the questions that Silvio asked, and was never at a loss tofind a way of making himself understood where words failed him. Themother had time to take a long walk about the garden without Silvio'shaving once called for her.
It was getting dark when she returned. Rico rose to leave, but Silviocaught hold of his jacket and begged him to stay.
"Unless you promise to come to see me every day I will not let yougo," he said.
"But, Silvio," said the mother, "you must remember that Rico cannotpromise that, even if he would like to, for he must first ask thepeople with whom he is living. I will go to see them to-morrow, andperhaps we can arrange it so that Rico can come every day."
Silvio grasped Rico's hand lovingly as he said good-by. "I hope youwon't forget to come every day," he said. Rico was sorry to leavethem. He loved Silvio and his mother for being so good to him. Ahomelike atmosphere filled the place and made him wish that his workmight be done for them instead of for the people at the hotel.
The next afternoon Mrs. Menotti called at the Golden Sun. The landladywas much flattered by this visit. She met her guest very cordially andled her to the parlor upstairs. Mrs. Menotti at once made her errandknown, urging the landlady to let her have Rico at least a fewevenings a week, saying that she should be glad to pay well for thefavor.
The landlady had been thankful that Mrs. Menotti had not interferedwith her keeping Rico, so she willingly promised to let him go anyevening that he did not have to play for dances. She was willing, shesaid, to let Mrs. Menotti pay what she pleased.
It was agreed that Mrs. Menotti should clothe Rico in return for thetime he would give her. This pleased the landlady immensely, for notonly would she have all his help for nothing, but he would soon beearning something besides.
The days passed quickly for Rico. In a short time he was speakingItalian as if he had always known it. It came to him the more readilybecause he had once known it; then, too, he had a good ear, andcaught the true Italian accent with wonderful ease.
The landlady found Rico much more useful than she had expected. Shepraised his neat way of doing his work by saying that she could nothave done it better herself. If he were sent on an errand, he neverfailed to return promptly. He was industrious, patient, andgood-tempered. When people questioned him about his past, he was veryreticent. The landlady respected his silence and did not ask anyquestions. Thus he never gave his reason for coming to Peschiera. Astory was told around the town, however, that Rico had run away fromthe people who had abused him in the mountains, that he had sufferedmany hardships on the long journey before he came to Peschiera, andthat he had found the people there so kind-hearted that he had decidedto go no farther. Whenever the landlady told the story, she alwaysadded that Rico deserved the good fortune of having found a home withthem.
The first week of Rico's stay at the Golden Sun more people than usualassembled for the regular dance out of curiosity to see the little boywho had had such strange experiences, and to hear him play. In fact,so many came that the capacity of the house was taxed. The landl
adyflitted about among her guests as rosy as if she herself were theGolden Sun. Once, as she passed her husband, she whispered, "I toldyou that Rico would help out our dances."
Rico listened to the music as the pieces were played, and soon foundno trouble in playing with the others. When the dancing ceased, he wasasked to play the Peschiera song, and the dancers sang itenthusiastically as a fitting close to their evening of fun. It seemedto Rico that they had been boisterously happy all the evening. Thenoise had hurt his ears and racked his nerves so that he was thankfulwhen it was over. The crowd dispersed after the song, and Rico hurriedaway to his attic bed, where he could at least have quiet.
Later that evening the landlady said to her husband: "You see how wellmy plan works? The next time Rico can take the place of one of theplayers, so that we need hire but two."
The husband smiled at his wife's sagacity and added: "Yes, and heought to be a favorite with those who give tips. There is no questionof his getting something in that way."
Only two days later there was a dance in Desenzano, and Rico was sentwith the other players. The people there did not sing the Peschierasong, but they were as boisterous or worse than the Golden Sun crowdhad been. The coarse laughter made Rico shudder, so that frombeginning to end he thought, "If it were only over!" He carried home apocketful 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 seeclosely what he had always looked at from a distance. Riva lies at theopposite end of the lake from Peschiera, and the white houses of thelittle 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 shemight know how pretty the lake was, especially since she had at firstdoubted its existence. He knew how much she would enjoy the beautifulsight, and how much it would surprise her to see it. He meant to tellher all about it when he went back to her.
The boat landed at Riva all too soon, and a few moments later Rico wasplaying for the same kind of people that he had played for at the twopreceding dances. It occurred to him that it was much pleasanter tolook at the white houses and friendly rocks from his accustomed placeon the opposite shore, or to amuse Silvio at Mrs. Menotti's, than toplay amid the present tumult and applause. As they were returning toPeschiera that night he found no time to look about the town, thoughhe had long wished to see the place.
When there were no dances Rico was allowed to go to Mrs. Menotti'severy evening, for the landlady wished to prove herself grateful notonly to Rico but to Mrs. Menotti as well. These evenings were Rico'sgreatest pleasure. He invariably went to the bridge for a short timeon his way over. It always gave him fresh comfort, for he knew to acertainty 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 mostfrequently when she held and fondled him. He would sit there and thinkit over and over, actually living in the spirit of the past. Each timehe had to force himself to realize that Silvio needed him and would bewaiting. Though it was always a little hard to leave the place, hispeace of mind was restored as soon as he came to Mrs. Menotti's, forshe had endeared herself to him, and he realized that from her hereceived 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 ofrecalling to his mind painful scenes that had much better beforgotten. She longed to take Rico away from the hotel, for she knewthat it was not the place for a sensitive nature such as his, but shesaw that this would be an impossibility. Once she fondly put her handon his head and said, "You poor little orphan, I do so wish I couldkeep you."
To Silvio, Rico became more and more necessary. He spoke of him at alltimes of the day and was always listening for his coming. Rico couldspeak fluently by this time, and it was Silvio's greatest comfort tolisten to the stories he would tell him. One day Rico told him aboutStineli. Silvio was so interested that Rico enjoyed telling him abouther. 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 asshe could, should get to them. The frightened boy was in the meantimescreaming with all his might. The father, taking it for granted thatchildren are always noisy, did not trouble himself to go immediately,but when he had leisurely strolled across the field to find out whythey called, he found Stineli still holding her brother.
Rico told how she drew pictures for Peter and made playthings forUrschli out of wood, moss, or rushes,--sometimes with allcombined,--and how all the children wanted her when they were sick,because she could entertain them so well. He also told of the goodtimes he and Stineli had enjoyed together, and he became so animatedin the telling that one would scarcely have recognized the quiet,sober Rico. Silvio's delight in these stories made both boys forget tolook at the clock in time for Rico to leave as early as usual. He wasstartled to see how late it was and hastily rose to go.
"Good night, Silvio," he said. "I am sorry that I cannot cometo-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! Iwant him to stay here and I wish that you would make him. You will doit, 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 troubledto know how to meet it even now. She knew too well what Rico was worthto the landlady and her husband in dollars and cents to entertain thefaintest hope of their letting him go from them. She tried to quietSilvio as best she could, and affectionately drew Rico to her, saying"You poor little orphan! I wish it were so that you might stay withus."
"What is an orphan? I want to be one, too," said Silvio.
"I am afraid my little boy is naughty to-night," Mrs. Menottiadmonished 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 gaveSilvio the meaning of the word. Later when she saw that Rico was gone,she supposed that he had slipped away without saying good night, forthe 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 tellyou something, so that you will never make such a fuss again. We haveno more right to take Rico away from those people than they would haveto take you away from me. How should you like never to see the gardenagain?"
"I would come right home if they took me," was Silvio's valiantanswer, but the illustration had served to quiet him, and he was soontucked in his little bed and willing to go to sleep.
It would be hard to tell just what passed in Rico's mind when hequietly left the house that night and went down to the bridge. "Iknow now that I am an orphan," he murmured, "and that there is noplace that I can call home." He longed to stay on the bridge allnight, for its sweet association with the past was his only comfort,but he knew that the landlady would become alarmed at his absence, sohe forced himself away to his cheerless attic.
He did not need a candle to find his way to the bed, and he muchpreferred not to see his surroundings. An eager desire to see Stinelipossessed him. He meant to tell her how it comforted him to know thatshe cared for him. It was late in the night before he could quiet histhoughts for sleep.