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?"