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.