To Silvio, 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.