When Rico heard that there was hope of his being sent for Stineli, he forgot that he had ever been sad. The expectation of having her there to enjoy the beautiful scenes and to share his companionship fairly made the world over for him. His serious expression gave way to a happy one, and his purpose so animated him that it added a new charm to his manner. He went often to see Silvio, and took pleasure in entertaining him by relating incidents of his active life among the people with whom he lived. He stopped playing the dreamy airs and substituted those more suited to his present mood. He played so well by this time that Mrs. Menotti was proud of his ability, and she often gave up a walk in order to listen to him. It was here, with those who loved him, that Rico enjoyed the music he had learned. The only regret of the day came when he had to bid them good night and go away, for it always brought afresh the longing for a home of his own. The change in Rico was noticed at the hotel where he lived. The landlady was much astonished one morning to have him ask her to hire some one else to care for the chickens and outbuildings. He thought that he had performed those duties as long as was necessary, and he preferred to be released also from blacking shoes and from similar work. The landlady remarked that he was indeed getting fastidious, but she was too wise to remonstrate, for she knew that there would still be enough for him to do. Mrs. Menotti had liberally provided Rico with wearing apparel. She selected as carefully in material and workmanship as if he were her own child. The landlady said that he always went about looking like a little prince, and she meant to find no fault in regard to the work he chose to do. "I am sure," she said to her husband, "that since he brings so much money from the dances where he plays, I ought not to object to the slight expense of hiring a boy to do the menial work about the house and garden. Rico has been a credit to us so far." The years had passed rapidly since Rico came to Peschiera. The vague, dreamy look in his eyes had given place to one of purpose and determination. He had the appearance of one much older than he was. Another autumn was at hand. The purple grapes were temptingly ripe on the vines, and the oleander blossoms sparkled in the sunshine. One morning, about the usual time for Rico to arrive at Mrs. Menotti's, Silvio was listening for his step on the garden walk. He heard the gate open, but when he raised himself to look, there was the pastor instead of Rico! Silvio did not hide under the covers; instead, he clapped his hands, shouting, "Mamma, the pastor is here," and stretched his arms to him as soon as he entered the room. This cordial welcome pleased the minister, and he went directly to Silvio's bed, although he had seen the mother gathering some figs in the garden. He took the little one in his arms and said, "How is our Silvio to-day?" "Well, thank you. When can Rico go?"