"It is true," said Rico; "I have not said it, and I am sure I have forgotten it altogether by this time." "But how dare you live so?" asked Stineli. "Just think how grandmother would worry about you if she knew that! You must remember how she said to us, 'The one that forgets to pray will have a hard time.' You must learn the prayer again. Let us sit down here and I will teach it to you." After Stineli had repeated the prayer twice she said, "You can see from this that the whole kingdom belongs to God, and you can trust Him to find a home for you, because it also says that the power is His." "If He has a home for me in His kingdom and has the power to give it, He clearly doesn't want to," retorted Rico. "Have you asked Him to give it to you?" "No." "Grandmother said that we must ask for things we want. It is very likely that He thinks you can ask Him if you really want anything." After a moment's silence Rico said, "Say the prayer once more; I will learn it." In a short time they were walking back to the garden, where they parted for the night. On the way to the hotel Rico thought of the kingdom and the power. He felt convinced that he had neglected a sacred duty, and that night, in his cheerless attic room, he knelt by his bed and prayed. Stineli meant to go in as soon as Rico left her, and tell Mrs. Menotti of his unhappiness, hoping that she might help the boy to find some more suitable employment, since he so disliked playing for dances, but this intention was not carried out, for Silvio had been taken suddenly ill while she was gone, and was lying exhausted on his pillow, flushed and breathing heavily. The mother sat crying softly beside him. Stineli had never seen him ill before, and she stood wondering what she should do. Mrs. Menotti soon noticed her presence and said: "Sit down, Stineli; he is better now, and I should like to tell you about something that troubles me greatly. You are young, but I feel sure it will do me good to have you know about it. "When Mr. Menotti and I were first married, he brought me here from Riva, where my father is still living. An old friend of my husband's lived here, but he wished to go away for a few years, because his wife had died and he found it too hard to live here without her; he wanted us to live on his place while he was away. He had a little house and a large farm of not especially good land, but since Mr. Menotti understood perfectly how to manage a farm, it was agreed between them, as intimate friends, that there was to be no rent; we were simply to keep everything in good condition so that he would find his place in order when he returned.