CHAPTER XI

A LONG JOURNEY

When Rico was so harshly dismissed by his aunt that Sunday evening, he went up to his room and took a chair in the darkness. His intention was to stay there only until his aunt had gone to bed. It seemed a simple undertaking to him to find his lake, now that Stineli had told him her plan. He dreaded the aunt's interference, although he knew that she would be glad to have him gone. His first thought upon reaching his room was, "I will go to-night, as soon as she has gone to bed."

A feeling of relief swept over Rico as he contemplated the future when he should be able to live for days without seeing the aunt. He thought of the beautiful flowers he would gather to bring back to Stineli, for there was not the least doubt in his mind about his coming back to her. Then, as he walked in fancy on the sunny shore of the lake, and thought of its beautiful setting, he fell asleep.

His uncomfortable position awakened him at last. The violin still lay in his lap, and as he felt it his plan came to his mind. The room was still as dark as when he had entered in the early evening. He was glad that he was wearing his best suit. He put on his hat and, going softly down the stairs, he quietly pushed back the bolt and let himself out into the brisk morning air.

Over the hills he could see the first glimmer of morning. Soon he heard the cocks announcing the break of day, and he increased his pace so that he might get beyond the town before it was light enough for him to be recognized. He very much enjoyed the walk, combined with the feeling of freedom, as soon as he got to the open country. It was familiar to him, for he and the father had many times walked there together. He had no idea of the distance to the top of the Maloja, but after he had walked steadily for two hours, it began to seem like a long way.

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?"

Rico stared in amazement. To think of sitting on that high seat and riding down the valley! How he longed for the experience, but what had he to pay? "I haven't anything to give but my violin, and I couldn't part with that," he said at last.

"Well," said the coachman, laughing, "I shouldn't know what to do with that if I had it, so you may keep it. Come, we will get on now, and you can play for me anyway."

Rico scarcely dared believe that the man meant what he said, but it was true, and he was hoisted up to the seat. The passengers were inside the coach, with the windows down, as the morning was cool. The driver took up the reins and they started down the hill that Rico had wanted to pass over for so long a time. In what a remarkable way was his desire fulfilled! He felt as if he were sailing between heaven and earth, and wondered how it had all come about.

"Tell me, little traveler," began the coachman, "where is your father?"

"He is dead," answered Rico.

"Is that so! Where is your mother?"

"She is dead, too," came the answer.

"That is too bad! How about grandfather and grandmother?"

"They are dead."

"Well, well!" exclaimed the man. "But you must have brother or sister?"

"They are dead," was again Rico's sad reply.

"What was your father's name?"

"Enrico Trevillo from Peschiera on Lake Garda."

This made the coachman conclude that the boy belonged rightfully to Peschiera and that possibly he had been kidnapped by a mountaineer. However that might be, he determined to help the boy to get back to where he evidently belonged, and so he dismissed the matter from his mind.

After they had descended the first hill and were riding along on a comparatively level stretch of road, the driver said, "Now, little musician, play us a lively piece of music."

Rico tuned his instrument, and feeling very grateful to the good man for letting him ride, he not only began to play but to sing with all the strength of his bell-like voice, "Come down, little lambs, from the sunniest height."

It so happened that there were on the coach three students who were taking a vacation trip in the hills. To them the music was most welcome, and Stineli's verses appealed to their sense of humor. Rico was asked again and again to sing the song, and they joined in the singing as soon as they had learned the words. Sometimes they laughed so hard that they had to go back to the beginning.

Thus the journey progressed merrily. If Rico stopped playing, they asked him for more, and threw him pieces of silver until he had quite a sum in his hat which he held safely between his knees.

All the windows were now open, and some of the passengers were leaning out, trying to get a glimpse of the musician. The fun did not cease until the noon hour brought them to an inn, where they were to stop for dinner. The driver helped Rico transfer the money from his hat to his pockets, saying, "I am glad that you have that, for now you can buy your dinner."

The students had not been able to see Rico from their position on the coach, and were much surprised to find such a little boy. Their good humor increased, and they took him in their midst, giving him a place at their table and waiting upon him as upon an honored guest. Rico could not remember of ever having seen so pretty a table or of ever having eaten so good a dinner.

"From whom did you learn that song?" asked one.

"From Stineli; it is her song, because she made it herself," answered Rico.

"That was clever of Stineli," said another. "Let us drink to her health and happiness, since her song has so richly entertained us this morning!"

The noon hour was gone all too soon. As the passengers began taking their places in the coach, a large, heavily built man, clad in a brown worsted suit and carrying a heavy cane, came to Rico and said: "See here, little man, you sang very well this morning. I heard you from my window, and I want to tell you that I am in the business of buying and selling sheep, so I want to give you something, because you sang to us about the little lambs." Then he pressed a large piece of silver into Rico's hand.

The man entered the coach, and the sturdy driver tossed Rico to his seat as if he were but a toy in his hands. A moment later they were speeding down the valley.

Later in the afternoon Rico played again for them. He went over all the tunes he knew and finally played the melody and sang the song that he had learned from the grandmother the previous evening. This dreamy air must have lulled the students to sleep, for he heard nothing more from them. He put away his violin and watched the daylight fade and the stars begin to twinkle. The evening breeze was cooling the air. Rico thought of Stineli and the grandmother, and wondered what they were doing. In imagination he heard the vesper bells, and then he wondered no longer. He seemed to be with them as he folded his hands and, looking up to the star-sprinkled heaven, prayed as they had taught him.