CHAPTER VI

RICO'S MOTHER

The teacher was coming down the path from Sils, leaning heavily on his cane. He came directly from the funeral of Rico's father. He was coughing and panting as he greeted the grandmother, and he sank heavily to the seat beside her.

"If you are willing," he said, "I will rest here a few moments. My throat troubles me, and my chest is very weak. Of course, now that I am seventy years old I must expect such things. What a pity that a man of such powerful strength as the Italian must give up life! He was not yet thirty-five years old."

"Yes," said the grandmother, "I, too, have been thinking how much better I might have been spared than he."

"I know how you feel," replied the teacher, "but I suppose the older people have their place in life to fill as well as the younger ones. Where would they find precept and example but for us? What will become of the boy yonder?"

"What will become of him?" repeated the grandmother. "I have been asking the same question, and I cannot tell you. I only know that there is a Heavenly Father whom he still has, and he will doubtless find a place for the homeless one."

"Tell me, neighbor, how it ever happened that an Italian should get a wife up here. There is no knowing what those strangers are."

"I will tell you about them," said the grandmother. "You remember that the girl's mother had lost her husband and several children, leaving her only this one daughter. She was a charming maiden, with whom the mother lived for years alone. I think that it is about twelve years since the handsome young Trevillo first came here. He had joined a group of men who were working on the Maloja. It was a case of love at first sight with the young people. I am glad to be able to say that Trevillo was not only a very handsome man but also very capable. The mother was proud of her son-in-law and wanted them to remain with her. They meant to do as she wished, but the daughter had a longing to see the place that Trevillo described to her when they walked up the Maloja. The mother objected strongly at first, but when she heard that Trevillo owned a house and farm, having left it simply to see something of the hills, she gave her consent and they moved away. She heard from them regularly through the mail, but the daughter preferred to remain in the new home, where they were very happy.

"A number of years later, Trevillo came back to the mother, carrying a little boy. 'There, mother,' he said, as he held the boy for her to take, 'we have come back to you without Marie. She and the other baby were buried a few days ago, and we cannot bear to live without her down there. If you don't mind, we will stay here with you.'

"It brought both happiness and sorrow to the mother. Rico was four years old and extremely lovable and good. He was a comfort to her and her last great pleasure, for she died a year later. People advised Trevillo to get the aunt to keep house for him and the boy, and thus they have lived ever since."

"So that is their story!" remarked the teacher, when she had finished speaking. "I never could imagine how it came about. It is possible that some relative of Trevillo's may come to take the child."

"Relatives!" said the grandmother, scornfully. "The aunt is a relative, and what does he get from her? Few enough kind words, I am sure."

The teacher rose stiffly. "I am rapidly getting old, my friend," he said. "I feel my strength leaving me to such an extent that I can scarcely get about."

"You should still feel young in comparison with me," said the grandmother, and she wondered at his feebleness as he walked away with slow, unsteady steps.