Rico actually had the violin on his arm! His face flushed, as with sparkling eyes he played firmly and correctly, C, D, E, F.
"You little rascal!" exclaimed the teacher. "Where did you learn that? Who taught you so that you can find the notes?"
"I know something else too, if I might play it," Rico ventured to say.
"Play it," directed the teacher.
Rico played the melody of the song, "Little Lambs," with the greatest confidence, his eyes speaking his pleasure.
The teacher had taken a chair and put on his spectacles. He had looked attentively at Rico's fingers, moving with easy grace, then at his joyous countenance, and again at his fingers. The boy had played correctly.
"Come to me, Rico," said the teacher, as he moved his chair to the window and put Rico directly in front of him; "I want to talk a little with you. You see, your father is an Italian, Rico, and they do all sorts of things down there, they say, that we know nothing of up here in the hills. Now look me in the eyes and tell me the truth. How is it that you are able to play this tune correctly on my violin?"
Rico looked steadily at the teacher and said frankly, "I learned it from you in school, where we sing it so often."
The teacher got up and paced the floor. This put the matter in an entirely different light. So he was himself the cause of this wonderful intelligence! All his suspicions vanished, and he good-naturedly took out his pocketbook.