"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.