The boat landed at Riva all too soon, and a few moments later Rico was playing for the same kind of people that he had played for at the two preceding dances. It occurred to him that it was much pleasanter to look at the white houses and friendly rocks from his accustomed place on the opposite shore, or to amuse Silvio at Mrs. Menotti's, than to play amid the present tumult and applause. As they were returning to Peschiera that night he found no time to look about the town, though he had long wished to see the place.
When there were no dances Rico was allowed to go to Mrs. Menotti's every evening, for the landlady wished to prove herself grateful not only to Rico but to Mrs. Menotti as well. These evenings were Rico's greatest pleasure. He invariably went to the bridge for a short time on his way over. It always gave him fresh comfort, for he knew to a certainty that it was a place that had once been a part of his home. He had found the exact spot where his mother used to sit most frequently when she held and fondled him. He would sit there and think it over and over, actually living in the spirit of the past. Each time he had to force himself to realize that Silvio needed him and would be waiting. Though it was always a little hard to leave the place, his peace of mind was restored as soon as he came to Mrs. Menotti's, for she had endeared herself to him, and he realized that from her he received more affection than from any one else except Stineli.
Mrs. Menotti had heard the story about Rico's suffering in the hills, and she considered it wise to forbear asking questions, for fear of recalling to his mind painful scenes that had much better be forgotten. She longed to take Rico away from the hotel, for she knew that it was not the place for a sensitive nature such as his, but she saw that this would be an impossibility. Once she fondly put her hand on his head and said, "You poor little orphan, I do so wish I could keep you."
To Silvi, Rico became more and more necessary. He spoke of him at all times of the day and was always listening for his coming. Rico could speak fluently by this time, and it was Silvio's greatest comfort to listen to the stories he would tell him. One day Rico told him about Stineli. Silvio was so interested that Rico enjoyed telling him about her. He told of Stineli's seeing her brother Sam fall into the creek, and how she reached the place in time to catch one of his feet, holding on to him until the father, for whom she called as loudly as she could, should get to them. The frightened boy was in the meantime screaming with all his might. The father, taking it for granted that children are always noisy, did not trouble himself to go immediately, but when he had leisurely strolled across the field to find out why they called, he found Stineli still holding her brother.
Rico told how she drew pictures for Peter and made playthings for Urschli out of wood, moss, or rushes,—sometimes with all combined,—and how all the children wanted her when they were sick, because she could entertain them so well. He also told of the good times he and Stineli had enjoyed together, and he became so animated in the telling that one would scarcely have recognized the quiet, sober Rico. Silvio's delight in these stories made both boys forget to look at the clock in time for Rico to leave as early as usual. He was startled to see how late it was and hastily rose to go.
"Good night, Silvio," he said. "I am sorry that I cannot come to-morrow or the next day, but I must play for some dances."
This was too much for Silvio's patience, and he called to his mother, who hastily came from the garden in the greatest anxiety.
"Mother!" he cried, "Rico shall not go back to the hotel any more! I want him to stay here and I wish that you would make him. You will do it, won't you, Rico?"
"If I didn't have to help at the hotel, I would," answered Rico.
Mrs. Menotti had feared such a scene for some time, but was troubled to know how to meet it even now. She knew too well what Rico was worth to the landlady and her husband in dollars and cents to entertain the faintest hope of their letting him go from them. She tried to quiet Silvio as best she could, and affectionately drew Rico to her, saying "You poor little orphan! I wish it were so that you might stay with us."