"Not one," said Rico, sadly. "My father gave me some before he went away, but my aunt took them. She said that I would only squander them anyway. I know we can't get those."
"Maybe we have enough without them," said Stineli, consolingly. "Grandmother will give me more soon, and it can't be, Rico, that a violin costs much. You know it is only a piece of old wood with four strings drawn across it. That ought not to cost a great deal. Ask the teacher to-morrow how much one costs, and then we will try to get one."
So the subject was left, but Stineli secretly resolved to get up early to build the fires, because grandmother would notice it and give her some more pennies.
The following day, after school, Stineli went out without Rico and stood at the corner of the building waiting for him. Rico was to ask the teacher concerning the violin. She waited so long that she wondered what could be keeping him, but finally he appeared.
"What did he say? How much does it cost?" inquired Stineli, eagerly.
"I didn't dare ask him," said Rico in a dejected tone.
"Oh, what a shame!" she exclaimed; but noticing Rico's sadness, she added, "It doesn't matter, Rico; you can ask him to-morrow." Then, in her cheerful way, she took his hand and they walked home without further mention of the subject.
Rico had no better success, however, on the second day nor on the third. He remained nearly half an hour at the teacher's entrance, not finding the courage to ring the bell. The fourth evening Stineli said to herself, "If he doesn't ask the teacher to-night, I will." This time, however, as Rico was standing at the door, the teacher came out suddenly and noticed the boy's hesitating attitude.
"What does this mean, Rico?" he asked, standing surprised and perplexed before him. "Why do you come to a person's door without rapping? If you have no business here, why don't you go home? If you wish to tell me something, you may do so now."
"What does a violin cost?" asked Rico, timidly.