Karin had supposed that the parting with Nono would be like the parting with her other boys—a separation only lightened by letters coming rarely, merely to tell that the absentees were well and doing famously. With Nono it was quite otherwise. The letters from him came weekly, almost as regularly as Sunday itself. And such letters as they were, written so clearly, and containing such a particular account of his doings, and, what Karin prized more, warm expressions of grateful affection for the dear friends "at home," as he still called the golden house, though it was plain that the once houseless little Italian had now two homes.
Nono wrote that the artist's wife treated him as if he were her own son, and was teaching him carefully everything that would help him to understand all that was about him. Object lessons they seemed to be, with wonderful Rome for the great "kindergarten." He was learning Italian too, and that he thought charming. As for his work in the studio, it was only a pleasure, excepting that he was impatient for the time when he could make beautiful things himself. When he had walked in the streets at first, he had thought all the boys might at least have been his cousins, and some of them made him feel as if he were looking in the glass. Now and then he would meet a man that he felt sure must be his father, but he did not often dare to speak to such strangers. He had hoped and believed he should find his father in Italy, but now he was sure it would be harder to know him there than in Sweden. He had almost given up thinking about it lately, he had so much to do and so much to see, and everybody was so kind to him.
Karin did not feel that Nono was drifting away from her, though he wrote so openly and affectionately of his new friends. His thankful remembrance of all the love and care he had had at the cottage was expressed in every letter, and a deeper gratitude for the kind instruction that had taught him from his childhood to love his heavenly Father, and to try to obey his holy laws.
Alma missed Nono, it was true, for she had really grown fond of the little friendly boy while he had been an inmate at Ekero; but she had a new deep content in the pleasure she was learning to find in the society of her brother. Together they were struggling heavenward, and were daily a help and joy to each other.
Alma was walking on the veranda one morning in early summer, when she saw what she thought two tramps approaching. She had no liking for such wanderers, and turned to go into the house. At that moment she caught sight of the worn face of the older man, and stood still. He looked so gentle, and yet so weary and weak, as he clung to the arm of his younger companion. They were not dressed like Italians, nor like any style of persons in particular, for their costume was evidently made up of cast-off garments that had seen better days. Their faces, though, were dark and thin, and there was a southern fire in the eyes of the younger man as he said at once in tolerable Swedish, "Pietro here is tired. He cannot get any further, miss. I told him he could not hold out for this trip, but come he would, and I had to let him. Perhaps he could sit down somewhere a few moments and get a glass of milk or something like that."
"He looks very tired," said Alma. "Go that way to the kitchen, and I will see that you have something to eat."
The colonel, hearing voices, came out at the moment. He saw at once that the men were Italians, and addressed them in their own language. The eyes of the one who had spoken flashed with pleasure, and a light came into the face of his companion, who now said in Italian, "I have been very ill. It is too cold for me up here. No summer, no summer! The north killed my wife long ago, and I suppose it has killed me. I knew this man when I was here before. I only met him again yesterday. He knows where the house is I want to find. I left my boy there, a baby, and I want to know if he is alive. It was Francesca's baby, and she loved it before she went wrong," and he touched his forehead significantly.
The colonel looked meaningly at Alma, whose eyes were wide with intense interest, for she had understood enough to follow the conversation.
The colonel took the hand of the old man kindly, and said,—
"You must rest here a little, and then we will talk together."