CHAPTER XX.

AT HOME.

One beautiful Sunday morning in autumn, Mrs. Menotti seated herself on the garden-bench in the midst of the glowing red flowers, and thoughtfully gazed about her,--now at the oleander and laurel bushes, now at the fig-trees laden with fruit, and again at the vines heavy with golden grapes; and she said, softly, "G.o.d knows I should be glad if I could lay aside this feeling of wrong-doing that weighs on my conscience, but certainly such a lovely spot as this one I could never find for a home."

Presently Rico came into the garden. He was obliged to go away in the afternoon; and he never pa.s.sed a whole day without paying them a visit, if it were possible to do otherwise. As he was pa.s.sing on towards Silvio's room, Mrs. Menotti called him.

"Come and sit down by me, Rico, for a moment. Who knows how long we may be able to stay in this place together?"

Rico was alarmed.

"Why do you say this, Mrs. Menotti? You do not think of going away, do you?"

Mrs. Menotti had to stop, for she could not tell him all her story. She remembered what Stineli had said to her the evening before about Rico.

She was so full of her own thoughts at that time, that she did not fairly take in the import of her words. Now she began to wonder about it, the more she thought it over.

"Do tell me, Rico," she said, "were you ever here earlier?--I mean before; or what made you want to see the lake again, as Stineli told me was the case yesterday?"

"Yes; when I was little," said the lad. "Then I went away."

"How did you get here when you were little, Rico?"

"I was born here."

"What! here? What was your father, if he came here from the mountains yonder?"

"He did not come here from the mountains; only my mother did."

"Do I hear aright, Rico? Was your father born here?"

"Certainly. He was a native of this place."

"You never told me this before. This is wonderful. You have not a name like the people here. What was your father's name?"

"What was his name? It was Henrico Trevillo."

Mrs. Menotti sprang up from the seat as if she had had a shock.

"What did you say, Rico?" she cried out. "What did you say just now?

Tell me again."

"I told you my father's name."

Mrs. Menotti was not listening: she ran towards the door.

"Stineli, bring me a kerchief," she cried. "I must go to the priest at once: I am trembling all over."

In great surprise, Stineli brought out the kerchief.

"Come with me a few steps, Rico," said the good woman, as she went through the garden. "I must ask you something more."

Rico had to repeat his father's name twice over; and when they had fairly reached the door of the priest's house, for a third time Mrs.

Menotti asked,--

"What did you say it was? Are you quite sure?"

She hurried into the priest's house, and left Rico wondering what could have happened to put her into such a way.

Rico had brought his violin with him, for he knew that Stineli was particularly pleased to hear it. When he reached Silvio's room, he found the little boy and his companion in the best of humor. Stineli had fulfilled her promise about the story of Peterli's funny doings, and this had amused Silvio exceedingly. When the latter espied the violin, he cried out at once, "Now let us sing; let us sing the 'Lambkins' with Stineli."

Stineli had never heard her song since it was composed that day on the mountain, for now Rico played such beautiful airs that she had quite forgotten the old ones. But she was astonished to hear Silvio asking for the German song, for she had no idea of the hundred times the two boys had repeated it during the three years that were past. She was much pleased to hear the old song again, and, above all, to sing it with Rico; and so they began. Silvio sang with all his might,--without understanding a single word, to be sure, but the tune was quite correct. It was the girl's turn to laugh now; for Silvio's p.r.o.nunciation was most wonderful, and she could not join in for laughter, and it was contagious; for the child could not resist the merry expression of her face, and joined her in laughing, and sang again still more queerly and louder; and all the while Rico played his accompaniment without stopping.

And thus Mrs. Menotti's ears were greeted with laughter and song as she drew near the house on her return, and she could not understand how they could be so light-hearted and merry on such a momentous occasion. She came hastily through the garden, and into the room, and sank upon the nearest seat; for the shock and the joy, and the antic.i.p.ation of what was to follow, had overpowered her, and she needed to recover herself a little. The sight of her agitation silenced the singers, and they gazed at her in surprise. At last she recovered, and said,--

"Rico,"--and her voice was quite solemn,--"Rico, listen to me. Look about you. This house, this garden, that field,--all, all that you can see, and much that you cannot see, belongs to you: it is all yours. You are the owner; it is your inheritance from your father; your home is here; your name stands in the baptismal record; you are the son of Henrico Trevillo, and he was my husband's dearest friend."

Stineli had understood the whole story at the first word, and her face beamed with unspeakable happiness.

Rico sat as if turned to stone, and made no sound; but Silvio broke out into shouts of delight,--it was all a play to him.

"Oh! now the house belongs to Rico, where is he going to sleep?"

"He can sleep in any room he chooses, Silvio. He can sleep in them all if he wishes to. He can turn us all out-of-doors if he has a mind to, and stay all sole alone in this house."

"I am sure I should much prefer to go away with you, then," said Rico.

"Oh, you good Rico!" cried Mrs. Menotti. "If you will let us stay here, we shall be so glad to remain. I have thought it out as I came along towards home, and know how we can arrange it so that we shall be happy.

I will take half of the house of you, and the same with the garden and all the land; so one half will be yours, and the other Silvio's."

"I shall give my half to Stineli," said the child.

"So shall I," said Rico.

"Oh, ho! now the whole thing belongs to her,--the garden, and the house, and all that is in them; and Rico and his fiddle, and I too. Now let us go on with our song."

But Rico did not take the same view of the affair as his little friend.

He had thought over Mrs. Menotti's words, and now asked, anxiously,--

"I do not understand how Silvio's house can belong to me because our fathers were friends."

It now occurred to Mrs. Menotti for the first time that Rico did not know any thing about the circ.u.mstances; and she told him the whole story, with all the particulars, even more minutely than she had told it to Stineli; and when she had finished they all understood perfectly how it was, and were at liberty to rejoice without restraint; for since the house and all belonged partly to Rico, there was no reason why he should not take possession at once, and never leave them again; and their rejoicing was great.

In the midst of their merry-making Rico said, suddenly,--

"Since things have turned out this way, Mrs. Menotti, do not let any of the arrangements be disturbed in the house; but every thing go on as usual. I will simply come here to live, and you shall be our mother."

"O Rico! to think that it is yours, that it is you who are the _master_.

How good G.o.d is to let it all turn out in this way,--that I can give it all to you, and yet stay here myself with a clear conscience. I will be a mother to you, Rico; and indeed you have long been as dear to me as if you were my own child. Now you must call me 'mother,' and so must Stineli; and we shall be the happiest household in all Peschiera."