AT HOME
A glorious day dawned upon Peschiera the next morning, and Mrs.
Menotti hurried to the garden to enjoy it more fully. She took her
accustomed seat on a rustic bench near the gate and looked about her
with appreciative eyes. The oleander bushes were in full bloom beside
her, behind her was the hedge to screen the garden from the street,
and yonder were the loaded fig trees, while near by were the
grapevines, dotted with clusters of ripe fruit.
"I realize," she said to herself, "that I shall never find so pretty a
home again."
Just at this moment Rico opened the gate. He had not been able to let
the beautiful morning pass without seeing his friends, as he was
obliged to go to Riva a little later. He had not noticed Mrs. Menotti,
and was going directly to the house when she called to him.
"I want you to sit here with me for a few moments, Rico, if you will.
What a fine day this promises to be! I have just been wondering how
long I may still be here to enjoy it."
"You alarm me, Mrs. Menotti. You are not thinking of going away?"
"I beg your pardon, Rico, for speaking so thoughtlessly; I should not
have mentioned it." She changed the subject, and presently, recalling
what Stineli had told her the previous evening about Rico's trouble,
she began to wonder what it could be. She had been so absorbed in her
own affairs at the time that she had given it but a moment's thought.
"Won't you tell me, Rico, why you came to Lake Garda? Stineli told me
last evening that you used to long to come here. Were you ever here
before?"
"Yes, when I was a child, but I was taken away."
"How did you happen to come here as a child?"
"I came into the world here."
"You were born here? Who was your father, and why did he come here
from the mountains?"
"He wasn't from the mountains; it was my mother who lived there."
"Why, Rico, your father was not a Peschieran?"
"He surely was, Mrs. Menotti; this was his home."
"How very strange! And you never have told me this in all these years!
Feeling that you did not care to talk of your earlier life, I have
never asked you to tell me your last name. But 'Rico' is not Italian.
What was your father called?"
"The same as I, Enrico Trevillo."
Mrs. Menotti sprang from the seat as if she had been struck. "What are
you saying?" she exclaimed. "What did you say just now?"
"My father's name," said Rico. "Why, what is the matter?"
Mrs. Menotti did not stay to answer him. She ran to the house and
hastily said to Stineli: "Get me a wrap, please. I must go over to see
the pastor, but I will be back soon and explain."
Stineli, much astonished, put a cape around the trembling form.
"Come with me, Rico, for I want to ask a few questions," said Mrs.
Menotti, but she was so agitated that she could think of nothing to
ask except if he were sure that Enrico Trevillo was his father. Rico
returned to the house after leaving Mrs. Menotti with the pastor.
Stineli and Silvio were laughing over a funny story when he arrived.
As soon as Silvio saw the violin he shouted, "Let us sing 'Little
Lambs' with Stineli, because Rico is here to play."
Rico had learned a great number of new songs, so that Stineli had
nearly forgotten all about "her song." She had not heard it since they
sang it for the grandmother the evening they had composed it. It
astonished her to find that Silvio knew anything about it. How was she
to know that Rico had been singing that song time after time, before
he knew any others?
She gladly consented to sing it with Rico. To her great surprise
Silvio began singing with them. To be sure, he did not know the
meaning of a word he was saying, but he remembered the sounds from
having heard them so often. He gave the words such a funny
pronunciation that Stineli had to laugh. Silvio laughed because she
laughed; then Rico could not help laughing, and so the song waited.
They began again time after time, only to stop as before, and when
Mrs. Menotti returned, she found them all still laughing and trying to
sing.
She had been making a strong effort to adjust herself to the new order
of things which the eventful morning had brought about. She crossed
the garden hastily and came in where the children were. The laughter
hushed as she sank exhausted into a chair, and they gazed at her in
astonishment.
"Rico," she said, as soon as she had gathered a little composure, "I
have just found out from the pastor that this home--the house, garden,
farm, and everything--is yours. It is your inheritance from your
father and belongs to you. Your name is recorded in the baptismal
record of the church; you are the son of Enrico Trevillo, who was my
husband's most intimate friend."
Stineli had almost from the first grasped the meaning of it all, and
it gave her an unspeakable happiness. Her face was radiant, and Mrs.
Menotti thought, "How beautiful the girl looks!"
Rico sat staring at the mother, speechless and bewildered. Silvio
shouted, "All of a sudden the house belongs to Rico; where shall he
sleep?"
"Where, Silvio?" repeated the mother. "In all the rooms, if he
chooses. He can turn us out on the street at once if he likes."
"Then I should certainly go out on the street with you," said Rico.
"Oh, you good Rico! We will gladly stay if it will give you pleasure.
I was thinking on the way home of how we could arrange it if you
should wish to have us here. I could buy a half interest in the place,
and then one half would belong to you and one half to Silvio."
"Then I will give my half to Stineli," declared Silvio.
"And I my half too," said Rico.
"Hurrah! now everything belongs to Stineli," shouted Silvio,
gleefully. "The garden, the house, and everything in it--the chairs,
the table, the violin, and you and I too are hers. Now let's sing
again!"
Rico, in the meantime, had been thinking, and now hesitatingly asked,
"How can it be that Silvio's father's house belongs to me, even if he
was my father's best friend?"
This reminded Mrs. Menotti that as yet Rico knew none of the
circumstances leading up to her discovery, so she began from the
beginning and related the events in the proper order. When she
finished, there was a grand jubilee among the children, because they
realized that there was nothing to hinder Rico's coming to live with
them immediately.
After the commotion had somewhat subsided, Rico said to Mrs. Menotti:
"You must let nothing here be changed because this good fortune has
come to me. I will simply come and live with you, and we shall all be
at home, and you can be our mother."
"O Rico, to think it should be you of all people!" exclaimed Mrs.
Menotti. "How well Stineli has advised us to let our troubles be made
right, and how soon the answer came! I gladly give the property over
to you, and I gladly remain here, too. I will be a true mother to you,
Rico, for I have long loved you as an own son. You and Stineli must
call me mother after this. We shall be the happiest family in all
Peschiera."
"Now we _must_ finish our song," burst out Silvio, who felt so happy
that his feelings needed an outlet. Rico and Stineli were no less
jubilant, and they sang merrily.
Rico was about to put up his violin, when Stineli said, "I should like
to stop with a different song, Rico; can you guess which one?"
"Yes, I can." Then they sang in gratitude to God and in sweet memory
of the dear old grandmother who taught it to them:
"He never will refuse His aid
If you a prayer will send;
Whatever in His care is laid
Shall have a happy end.
Then let the blessing onward go,
And cause it not to stay,
That you may rest in peace below
And happy be alway."
It is needless to say that Rico did not go to Riva that day. The
situation was immediately explained to the hotel people, so that they
could hire a substitute to play for the dance. How glad Rico was to be
excused they could scarcely imagine.
The landlady received the information with the greatest astonishment.
She hastily called her husband and told him the news. Later she
congratulated Rico and said to him that she heartily wished for God's
blessing upon his home. Not in the least did she begrudge him his good
fortune. She had really grown very fond of him, and her pleasure was
genuine. For some time the people of the hotel Three Crosses had been
making Rico liberal offers to come to live with them, and she was
relieved that now this could not happen. Her husband was glad for
Rico, because he had known the father well; he wondered now that he
had never noticed the striking resemblance between father and son.
Rico left word to have his belongings sent over to his house the next
day, and then bade them a friendly farewell.
"We want you to give us your orders for all the entertaining you may
do in the future," the landlady said, as he was about to leave. Rico
thanked them in his usual quiet fashion and departed.
Before night nearly all Peschiera had heard of Rico's good fortune. He
was a favorite in town, and the news caused much rejoicing.
Mrs. Menotti spared no pains to make Rico comfortable in his new home.
The large front room upstairs was prepared for his special use. After
everything had been arranged to her satisfaction, she went to gather
some flowers as a finishing touch, and she had just placed them on the
table when she heard Rico coming.
"Mrs. Menotti has your room ready, and she is upstairs," said Stineli.
"Won't you go up to see it now?"
Rico expected to see a pleasant room, but he was not prepared to find
the artistic effect which held him spellbound as he reached the
threshold. Mrs. Menotti understood his nature so well that she knew
what he would like, and she had arranged every detail herself. She met
him at the door, and taking his hand, led him to the windows
overlooking the lake. Rico wished to express his gratitude, but he
could only murmur, "I am so glad to be at home."
In the sitting room downstairs, where the doors opened so pleasantly
into the garden, the family, after Rico had come to stay, spent the
most delightful evenings imaginable. Ten o'clock no longer brought
sadness to the happy circle, and the months slipped by quite unheeded.
Rico was now supposed to manage his business, and he usually spent the
days in the field and garden with his foreman. The first day they were
out together the foreman thought, "I know more than my master," but
that evening, when the soul-inspiring strains of the violin and voice
came floating out to him across the garden, he thought, "My master
does know more than I"; and thereafter he had a profound respect for
Rico.