CHAPTER XI.

A LONG JOURNEY.


On that memorable Sunday evening, Rico seated himself on the chair in
his gloomy bedroom. There he decided to stay until his cousin had
gone to bed.

After Stineli had made the discovery that Rico could go with his fiddle
down to the much-wished-for lake, the enterprise seemed a very simple
thing to the lad,--so easy, that he only thought of the best way to get
off. He had a presentiment that his cousin would probably try to hinder
him from going, although he felt sure that she would not miss him after
he was away.

So, when she began to scold him when he came home, he said to himself,
"I will be off as soon as she is once in her bed."

He had very pleasant thoughts as he sat there in the dark,--of how nice
it would be not to hear the scolding voice of his cousin all day long,
and of what big bushels of the red flowers he would bring back to
Stineli when he returned. And then the picture of the sunny shores of
the lake and the purple hills rose before his mind, and he fell asleep.
He was not in a very comfortable position, for he had never let his
fiddle leave his hand; and he soon awoke again, but it was still dark.

Now he had a clear idea of what he would do. He had his Sunday clothes