on, which was good; and his cap was also on his head. He took his fiddle
under his arm, and went softly down the steps, slipped the bolt aside,
and stole out into the cool air of morning.

The dawn was just showing over the mountains, and in Sils the cocks were
crowing. Off he walked briskly, to get well away from the houses and to
reach the highway. When he once was on the road, he went along merrily;
for he felt quite at home there, he had so often traversed the ground
with his father. He could form no idea of how far it really was to the
Maloja; and indeed it seemed very long to him, after he had been going
for two good hours. Little by little it grew brighter, however; and in
about an hour more, when he reached the place before the tavern upon the
Maloja, where he used to stand with his father and gaze down the
mountain road, the sunny light of morning lay upon the mountains, and
the tips of the fir-trees were all touched with gold.

Rico seated himself upon the edge of the roadside. He was very tired,
and remembered suddenly that he had not eaten any thing since the
noonday meal of the day before. But he was not discouraged, for now
the way was all down hill; and, after that, he should undoubtedly
reach the lake.

While he sat there, the big post-wagon came rumbling along. He had often
seen it as it came through Sils, and always thought that the very
greatest happiness upon earth must be experienced by the driver, who sat
all day long on the box, and controlled his four horses with his whip.
Now he saw this happy creature nearer; for the post-wagon stopped, and
the lad never once removed his eyes from the wonderful man, as he came
down from his perch, stepped into the inn, and came out again with an
enormous piece of black bread in his hand, upon which lay a large piece