Have you any notion how far it is, and that a little musician like you
could wear out his two feet, and his soles, too, before he could catch
sight of a single drop of the water of the Lake of Garda? Who sends you
down there?"

"Nobody. I go of my own accord."

"Well, I never have seen the like of you before," said the man, still
laughing good-naturedly. "Where, then, is your home, my boy?"

"I do not know exactly. It may be on the Lake of Garda," was the
serious answer.

"What sort of reply is that?"

So saying, the coachman looked with some curiosity at the little figure
before him, which certainly did not betray any signs of being neglected.
On the contrary, the head, with its black curly hair, and the nice
Sunday suit of clothes, gave the lad a very genteel appearance; and his
delicate features and earnest eyes bore unmistakable evidence to
something noble in his character, and any one who looked at him once was
certain to repeat the glance with pleasure.

Such was also the case with the driver. He gazed steadfastly at Rico,
and presently said, kindly, "You carry your passport in your face, my
boy; and it is not a bad one either, even if you do not know where you
belong. What will you give me now, if I will carry you along with me
down yonder, on the box?"

Rico stared, for he could scarcely believe his ears at these words. To