"Oh, dear! Well, where is your mother, then?"

"She is dead, too."

"Well, there is always a grandfather and a grandmother, or something.
Where are yours?"

"All dead."

"At any rate, everybody has some brothers or sisters; where are yours, I
should like to know?"

"All are dead," was the sorrowfully repeated answer.

When the driver had convinced himself that they were all gone, he ceased
his questions about the relatives, and began in another direction with,
"What was your father's name?"

"Henrico Trevillo of Peschiera, on the Lake of Garda."

At last the driver thought he had got at the root of the matter, and
said to himself this boy had strayed away, or been carried away, from
his home down below there, and it is a good thing for him to get carried
back where he belongs; and he thought no more about the affair.

Presently they passed the first very steep bit of the hill, and came to
an even stretch of ground, and the driver said, "Now, musician, let us
have a jolly song to cheer the way."

Full of satisfaction, and much elated at his high position on his throne